Page 40 of Hupotasso
“Count Spider Dartlore.”
“And are you?”
“God no. I never met the creep until the final ceremony when he kissed my wrist.”
“He kissed you? What else?”
I get the feeling she’s more interested than she lets on, but I have nothing to hide and I’m starved for conversation and company. So I tell her everything, from the moment Spider looked at Giselle’s body, right up to the wedding and what my husband said to me at the altar.
She’s impassive and doesn’t interrupt my telling, and it all spills out in a torrent.
“So,” I go on. “I guess I have a matter of months until I get pregnant, at least at this rate, and then nine months from there until I’m in the grave — unless I can escape or, long shot, get him to see the truth and fall in love with me.”
“Or you produce a girl.”
“What difference will that make?”
“First-born secondary royals are used as templates.”
“Templates?”
I reach past the doughnuts and claim a large slice of chocolate cake.
“Never mind. And there is no escape, so don’t bother trying.”
I ignore her assertion for the moment, still fixated on her previous comment.
“Hang on. What? You can’t just leave me hanging. What’s a template?”
“It’s not for me to say. All you need to know is that your first-born daughter will be taken from you the day she turns three. You’ll never see her again.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Apparently that’s something you and your husband agree on,” she sniggers.
“Yes,” I moan, dropping my head into my hands, the cake forgotten. “I expect regardless of giving him a girl or a boy, I’ll be murdered as soon as I’ve ‘done my duty.’
“No,” she snorts. “You can’t get out of it that easily. This is theDragonspurfamily.”
“What do you mean?” I look at her from between my fingers.
“He needs an heir. Amaleheir. You’ll be used as a baby factory until that happens.”
“No!” I gasp. “He told me, heemphaticallytold me that I just need to produce a child, and then he’ll do away with me.”
“Don’t be naive. The Families wouldn’t be appeased if he dispensed with you after just one baby if it was nothing more than a girl. You have to produce a boy.”
“Oh, Christ. So, you’re telling me this hell might go on for years?”
“It could do. Or he could remarry and have a son with someone else. Thatmightappease The Families.”
‘Oh God, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.’
“Until then,” I whisper, “I guess we’re going to need a bigger cupboard,” I motion to the candy stash, “or…might you help me escape?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “And stay away from the candy. You’re not welcome down here.”
I jump a little at her words, another unexpected little hurt.
