A/N: At the very beginning of this massive project, I said I wanted to include one-shots and segments of the TBaH universe that weren't all connected to the story of the Kinnley kids. A Hundred Summer Suns is a passion project I've been building through Pinterest boards, late night snap chats and Instagram messages with Anj, and seven (!) years of writing the iconic Miss Heather Bloomsdale. I realize not everyone loves Heather to the same degree Anj and I do, but one of my biggest regrets at the end of TBaH was not giving Heather the closure she (and we all) so desperately needed. So here it is: thousands of words of angst, love, and healing for our favorite girl. I hope you all enjoy!
Summary: After the events of TBaH, Heather Bloomsdale goes to India with one goal in mind: to forget about her father, Illéa, and the king she left behind. As she settles into her bright new career as the youngest Vice Counselor to Queen Riya, cultures clash, enemies are made, doors are opened into the past, and Heather is left to question if she really made the right choice.
A Hundred Summer Suns Part I
Record heatwaves rolled through Jaipur the summer Heather Bloomsdale arrived from Illéa. Even at night, the air crackled with the static of storms and hummed with cicada song. That did nothing to stop those who lived inside the walls of the Pink Palace from lighting lanterns and bonfires in the courtyard, warming themselves with spiced wines into the cooler, muggier hours.
From her perch on the balcony, Heather surveyed a variety of festivities. Laughter pealed from the smaller children out past their bedtime. Aunties and Uncles danced to the strum of a sitar. Cousins gossiped around the gurgle of a fountain. No one noticed Heather amongst the towering trees. The shade from the drooping branches provided a cool escape, and every time the breeze deigned to blow, it carried the sweet smell of jasmine. Jasmine always reminded Heather of her mother - of the reason she wanted to avoid India at all costs before it became her only option.
Despite the heat, Heather pulled the thin fabric of her sari closer to her chest and shivered.
She had packed all wrong, her suitcase full of nothing but blazers and blouses and blue pantsuits. Not that she gave much thought to the searing sun or the sweat stains when throwing everything she owned into boxes and shipping them across the world. Whatever wasn't ruined was quickly replaced with patterned silks and traditional fare. Every day, another little piece of Illéa chipped away.
Just like she wanted.
"There you are!"
Heather sighed, bracing herself as she turned to face the middle-aged woman gliding her way. Gliding was the appropriate word; Heather never recalled a time her Auntie Janki was anything less than divine from the way she looked to the way she moved. Auntie Janki looked divinely worried at this moment, and perhaps a little annoyed. Her dark eyes were equal parts concerned and peeved, her lips pressed into a dark line. And she never spoke in English unless she was trying to get Heather's direct attention. That was how she knew she was screwed.
"Naina has been asking for you."
"Sorry, Auntie," Heather apologized. It was important to say the words even if she didn't mean them. "I didn't mean to make you worry."
"Save your apologies for the bride." Janki took Heather by the arm and looped her own through so that they stood side by side, attached as proper ladies were. "Come."
Janki steered them both back inside where the air moved less freely, stirred only by their skirts swishing at their ankles. These halls echoed laughs and shouts, music and fanfare, but all of it in the wrong direction. Heather wished desperately to join the party, if only for a drink. It would make the evening so much more tolerable.
They wound through a series of halls and corridors until finally they reached a room with two heavy doors, one propped open and obscured by a thin veil. When pushed aside, the room revealed a menagerie of women both old and young scurrying around the center where another woman sat on a heap of embroidered silks and pillows. Low tables piled high with food and drink were plucked at by hungry hands while other hands busied themselves with the tedious task of painting the hands and feet of the woman on the pillows.
"Mama!" Naina cried, reaching out with her unpainted hand. "Look how beautiful I am!"
"Absolutely stunning, my love." Janki kissed Naina on her forehead, brushing her lips across the place where tomorrow a bindi would rest forever more. "Careful not to smudge."
The henna would take an hour to dry, though some was already crusting to a dark, flaky brown. Once the Mehndi ceremony was complete, Naina's body would be a canvas of geometrical swirls, dots, and flowers. A blooming, blushing, blossoming bride for her husband. A man she had never met - never even seen outside of pictures - but that was none of Heather's business. He was a Prince and he had a lot of money, and that was all that mattered. At least, according to her entire family.
"And where have you been hiding?" Naina asked in Hindi, finally spying Heather where she had tried to slink back into the shadows.
