“I thought he was seven.”
“Psh.” The older woman waved off her friend.
Not dramatic enough for her tastes.
“Well, I am positive that woman is not the Lady of Turkhane.”
Hevva followed the gossipers’ gazes to where the baron, who she’d encountered earlier in the day, trailed his slimy fingers over the hip of a young woman who couldn’t have been older than Hevva herself. The man was at least twice his companion’s age. She cringed and downed her drink.That must have been who Kas saw him with earlier.
“Well,” the younger gossiper chortled to her friend, elbowing her in the side. “What happens at the symposium—”
“Stays at the symposium. You, there!”
A startled young server halted before the women so they could refresh their drinks from his waiting tray. Hevva took the opportunity to saunter past the duo and exchange her spent glass for a fresh one. Rather than another of those pink cocktails, she selected a vibrant lavender one in a lowglass.
As she drifted back into the crowd the ladies resumed their conversation in quiet tones. They were now talking about something prodigious, and it certainly wasn’t minds.
Finding a narrow opening against the wall between a support beam and a high-backed booth, Hevva slipped into position. With a lazy sip of her purple drink, she began to listen in. An older rotund couple had taken up residence at the booth beside her earlier in the night and were not relinquishing their choice seats. She was fairly certain they were staying in the room next to her. Speaking in hushed tones, they perused an array of delicious looking finger sandwiches and biscuits on a platter before them. The food drew Hevva’s attention more than the gossip. Odd, but she was hungry.
“He’s nothing like his father, I’ve heard,” the older man said.
“Psh, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Out of the corner of her eye Hevva caught the sparkle of several rings adorning the woman’s plump fingers.
“The former was cruel, power-hungry . . .”
“And this one? We don’t know yet. Hasn’t been long enough.”
“Hmm...you may be right. Doesn’t look a thing like his dead dad. Maybe—” the old man cut himself off and Hevva had a feeling the woman kicked him beneath the table.
“Shhh,” the woman hissed. “Can’t lose you for treason, love.”
He chortled and reached for a soft and delicious looking lump of bread. “The new king changed the laws, love. I can say whatever I’d like!”
Hevva closed her eyes as she took another sip of her drink. She tried to tune into conversations around the room and found herself wishing she possessed her brother’s air magic. It would allow her to draw noise near so she could pick out precisely what she wanted to hear. Maybe she should have let him come downstairs. Alas, as an earthshaper with no interest in going into construction, mining, or the military (she was a countess and would one day be a duchess, for gods’ sakes) the uses for her magic were limited. Sure, Hevva could coax a garden to her liking, will plants to mold to her desired designs, or craft a little jewelry box from a stray log. But those were the most ladylike uses for her powers.Ah, well.She sighed andopened her eyes.
A frizz of gray hair piled high into a looping mound greeted her. Lowering her gaze, the countess found the old woman from the booth stood two feet in front of her.
Hevva gulped.
“Would you like to join us, my lady?”
Oh, great.They’d found her out. And to make it worse, the matronly woman seemed to know who she was, while Hevva hadn’t a clue who she stood before. Of course she couldn’t knoweveryonein Selwas, but being known whilenotknowing who one was speaking with wasdecidedlyunladylike. “I’d be delighted, thank you.”
As Hevva moved around the table she stumbled a bit, nearly sloshing the violet liquid onto the floor of the inn.Whoops.She should not have had so many on an empty stomach.
The older couple, she learned, were Mrs. Shilan and Mr. Teymour Gulan, a wealthy retired merchant couple from Kashoorcih. They didn’t fault her for sticking to the shadows and listening in on interesting conversations. In fact, that waswhythey’d selected that very table and stuck it out all night, waiting for the Elk & Heron to fill with over-imbibing patrons.
“I love your dress, my dear.” Mrs. Gulan beamed, reaching across the table to tug at one of Hevva’s sleeves. She held one of her rings up beside the fabric. “Look Tey, it’s a perfect match for my aquamarine. I must know your seamstress.”
Hevva laughed as she gently withdrew her arm from the kind, but literally grasping stranger. She’d changed after the opening event from her early-evening gown with many accessories to a true evening gown with few accouterments. This dress was one of her favorites, an elegant silky concoction in varying shades of blue. It reminded her of the loch back home at Stormhill.
“Would you like a bite to eat? We made friends with one of the servers.” The older man gestured toward the platter heaped with delicious treats.
As they ate, Hevva learned about her new acquaintances. The Gulans made their money by entering into an exclusive candle trade agreement with House Tehsvont, a principality on the northern shore of Gramenia,the United Principalities of the west.
“Are candles truly that lucrative?” she inquired.
“Have you ever smelled one made from tallow?” Mrs. Gulan scoffed.
