"I've taken the liberty—" is an apologetic phrase which Harika rapidly comes to loathe.
Vespidine korvu by-Tenstone korvu Overmore kanru Tjenwater apologetically takes the liberty of speaking to Harri's boss, to ensure she has the day free to attend the wedding ("as a friend of the family"), without any wrangling about her holiday allowance. And that's eminently practical and sensible, because one of the korvu by-Tenstone korvu Overmore kanru Tjenwater can simply speak to one's boss and make that kind of thing happen.
"Everybody knows exactly what kind of friend of the family I am," Harri says, hard and bitter, instead of the polite, reflexive thank you that wants to bubble out of her.
Vespidine apologetically takes the liberty of arranging a visit to a tailor, without telling Harri until the last minute. Which is eminently practical and sensible, because Harri is attending the wedding on Vespidine's arm, and the korvu by-Tenstone korvu Overmore kanru Tjenwaters have standards, and her outfit ought to coordinate with Vespidine's, and properly rise to the occasion; which Harri is not likely to, were she to spend her own money on it.
It's too biliously close to Cos turning up on Harri's doorstep and flinging some priceless, impractical gift at her, put this on and come along, darling — and Harri feels like seizing a handful of dressmaker's pins and stabbing herself deep, bleeding on everything and all of them. But it's rather too many years late to protest at being bought and feeling cheap.
"If you'd rather—" Vespidine says.
"Whatever Miss Vespidine thinks best," Harri cuts her off mulishly, and they look at her, the elven princess and the dressmaker to the likes of elven princesses, and the dressmaker clicks her tongue and looks at Vespidine and then absents herself, holding her tape measure up before her eyes and squinting at it as an excuse, as if to say she needs a different one from the back.
"Harika," Vespidine says.
"I don't care," Harri says. "I don't care about the cut or the colour or what's fashionable this season. None of it."
"I am trying," Vespidine says quietly, "to make this as comfortable for you as I can. I'd let you out of it if I could, Harika, please believe me," and Harri laughs hollowly.
She does.
"Do you think I spent the past six years with all of you despising me because I enjoyed it?" she says. "Being passed up and looked over at work, and at the same time sneered at for anything I could accomplish, all because being Cosimisa's dirty little indiscretion obliterated me as a person in anyone's eyes? I've been around for six years of it because nobody can say no to an elven princess. Nobody can, because nobody's on an equal footing to make any of you listen to it."
The elf goes very, very still; and then, still quietly, but with teeth, says, "Did you — say no to her? Did she...."
There's a quiet, sharp moment.
"Not that," Harri says, and smiles in a ugly, unhappy way. "I might wish I'd ever managed to say no, to that, but — no; do you think I never tried to tell her I'd rather not keep on being glowered at by your family? Or I'd rather not attend this thing, and be in the gossip columns again? Or — anything like that. Do you think? You can't say no to somebody who doesn't respect it when you say no. You can't leave someone who refuses to acknowledge you've done it. And when they're a korvu by-Tenstone korvu Overmore kanru Tjenwater...I like having a job. And being able to rent somewhere to live in this city, ever again. What was going to happen to me, if she did believe it?" She looks the other way from Vespidine, at a table of fabric samples. "Easy, when you're weak, to say: it's terrible here, but at least I know it."
"You're not—" Vespidine says, and then, in a reluctant, papery way: "It's my fault, you know. She brought you to that New Year party — she always brought someone; we never saw them again afterwards, usually. But she kept you around, because — I arrived late, and I asked who you were, and because I'd shown an interest—"
"Cos didn't kept me around for six years because you looked at me once at a New Year party," Harri says, almost scornfully.
"No," Vespidine says, and there's a pause, and she adds, in a careful, controlled way, "not because I looked at you once."
Harri can't breathe. "Stupendous," she chokes out savagely. "I really have just been livestock traded from the one who can't be trusted in public to the one who knows how to keep a dirty secret secret. That's marvellous, simply marvellous."
"Harika—"
"I'm not wearing anything backless for you," Harri says. "The burnt orange would make me look ill. The pale blue would make you look ill. I'm going home."
"Harika, it's not like that—"
"I'm going home," Harri says, and storms out.
It's late, when Harri bangs on the door of the mansion on the Hill.
An underbutler has hardly opened the door before Vespidine appears behind him and waves him away; she stands on the threshold, rocking on the balls of her feet and cupping the back of her neck, grimacing tiredly.
"I'm glad to see you," she says stiffly.
Harri shoves a typewritten sheaf into her chest. "You people can do something for me for once," she snaps.
Vespidine reflexively clutches the papers; she doesn't look down at them.
"Harri," she says.
"No," Harri says. "You want to buy me? I don't have any more choice now than I ever had with Cos? That's what it costs you. Do something about that."
The elf slowly, slowly exhales, moves to the side a little, and makes a tentative enquiring gesture, as if she doesn't quite dare actually ask if Harri's coming inside.
Harri scoffs at her anyway, turns on her heel, and walks all the way back down the path to the front gate of the grounds, chased by the light from the still-open door and the elven silhouette within it.