"It's too hot in here."
"You Illéans and your need for cold air," Naina scoffed and rolled her eyes. A few girls to her side laughed but did not dare speak more. Heather grit her teeth. Though she was an Illéan in the eyes of practically everyone, she was still royalty. Barely.
"Come, sit by me." Naina patted the cushion next to her. Heather moved begrudgingly to her cousin's side. It wasn't that Heather disliked Naina - on the contrary, they were closer than any of the cousins - it was that being there, next to Naina, put Heather at the center of attention. And the center of attention was exactly the place Heather swore not to be.
Still, Naina grabbed Heather's hand in her unmarked one and held it tight. "You know, I was so excited when Baba told me you were coming to live with us, just in time for the wedding. I want to share this moment with you so badly, to share in my joy. But cousin, you are a dark cloud looming over what should be a sunny day, and while rain brings life, it also frightens away the guests."
"I only know how to be frightening. I'm more useful that way."
It was true, and everyone knew it. Last night, she was the only one at the Sangeet who didn't dance. Tonight, she was the last to drag herself to the Mehndi, her bare hands and feet a reflection of her unwillingness to join. She didn't know how to do things the easy way, to give in, to have fun. She only knew how to fight. It was the only thing her mother gave her before she died. That, and her eyes.
"Right now, you are more useful to me not as some boring senator, or whatever that child king had you playing at, but as my beloved cousin." She squeezed Heather's hand tightly, the smile on her face beatific. She meant no harm, didn't intend to bring up old wounds or make Heather flinch. "Just stay with Hemali and Ananaya. They will keep you company, and are great fun!"
Heather needed no persuasion on the merits of her cousins. Hemali and Ananaya were wonderful and had been nothing but kind and patient with her since her arrival. Much more so than Naina, herself. At the moment, the two sisters were pretending they weren't listening to the "private" conversation by stuffing their faces with candied dates and rich dark chocolates. Hemali had smudged some chocolate on the curve of her double chin and had more hidden in her pockets for later, likely thinking herself clever.
"You don't have to worry," Heather assured, patting Naina's hand once before pulling away. "Your wedding will be absolutely perfect."
"Oh, I know it will," Naina said, the dreamy quality returning to her eyes.
The women painting the mehndi demanded her other hand, and Naina gave it over without a fuss, ready to be balanced. The finished hand was so chock full of designs they were hard to pick apart, intricate and fine. Only the best for a princess.
India's most-coveted bachelorette was about to be taken off the market. There was once a time that dreamy quality to Naina's eye would be due to all the broken hearts left in her wake. Now, her heart belonged to her one and only prince, a man whose face had better be likened to a Greek god in order to deserve such adoration.
"I cannot wait to be carried away in a carriage, or by elephants! Did you get me an elephant, Mama?"
"Patience, my love," Janki soothed, watching serenely over the painting process. "You don't want to spoil the surprise."
"She says this all the time, it drives me mad!" Naina complained in good nature, too much glee in her voice to hold real resentment. Whether it be by procession, carriage, or elephant, Naina's farewell would be only one moment in a litany of once-in-a-lifetime events.
A servant came forward and bowed her head, a large package draped over her outstretched arms. "Your Highness, it has arrived."
The servant spoke to Janki, but it was Naina who squealed in delight.
"Bring it here!"
Janki took the package from the servant and brought it over to her daughter. It had to be the ceremonial lehenga; Naina could speak of little to nothing else the whole day before the Mehndi started, speculating over what patterns it would hold and what shade of red. Anticipation built as Janki pulled on the loose twine that held the package together.
When the skirt was finally revealed, all was silent.
"This is what they want me to wear?" Naina cried, upset. She threw her hands to the side, and the women working on them hissed in shock, fearful of the damage to their hard work. "I can't get married in that!"
"Come now darling, it's not that bad," Janki tried, and failed to soothe her daughter. It did was not convincing when Janki did not believe the lie herself, cringing at the loud pattern and abundance of beadwork.
"It's a monstrosity!"
"Some traditional elements can be a good thing."
"Who knew Jodha Akbar was getting married," Ananaya commented loud enough for Naina to hear.
Hemali smiled through chocolate-stained lips. "I think I saw something similar in grandmother's closet not too long ago."
Both younger sisters laughed. Naina screamed in frustration, then picked up a pillow and threw it right into Hemali's face.
