Page 39 of Hupotasso
“Sometimes you just have to know where to look.”
She jerks her head, motioning to another set of cupboards along the far wall, cupboards I hadn’t seen when I’d first entered due to the dim light mitigated only by the vast fireplace. Inside is a veritable treasure trove of candy and sweets.
Handing me a cinnamon doughnut powdered with sugar and filled with raspberry jam, she takes one herself and inserts her finger into the hole, scooping out the red stickiness and sucking it off her finger as she watches me.
“There’s always a soft centre, even in the hardest of places. You just have to find it and stab it,” she mutters, poking her finger back into the hole and retrieving more gooey jam.
I shake my head as I bite into my doughnut.
“I think Iamthe soft centre,” I mutter with a full mouth, moaning in delight at the delicious, fresh strawberry jam, “and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be stabbed by my husband the moment I bring forth an heir.”
Looking up at me sharply, she pauses eating.
“Is that what he’s told you.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not misunderstanding, as humans often do?”
“He flat out said it on the wedding night, and pretty much every night since.”
“Why?”
“He hates me and wants to marry someone else.”
She nods.
Part of me wants her to say, ‘no, he doesn’t’ — but I guess she knows him as well as I do.
“And?” She prompts after a moment of silence.
“And what?”
“And what is the cause of this hatred? I watched the show, it appeared he favoured you above all others. I saw no evidence of an undercurrent of malice.”
I shake my head.
“That’s just it, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that. I thought I’d been completely duped. But if you, his sister…”
“Don’t call me that.”
“OK, but,” I clear my throat. “If you, someone who knows him well, thinks he had feelings for me…”
“I never said that.”
I breathe out deeply and stare at her.
“I said I saw no sign of malice. If that’s changed, you must have done something.”
I shake my head.
Normally, I wouldn’t bother going into the whole drama. I certainly hadn’t done so with Falcon’s mother, or anyone else for that matter. I presumed Caroline had known the full story, but she was dead, and the dead spill no secrets. But since Falcon hadjust told me, still warm from my arms, that he loathes me, and Isabel’s promise to rescue me was empty, what do I have to lose?
“Falcon thinks I’m a spy.”
She cocks her head to the side, her eyes suddenly alight.
“For whom?”
