"What's this?"
Hekatah paused at Andulvar's voice, drink nearly at her lips. She glanced at the assortment that was usually laid out for breakfast, but today held an unfamiliar aroma. "A gift from the Dhemlan queens. Coffee, I believe Saetan called it." She watched the Eyrien sniff curiously at the pot. "It's stronger than tea, so you might want to make use of the cream and sugar."
Andulvar poured a cup, took a mouthful. His expression didn't change, but he immediately scooped three cubes of sugar into the mug, and then, more thoughtfully, two more. Stirring in cream, Andulvar tasted again. This time his countenance relaxed into something approaching approval as he drank. Hekatah sipped her own coffee, black, to cover the smile threatening to break free.
Yes. Yes, that would work quite nicely indeed.
Being born into one of the long-lived races was both blessing and curse, Heketah mused. She had all the time in the world to plot, each cog in her plan taking place months or years apart. After all, what was a decade to a woman who would see another six centuries or more? But so many of her puppets in this Realm had moved on to the next, leaving her to rely on the grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, of witches whose lives had passed in a flash, who had barely been introduced to the finer workings of her machinations before their existence fizzled out.
What had to be done was slightly more of a gamble than she would have liked, but Saetan's sharp intelligence hadn't been dampened by rage or grief. Even a fool would notice if she sent a few letters and disturbances started popping up around Dhemlan, and while her husband could be called many things, fool was not among them. So Heketah worked slowly, circuitously; a note sent to a witch in a backward village, to be forwarded to a specific city's Master of the Guard on a specific date; the smallest of crystals imbued with instructions, retrieved using the very spell her sons had taught her, relayed from one Healer to a Black Widow in another Territory entirely, the contents of which filtered back through Hayll's courts over a course of years; wielding what influence she did have among the short-lived races to groom their Queens into her own pets, to begin seeing dark-Jeweled females as threats instead of assets.
It was slow going, hard to be patient despite the warnings of her Sisters and her own webs. All of her previous losses, all of her stymied ambition, all of her choked-off power, they demanded change, they demanded action, and the cloying taste of failure was heavy on her tongue. But, she had to repeat, over and over, if she waited, if she did this right, then she would have her chance.
Her one, perfect chance.
Days turned into weeks, turned into months, blurred into years, became decades. Through it all Heketah focused on one singular goal: convincing one of her pet Queens to throw enough of a fuss to draw Saetan away, making him feel the need for Andulvar's Ebon-gray strength to guard the Hall.
It happened on a day that even she didn't expect.
Heketah rose for breakfast to find Andulvar already at the table, looking as if he hadn't slept. A coffee mug sat empty next to an equally empty pot, and her heart jumped in her throat. The usual swell of Black power was missing from the Hall, she realized as she sank into a seat across from Yaslana. No word had been sent, but perhaps one of her pets finally understood the value of discretion. Regardless, it seemed her moment had finally come.
Heketah's hands clenched in her lap so that no one could see them shake. It took effort to be casual when she made a show of looking around, bewildered. "Is Saetan not with you this morning?"
"He had urgent business in Dhemlan," Andulvar replied, voice rough with exhaustion. Whatever vigil Saetan had pulled him from, he'd clearly been without rest for longer than a single night. Heketah squeezed her fingers to the point of pain. Nearly a century in the making, and this opportunity couldn't be more ideal.
Summoning a servant on a psychic thread, she required coffee to go with her morning meal. Glancing at Andulvar from the corner of her eye, she asked, "More for the Prince as well?"
The Eyrien stared into his cup long enough that she thought he wouldn't answer. At last, his breath left him in a gusty sigh. "That would be… pleasant."
"And fresh cream," she ordered, outwardly calm despite the pounding in her ears. Under the table, she called in the sight-shielded vial of clear liquid and, with great care, passed it through the bottom of the small ceramic dish that she held out to the waiting servant. Their fingers brushed, and Heketah held her breath as she triggered the compulsion spell.
Andulvar, with his greater power, had more protection than the Opal-Jeweled Warlord attending their table. Heketah was almost sure she could have used her newly-honed Craft to make him drink, tired and unsuspecting as he was, but that small kernel of doubt made her err on the side of caution.
So she dropped the shield and sent the man into the kitchens with the command Place the liquid in the cream, barely breathing while she waited to see if the Ebon-Gray noticed a new stiffness in the other man's step or the slight glaze in his eyes. She'd known it would be easy, every reputable Black Widow had told her so, but seeing for herself that Andulvar's usually sharp, watchful eyes were glossy and dull sent a thrill down her spine.
Nearly bursting with nervous excitement, Heketah took an assortment of fruit and cheese just to have something to do with her hands. When the Warlord returned, she nudged the pot toward Andulvar. "You have a long day ahead of you, I'm sure."
He tailored his cup without complaint while she poured her own. Heketah studied Andulvar over the rim of her mug. The potion would take effect in moments, a little longer perhaps, given his Jewel. So, she slowly picked at her food in a desperate attempt not to stare and counted her heartbeats.
When she reached thirty, Heketah graced Andulvar with one of her most winning smiles and reached out a hand, leisurely enough that he had a chance to pull away, then trailed a finger across his wrist. "Try some of this cheese, Prince, it's divine."
As a test, it was nothing, but Andulvar, golden eyes glassy with compulsion, pulled the plate closer. The way he chewed as almost meditative, as if weighing her words and finding them true. Heketah's smile turned beatific, sharp around the edges while her heart hammered in her chest.
Her one, perfect chance.
"Do you know when Saetan will return?" Heketah dismissed the Warlord as soon as he appeared in her peripheral, seemingly bewildered that they had apparently been attended in the last few moments.
The Eyrien shook his head. "Tomorrow at the earliest, but he gave nothing set in stone."
Perfect, that calculating little voice purred. "The boys will be with their tutors all morning, and I'd like a walk in the gardens. Attend me."
Andulvar stood immediately. Heketah gracefully rose from the table and brushed past him, letting her hips fall into a rhythmic sway that even the Ebon-Gray couldn't ignore. He loathed her, she was his Brother's wife, but she was still a very beautiful woman and she was going to use that unwanted attraction to her utmost advantage.
Leading Andulvar through the stately rows of flowers and shrubs was eerily akin to the day she had returned to her sons; a steady, silent figure at her back, echoing every step with one of his own. This time, however, she passed on by the bench where her eldest had taught her one of the key ingredients to his father's downfall and only hesitated at the entrance to the wing where her quarters resided.
The Eyrien was so close that their shadows overlapped into a single, winged mass, cast on the wall in front of her. Heketah turned around and laid a hand on Andulvar's chest, directly above his speeding heart. On any other man, she would have called the expression he wore rage, had his eyes not been blown wide with more than her spells.
Closing that final distance between them, she smiled up so, so sweetly. "Join me in my chambers, Prince."
Inside, when his mouth slanted to hers, all Hekatah could taste was victory.