"Cows! Both of you!" she shouted, tears smarting at her eyes. "My wedding is ruined!"
"That's enough!" Janki shouted, silencing the room immediately. She turned her serene anger to Naina first, taking the skirt from her daughter's impulsive hands before she tore it to shreds. "You will wear this to the ceremony to appease your future family then change into your own clothes for the parties, and I will hear nothing more of it."
Naina's lips wobbled, but no more protesting came from them.
"As for you two - " Janki turned to her other daughters " - you will be kind to your sister. One day you will be married, and you will have to go through similar struggles. Would you want family to laugh at you?" Hemali and Ananaya remained silent, and Janki nodded, appeased. "I thought not. You are sisters and you love each other. Act as such."
Three girls gave each other skeptical glances, Naina's more of a begrudging glare. But none of them were foolish enough to argue.
"Now," Janki said, folding the skirt nicely back into its packaging and balancing it across one graceful arm. "I will go speak to the groom's mother and see if anything can be done."
Business handled, Janki sauntered out of the room, leaving the door open behind her.
Silence filled the room in her absence. No one was brave enough to offer an olive branch. As the eldest and the instigator of the bad behavior, it was Naina's responsibility to smooth things over, but she was in no mood for amnesty. Instead, she kept her chin pointed straight ahead, looking at no one. The henna artists worked on, likely grateful for the silence.
Just when Heather had enough of this exquisite torture, Hemali let out a long belch.
Ananaya and Naina squealed with laughter.
"You're disgusting!" Naina cried, kicking her feet since she could not throw her hands to ward away the sickly-sweet stench.
"Apparently I am a cow!"
Hemali could not stop laughing, rolling into the pillows with Ananaya heaped over her. If not for her hands, Naina would no doubt be pinching both their sides, ruffling their hair, generally acting the menace. Then there was Heather, sitting to the side, watching. Always watching.
"I'm sorry," Naina finally apologized with a heavy sigh, pouting out her bottom lip like a kicked puppy. "Forgive me?"
"I suppose..." Hemali sighed and waved the fight away, water under the bridge.
"Maybe if the skirt is ruined, you won't have to wear it," Ananaya mused, holding up a melting chocolate in her willowy arm. Everything about that girl was long limbs and sharp edges. "A few of these might do the trick."
"Hey! I'm saving those for later!" Hemali snatched the chocolate back and popped it into her mouth. Unlike her sister, everything about her was set wide with supple curves and soft depressions.
Complete opposites, and yet they shared the same laugh, the same blood, the same bond. Naina fell somewhere in the middle, the image of a perfect woman with just the right amount of everything. She would make her husband a happy man, and yet, what would happen to this picture of three sisters, perfectly balanced? Would Naina leave a hole big enough for Heather to fit?
Heather desperately wanted to be part of that.
"What do you think, cousin?" Naina asked, head cocked to the side conspiratorially.
Three pairs of eyes landed on Heather, waiting for her verdict. Not even during Janki's lashing had the room stood so still. Heather knew the right answer, the political answer.
"I think we should let Auntie handle it."
"Boooooring," Hemali sing-songed to the tune of Ananaya's snickers, and though she was joking, she still said, "You ruin all the fun!"
Yes, Heather thought, all hope of fitting in dying with their laughter. Yes I do.
.o.O.o.
The heat did not relent the next morning, not even for a wedding, and Heather could already feel sweat dripping down her brow. It would be worse up front, so close to the mandap - the decorated, four-pillar canopy where the ceremony would take place - yet so far from its shade.
Over eight-hundred guests had been invited to share in the spectacle, crowding the Pink Palace's great lawn to capacity, a feat that Heather previously thought impossible. Everyone was dressed colorfully, a rainbow sea of the rich and famous. Heather had no control over her outfit, Naina having picked out the saris for all the cousins. Hers was a shade of clear blue to match her eyes, edged in gold and embroidered with copious flowers. There was something automatically upsetting about dressing like a garden, but it was better than Ananaya's banana yellow ensemble. Everything about it screamed revenge for the lehenga comments.
A shady tree provided refuge close to the mandap. Underneath it, Hemali and Ananaya waved to Heather, beckoning her to join them. Janki wasn't with them as she was needed under the mandap itself along with her husband and the groom's parents. Four pillars for four parents, leaving everyone else who wasn't lucky enough to claim the shady tree at the sun's mercy.
