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I'm not joking. Her weakness to my appeal was a balm to my soul after Helyn. “Apparently not.”
She practically flies out of her chair, and I chuckle, retrieving my e-stone.
Moving to the buffet to grab a bunch of grapes, I shoot a raven to Reiks.
I lured your girl a little. She didn't fall over the floor in a puddle of lust.
Keep your dick well away if you want to retain it, Zale.
I chuckle on my way to my hovercraft.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
A TOUCH OF MAGIK
Over the course of the week, I spend my time first attempting to avoid going to Ravelyn, and then, trying not to think about the fact that I can't decline the summons.
It’s only when I wake up on Baltaday morning that I register that in my denial, I failed to arrange a transport to take me there in the first place.
The royal court is held in the north isle, almost two hundred thousand miles away. How am I supposed to be there at the twenty-fifth hour?
The only option at my disposal is taking my speeder, but I'm not comfortable enough as a pilot to travel halfway across the globe, flying over the Silent Sea. I may have started driving a long time ago, but I seldom got the chance, and never for long distances. Besides, I don't know the way. I could use a navigation hologram, but my reaction to tech would make it dangerous. The only thing worse than an inexperienced pilot behind the monitor is one with a pounding headache.
After spending most of the gold I had left on Glitter Lane, I doubt I have enough money to charter a hovercraft. The duke’s allowance comes like clockwork, on Raverday every four weeks. I’ll get the next injection of funds after this weekend.
I look into public transport and groan. By train, then boat, and finally, communal sled to reach the capital, Oslov, the journey would take almost the entire weekend.
There's no way around it. I have to ask for a favor from the last person I want to be indebted to.
I drive to my mother’s red brick house for the second time this week, hoping to once again deal with her husband.
I've run out of luck.
Their reaper of a butler informs me that the duchess will receive me in her parlor. I suppose he doesn't want to risk my opting to remain in the hall this time.
No sooner have I sat on her floral cushioned sofa than Neleda enters the small, elaborate antechamber, radiant in a complex damask gown that changes color with the light, red one moment, black the next. "Helyn! I didn't think I'd see you before court."
"You're going to Ravelyn tonight?"
As she and her husband have been in town every time I stopped by the house, this week or before the start of the term at Five, I assumed they didn't spend a lot of time up north.
"Like I'd miss my own daughter's presentation."
Why not? She’s missed everything else.
In no position to give her lip when I came to ask for help, I choose to keep my thoughts to myself, for once. "Would you mind if I accompany you? I don't want to take the speeder all the way there."
Eyes wide, she seems shocked and horrified, either by the notion of my piloting alone so far, or by my asking her for something. Both, in all likelihood.
"Yes, certainly you may. Sal is having luncheon at his club today, so we'll leave right after, in an hour or two." She eyes me from head to toe. "You're not wearing that, are you?"
I'm in one of Johel's new outfits: a green, corseted short tunic in my armored material, flaring at the hips and ending high on my thighs. I paired with one of the half-dozen form-fitting, comfortable black pants she sent me.
I love it, because I look like myself—at least, what the old Hel would have worn if she'd had enough money to burn on looking pretty. What I don't look like is a duke's heir.
Part of me wants to tell Neleda that I'll indeed wear exactly this to the court gathering I’d prefer not to attend, in hopes that the news might make her choke or expire on the spot of a heart attack, but I do need a ride.
Though presumably, if my mother died, I might be excused.
