Page 5 of Hupotasso

“He did.”

“Great. That’s just great. How the hell are you going to look into his false claims, then? There’s no way a corpse can recant.”

“No,” he grimaces, “it is somewhat problematic.”

“Somewhat problematic,” I whisper, looking away from him and out the window. “That may as well be the story of my life.”

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I sigh as I answer her questions. I’ve only been home two hours and I feel like I’ve walked into the Spanish Inquisition.

What I’d really like to do now is to get as drunk as fuck. But there’s no time.

“Yes, Mother, I’ve cancelled the honeymoon. Jag’s bringing mywifeover on the Lear. I had other business to deal with and came on ahead.”

“Other business?”

She looks up, startled.

“Darling what could be more important than starting your lives together? Settling her into our royal lifestyle and laying the foundation of your marriage?”

She frowns and puts down her pen, eyeing me from across her desk where I stand, hands in pockets. I really can’t face this interrogation right now; my heart’s heavier than I ever recall it being, and I’m more tired and drained than I’ve felt in centuries.

I shake my head.

I can’t tell her that Angelina is a spy, a Spider plant. The fewer people who know, the better. That way when I have the duplicitous bitch killed after she produces a child there’ll be no suspicion that it was anything other than an unexpected and unfortunate accident. Mother must mourn publicly and spectacularly to help cement the tragedy of the loss, should The Families become suspicious.

It’s for the best that she be kept in the dark.

Still, she knows me better than anyone, and although I school my face to be impassive, I can see she suspects something.

“What’s wrong, Falcon?”

“Nothing, Mother. I’ve married, as required by The Families. I’ll spawn an heir with the wife The Games chose, and life will go on as normal.”

She shakes her head and stands as I turn and head towards the door.

“But…”

“That’s all, Mother. Now, if you’ll excuse me, like I said I have business to attend to.”

“Very well, I’ve had your suite prepared to accommodate your bride.”

I pause, my hand on the door handle.

“That won’t be necessary. Angelina will be staying in the West Wing.”

I hear her gasp, but don’t reply, shutting the door firmly behind me as I leave.

The West Wing is where the Dragonspur wives were historically kept. It’s where Father kept Mother locked up away from the rest of the castle and securely monitored for years until she could prove herself obedient.

I don’t think anyone has even been in those rooms since they were closed four hundred years ago or more.

Mother said the West Wing was bereft of warmth and light and so distinctly decorated in the medieval past that it was nothing but a glorified dungeon.

Perfect.

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