Unfortunately, fate decided that her journey should not be an easy one. The Devil stopped her in her tracks half-way there.
"Uncle."
It was hard to be polite to such an insufferable man, but Heather had no choice but to incline her head and show respect. Rahul was the heir to the throne, the future king once Riya decided to give up her iron-clad grip on the country, and he acted every inch the spoiled prince. Servants followed him and fell at his feet. People parted to clear the way as soon as they saw him coming. No one spoke back to him, ever.
Which was probably one of the many reasons why they could not stand each other.
"I did not expect them to seat you this close," Rahul said snidely, his gaze focused on the mandap where Janki - his beloved sister - and her husband were helping to settle Naina amidst skirts that looked suspiciously unlike the ones presented last night. "This area is for family, after all."
"I am family."
"Barely." Rahul gave Heather a withering glare, as if even looking at her made him dirty. "Your mother was a whore who turned her back on her people for an angrazee. You're no more family than he is."
That hurt, but Heather had come to expect it. Her uncle was a bastard, and he knew how to make his words hurt. How his own wife could stand him was a mystery.
"Fortunately our queen doesn't see things that way."
"Hmmmm," Rahul hummed unhappily, his mouth turned down in a scowl. "Luck runs out eventually. When it's my turn to rule, I'll see the trash taken out to the gutter where it belongs."
Heather pinched out a smile. She'd heard worse, of course. No one seemed to like having her around except for Janki and her cousins. And Riya. Riya was very supportive, Heather's only ally, and the one who took a massive gamble by appointing Heather as Vice Counselor despite her age and her blood. Riya was used to taking risks, and at her age had nothing to lose, but that didn't mean Heather had to like it.
Work could speak for itself. It didn't matter how hard she fought in council meetings or how many of her ideas were good. No one wanted to listen to what she had to say, and the only reason people eventually did was because of Riya's insistence. Heather was used to all that. She was used to fighting and clawing and proving herself. What she wasn't used to was having the people she had to fight be family.
Thankfully, not all members of her family were utter bastards.
Ananaya saved her seat underneath the tree and Heather was grateful for the reprieve to cool not only her heated body but her heated spirit. Anger rolled through her, made her pull at the grass and rip it from the earth. Hemali looked at her worriedly, exchanging glances with her sister.
"Everything alright cousin?" Hemali asked, fiddling with the hem of her forest green sari. The band of the top cut into the skin above her belly button in a way that could not have been comfortable in this heat. She cooled herself with a wooden fan, though it did not stop the sweat.
"Fine. Everything is fine," Heather lied, breathing in deeply through her nose and out through her mouth. "Our uncle may be the death of me."
"Here, this may help."
Ananaya passed over a glass of something dark and sticky, condensation beading against the rim. Heather was careful not to drip as she took a sip, then spluttered. This was not wine. This was something far stronger and most definitely sacreligious. Heather shot her cousin a look like she had lost her mind, to which Ananaya only winked.
Mad women, all of them.
The drink that tasted suspiciously like whiskey did help the wedding go by quicker, and it helped with the heat. It was infinitely easier to acclimate to the temperature outside when she was also warm on the inside. Many ceremonies and words and vows and things were exchanged, there were trips around the mandap and tears and applause and honestly it all sounded like buzzing in Heather's ears (though that was probably the alcohol). And thank all that was holy for that, because the wedding dragged on for hours. It went so long, Heather thought that Hemali was going to pass out from heat stroke, and that was if she didn't die from sheer exhaustion from batting her fan so quickly. Ananaya actually took a nap for thirty minutes.
Just when Heather thought she couldn't take any more, up and away the happy couple went. Everyone got up and followed the procession through the gardens until they reached the long-awaited carriage which would take her on a parade around the grounds. Naina shrieked and cried from joy. Rice was thrown in her face. All of it was for show because they had to be back in the palace in two hours for the never-ending reception.
Heather needed another drink.
.o.O.o.
"I would like to give a toast!"
All heads turned towards the boisterous voice and the robust man it belonged to. Truly, the groom's father was a man of legendary proportions. He would keep the crowds entertained with pleasant words while they ate what Heather's stomach felt was the sixth course of dinner.
Now was the time to strike.
"There!" whispered Ananaya from behind a large floral arrangement, pointing to a pair of gold silk slippers atop a pillow near the table where the bride and groom sat. Unfortunately, that pillow was also next to the makeshift podium currently used for toasts.
Hemali shook Heather's shoulder, alive with the thrill of the chase. "I will distract Naina. You know what to do."
Heather nodded. It was her job to take the slippers and take them somewhere secure. Only then could Hemali extort the groom for some obscene amount of money, houses, or jewels. Most families probably asked for a couple of bills, but most families weren't royalty.
Whiskey sloshed pleasantly around Heather's brain, easing her anxiety, but she was not to the point where the room spun. Yet. That was the goal, but she promised Hemali this one thing. After that promise was fulfilled, Heather planned on blacking the rest of the night out.
Hemali must have had a couple glasses of wine as well, the confidence in her swagger laughable as she paced in front of the newlyweds and pretended to have a morsel of gossip to tell her sister. Any other day, Naina would eat that morsel without hesitation. Tonight, she shoved her sister away, aggravated that she could not hear her husband's father lavish her with praise.
Caught in their bickering, the sisters kept their attention to the side which allowed Heather to sneak behind and quickly snatch the shoes from their resting place. One benefit of being on the outside was that no one stopped her. No one even noticed. She tucked the shoes under her sari and backed out of the banquet hall.
Outside in the courtyard, the sounds of the party turned muted. Only a few stragglers lingered here - those who needed a smoke break or a moment of peace to still the wine in their stomachs. The air had turned humid and muggy, signaling impending rain that had the good grace to hold off a while longer, as if it knew Naina's wrath at being soaked. Jasmine hung heavy in the breezeless evening, choking all other scents. Even the water in the fountain stood still, clear enough for Heather to catch her reflection...
...and the reflection of someone else just over her shoulder.
"What are you doing with Rohit's shoes?"
Heather was caught. She looked up to see someone watching: a broad, handsome someone with dark eyes and a stubbled jawline. She remembered him from the Sangeet, remembered how he ran into her by accident there as well though he had the good grace not to open his mouth. She remembered how he smiled at her then as he did now: like a hundred suns cresting the horizon all at once. She remembered how Hemali and Ananaya had grabbed her by the wrist and steered her away before he could introduce himself.
Do not get caught in his spell, Hemali had whispered as they ran away, finding refuge behind a pillar. That man is a shameless womanizer.
Heather did not tell Hemali that she had no need to worry, that there was no chance of her falling under any man's spell. That required a working heart and a willingness to fall, and Heather had neither. She was still at the bottom of the cliff, scraping herself off the shoreline from the disaster of her first.
Two accidental run-ins were a pattern. Her stalker wore the most brilliant shade of emerald accented with creams and gold, far more decadent than most of the guest list - fit to be a prince, himself. Opulent displays of power never cowed Heather before. She kept her head held high and her jaw jutted outward, a perfect display of cool defiance.
"If he wanted them so badly, he should have kept a better eye on them."
"Ah, but he only has eyes for his new bride." His gaze tracked from the happy couple spinning circles on the dance floor, visible through wide open windows and tiny as figurines in a music box, back to Heather. "Your eyes shine blue as sapphires and are more beautiful than all the stars in the night sky."
Was he really...was he flirting with her?
Heather arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Does that work on all the women you talk to?"
"You are the only woman I have spoken to all evening, besides my mother, of course." The man leaned against the nearest pillar and crossed his arms over his chest. They were nice arms, Heather could admit. Strong but not overly so, with definition shown beneath the green of his sleeves. "Would you like to hear more?"
"Absolutely not."
Heather would not play this game, would not get caught up in the words and whims of romance. Especially not on her cousin's wedding night. She knew she was the 'exotic', the 'unknown', with her blue eyes and lighter skin and strange accent. Men and their carnal fascinations with something so similar and yet so other was bound to get her this kind of attention at some point. That didn't mean she had to stand there and take it.
"I could wax poetry about the roses in your cheeks or the shine of your - "
"Here!" She thrust the shoes into his chest so that he had no choice but to stop talking and grab hold of them. "Take the shoes if it shuts your mouth."
Hemali was going to be so pissed she didn't get her money, but there were worse things to endure.
A mischievous smile curved up his lips as he held up the shoes, one in each hand. "And if I wanted to give you poetry anyway?"
"Then I would walk away."
As she turned to go, a hand on her wrist prevented Heather from taking another step. Heather spun back around, ready to snatch her hand back and use it to slap this outrageous bastard across his suave face. But the intensity of her anger died when he took her hand, raised it to his lips, and placed a kiss oh so carefully to her knuckles. Electricity crackled down her arm, tingling in the place where his lips met her skin. The barest brush of a touch that tossed her whole body off-kilter.
She had not been touched so gently, so romantically, so intimately since Kaden -
No.
That was one train of thought she would not entertain.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine." Heather took a deep breath and snatched her hand back, grateful that his grip had loosened even further. She rubbed at her wrist, trying to wipe away the memory of another touch.
"If this is about losing the shoes, I can give them back. Rohit doesn't seem to care about this particular tradition."
"Forget about the damn shoes," Heather snapped, and the stranger flinched. That was cruel. Heather needed to get a grip before she made even more enemies. She pinched the bridge of her nose and focused on her breathing. "I'm sorry, it's just...this damn wedding..."
"I get it. Weddings bring out a different side in all of us."
Heather wouldn't know. She'd never been to a wedding before - too far from her family in India, too far removed from anyone other than her father in Illéa. Her father would never let her fly across the ocean on her own for all the parties. He said they were better off without cousins nipping at their heels. There was nothing they couldn't do together. They were all each other needed.
What a load of shit.
Weddings, Heather decided, were not her scene. Too noisy, too crowded, too uncoordinated. It sent her skin crawling to see so many wrong people mashed together at uneven tables, to see the room set up in such a maze that it minimized the number of people Rohit and Naina could greet. If she had planned this wedding, everything would function at maximum efficiency.
Briefly, she wondered, who was going to plan Kaden and Finnley's wedding. Would it be Brice? Would it be Josie? Someone else? It was none of Heather's business, and she banished the thought as quicky as the text message.
What Heather needed right now more than anything was a distraction. Thankfully, one was staring her right in the face with the deepest brown eyes.
"They bring out he inner romantic in you," Heather teased, smiling in a way she knew was flirtatious. She knew she was playing with fire; this guy probably thought she had crazy mood swings. But he was handsome and willing and just her type...minus the terrible poetry.
"Truth be told, I'm not usually this bold. I'm actually quite shy."
Hemali's warning rang through Heather's ears. She ignored it.
"Nooo, you don't say," Heather faked a gasp and rolled her eyes. Much to her pleasant surprise, the man laughed. She liked the sound of it, hearty and deep. It stirred something behind her navel, a familiar impulse that caused her heartbeat to quicken. The thrill of the chase, the thrum of attraction, the knowledge that this man wanted her. Such an easy game to play... "You know, you never introduced yourself."
"I could say the same to you." He took a step closer, then another, until there was barely a foot of space between them. Seems like they both could play the game. "Do you want to know my name?"
"Not really."
Heather leaned in and pulled him down by the collar, kissing him hard and giving him exactly what he wanted.
It was easy to get caught up in the game, to sigh and groan and give into every little impulse. It was even easier when the man under Heather's spell was as fit as this one, was as attuned to her as she was to him. Scary, she thought for a flicker of a second, when he pulled her in by the small of her waist and she realized just how easy it would be for him to pick her up. He wasn't that much taller than she was, but those two inches might as well have been mountains for how she had to lean to kiss him, high on her tip toes so long her calves burned but it was so good she couldn't stop.
Hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer and closer still. There was too much distance. There was not enough space.
"Should we - " he gasped, and Heather took the opportunity to bite her way down his neck. "Should we slow down? We just met."
She paused, but only for a moment, and peered up through thick lashes. Let the sapphires do the talking. "Do you want to?"
He hesitated. That's when she knew she had won.
"Not really."
"Then shut up."
Bless him, he didn't say a damn word until Heather pulled him into her bedroom and slammed the door. Then, every other word was yes.
.o.O.o.
Heather woke before the sunrise.
It was hard to get comfortable in this heat, and with the added body heat of another person, sleep was impossible. She stared at the ceiling while the man beside her snored, completely oblivious to the world boiling around him. He was quite handsome now that Heather had the chance to admire him. A strong jawline, soft hair, a boyish quality to his looks while he was lost in his dreams. A nice ass too, while she was at it.
She slipped out of bed and padded over to her vanity, running a bristled brush through her knotted hair. It took a bit of work to smooth down, but soon her hair fell pin straight down her back, not a tangle in sight. A bit of concealer to hide the bites and bruises, a swipe of mascara and lipstick, and she was ready.
Council would not convene until eight, but there was plenty of work to be done.
Heather's phone lit up. She had long since gotten rid of the chiming, but the light was enough to signal a new message this early in the morning. Cautious fingers hovered over the messages app, the name on the banner a gunshot to her wounded heart. Maybe she was a masochist, but she opened the conversation.
Kaden had gotten a phone just before she left, slipped the number into a forgotten pocket of her briefcase where he knew she wouldn't immediately find it.
So far there was only one message that simply read: please stay.
All lower case, no punctuation, sent fifteen minutes before her plane took off. As if by some stroke of fate she would read those two little words and run back into his arms.
It took Heather a whole flight and three drinks to type out: i love you, but no fucking way.
Drunk from vodka and loneliness, the only combination that would make Heather craft something so reckless, so ruinous. And yet, even at her lowest, she couldn't press send. She left the message in the box in a damning halo of blue. That night, her first night half way across the world, so far from home and yet the homeland of her mother and her mother's mother and all the women who came before her, she fell asleep with tears in her eyes and that message under her pillow.
When she woke up, she erased the message altogether.
That was six months ago. Now, in the height of July, still drunk off the whiskey and the crippling realization that Naina got everything she almost had and blew up through her fingers, Heather set her sights on heartache.
you took the sun with you when you left
It was the middle of the night in Illéa. There was no good reason for him to be awake. He shouldn't be awake.
She set her fingers to the keyboard and typed, I miss you.
"Where are you going?"
The man in her bed was sitting upright, sheets pooled at his waist to exposed a hairy chest and strong arms. He rubbed blearily at his eyes, confused, and raised a hand to her, beckoning her back. "Come back to bed."
"I have work to do."
"It's a wedding night. There will be no work for days."
"But - "
"Come back. Sleep. You need it. You tossed and turned all night."
Heather sighed gave into this impossible, foolish man. She didn't know why she listened to him, just that he was right and she was tired and perhaps, just maybe, she was also tired of having to work twice as hard as everyone else. She deserved a day - or a morning - off.
She left her phone on the vanity, message unsent.
Climbing back into the bed, Heather tucked herself under the thinnest, coolest layer of sheets and faced her beautiful distraction.
"Sapphires," he murmured, staring at her in wonder.
He ran a hand through her hair, twiddling the brush-soft pieces between his fingers. She must look better than most women in the morning considering she had time to put her face on.
There was no change in the temperature, no reprieve from the endless heat. And yet, Heather found herself slipping into sleep with a firm chest against her back.
.o.O.o.
The next time Heather woke, the sun was already high in the sky, spreading blistering warmth through the white linen curtains.
Two, perhaps three hours had passed since she returned to bed, yet she felt ridiculously well-rested. She stretched her muscles, the joints in her back popping one vertebra at a time. They needed more soothing, more stretching after last night's and this early morning's activities.
However, when she reached to the side, she was greeted with empty sheets. Sometime before the sun rose, the bastard had beat her at her own game and snuck out while she was still asleep.
To make matters worse, her bedroom door flew open and someone else came flying in.
"What are you doing in bed?" Janki asked, eyes wide in disbelief, the closest to frantic Heather had ever seen her. "You missed breakfast! We have to be by the river in an hour!"
Oh shit. The wedding.
Heather scrambled out of bed while Janki sauntered over to the bathroom and turned the faucet on the great, claw-foot tub.
"No time," Heather muttered, reaching for her brush to fix the knots that had reworked themselves during her cat nap. "I would kill for some dry shampoo."
The water stopped running. In the mirror, Janki's refection stood behind Heather, took the brush from Heather gently yet firmly in one hand, and opened a jar of fragrant oil in another. She dipped the bristles into the oil, shook the excess, and ran the brush back through Heather's hair. The result was something miraculous: smooth, glossy hair that smelled like jasmine and something otherworldly.
"There," Janki sighed, placing the brush down on the vanity and reaching for a tube of lipstick next. She dabbed some on her finger and blended the rouge into Heather's cheeks until it likened a natural blush. The rest was used for Heather's lips, a perfect amount that it resembled a natural tint from eating one too many cherries.
Janki tilted Heather's chin in one direction, then another, assessing her work. Her smile of approval was motherly, having done this for her own daughters time and time again. Heather felt a lump grow in her throat at the realization that her own mother was not there to do such simple, mundane a thing as make her presentable the morning after a family wedding.
"Beautiful girl," Janki praised, then placed a kiss to her forehead just as she did to Naina two nights prior. No bindi marked Heather's forehead, and likely never would. Then, Janki made a growling sound and shook her head. "You drive me crazy, just like your mother. Finish getting ready - something simple and colorful will do. No need to dress up. Just meet us at the docks in an hour, before the ceremony starts. The Queen will be waiting for you."
So many ceremonies. So much celebration. It wore Heather down to her core. It felt so wrong to celebrate so soon after so much tragedy.
Yet, she plastered a smile to her auntie and thanked her for saving the day. That appeased Janki, and she left Heather to her own devices, shutting the door so softly behind her that not even the curtains rustled.
.o.O.o.
Down by the river, a group of people a hundred strong stood around the dock. They all faced a single pier where a couple stood hand in hand, chains of flowers in their outstretched hands. Petals fell from the docks into the river below, a gift to Ganga Ma, Goddess of Water. Her power flowed from heaven through the earth; Naina and Rohit threw petals in by the handful as an offering for fertility. After all, no royal marriage was worth a damn thing in the eyes of the law or the gods without heirs.
It was hard to tell how long they had been praying before Heather slunk into the back of the crowd. She passed Ananaya on the way who pressed a clump of wilted petals into Heather's hand. Heather wasn't sure if she was up to joining in the fun, but there would be no choice if her cousin's sharp nod meant anything.
Oh, wait. Ananaya wasn't nodding at the petals. She was nodding at the white-haired woman hobbling her way.
"There you are girl!" Riya harrumphed and marched over to Heather, taking her forcefully by the arm. Two guards stood a respectful five feet back from their queen, always alert to potential danger, oblivious to the universal truth that the only danger Riya faced was herself. Anyone else would be mad to try and touch the Viper of Rajasthan. "You left me alone last night, you ungrateful wretch. You know I hate being left alone at those things."
Heather let the words wash over her, finding comfort in Riya's caustic personality.
"Of course, Your Majesty. How could I forget?"
Riya slapped Heather's arm - the arm that currently supported the old woman as they tottered across the dock - and commanded to be taken to the edge to throw her own petals in the river. From across the way, Heather could feel Rahul's eyes bearing down on her with disdain. She didn't look up, didn't look his way, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of even acknowledging he existed. The miserable bastard wasn't her problem to deal with, not today.
"Did you manage to enjoy the ceremony?"
"Bah," Riya spat, her thin lips twisted into a sour pucker. "Your cousin has filled her head with daydreams that will dry up faster than rain in the desert. I give it three years, four if they're lucky. None of you young bloods have what it takes to make a marriage last."
"Didn't you have your husband exiled?"
"Only when he was aggravating." He must have been aggravating often, Heather thought, but she kept that to herself. Riya seemed to read her mind, huffing, "At least he had the good grace to die young."
"Thank God."
Deities had little to do with it, and much to do with the collection of knives Riya kept on her person at all times back in the day. No one ever spoke ill of their queen, but it was common speculation that the former king did not die in a tragic hunting accident. Heather didn't know much about bear traps, but she knew enough to recognize they shouldn't pierce a man through the neck.
Heather froze when she reached the end of the dock. Brown water swirled pink and red petals in a slow-moving vortex, hypnotizing. Riya added her handful to the collection, petals falling like snow until they mixed with all the others, indistinguishable. The old woman's lips moved in silent prayer, and Heather wished, selfishly, that Riya would speak a little louder so that she could know what to say.
Heather wasn't a practicing Hindu. She didn't know what to believe or who to believe in. Her mom never cared for the religion of her people and her father claimed to be atheist. They never pushed their beliefs on her, never dragged her to church or temple or service in the hopes that she would find purpose through God. No, the only purpose any of them found was in their work, and in each other. Now, there she stood: a girl with no family and no work, purposeless and unable to pray.
Still, she closed her eyes. Ganga Ma wasn't only a Goddess of Water; she was a mother, a healer, the personification of purification and forgiveness. The beating heart of this great nation. If anyone could give her guidance, give her peace of mind, it was Ganga Ma.
The thing was, Heather wasn't sure she deserved it.
Petals slipped from Heather's iron clad grip, one by one, until all were gone save one. This one Heather folded into her palm and squeezed, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not let go.