Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Emmaline Carpenter is a woman older than my sister Maraline, but probably younger than my mother, or Arthur. I suppose she is probably mid-thirties. She has brilliant blonde hair curled in an ornate up-do that is covered in thin chains of light and diamond. Her makeup is exquisitely and delicately done. Her eyes are lined darkly with smoky shadow, her lips gleam ruby red. Her cheeks and nose are blended with just a light smattering of cosmetic freckling, and tiny bright diamonds have been placed across her brow. She is wearing a silk dress even more beautiful than the ones I saw at the dressmaker’s today. It is pale baby blue layered with lace detailing, cinched at the waist and flowing out into a broad skirt that makes people keep their distance unless they want to step on her hem.
She smiles at me, and I feel as though the sun is shining on me, even in the middle of the night.
“Emmaline, this is my bride, Mila Darken.”
He uses my first name with his last name, and I feel the want of the ceremony that would have made the transition from single woman to married one feel more real.
She looks me up and down, her eyes settling on my face, searching me deeply. This is not the casual glance or smile of a person meeting someone they don’t particularly care about. This is like being inspected by someone who you do not want to find you wanting.
“Such a young bride! The Artifice wants plenty of your progeny, doesn’t it, Arthur.” She lets out a laugh that contains enough charisma to make her comment seem more friendly and encouraging than judgmental.
I am horrified by the mention of babies, because it means of course that she knows about the sex—well, of course she knows about that. That is what brides are for, breeding and babies. It’s not a secret.
But it does make me feel as though everybody present is looking at me the way the crowds looked at the new prize heifer at the county fairs we used to attend. I am being evaluated in their eyes as a vessel for Arthur’s heirs, and nothing more.
“Don’t look so horrified,” Emmaline smiles. “I’m teasing Arthur, not you. You’re a perfect Angelish rose, aren’t you.”
“Thank you,” I say demurely. That’s the safest thing to say. Nobody can possibly take offense at being thanked nicely.
Arthur whisks me away to meet others at that point, which I am grateful for, because speaking to Emmaline feels like being examined cell by cell beneath a particularly elegant microscope. I am not prepared for this level of society. Of course my mother tried to ready her daughters for this, but there was a limit to what could be achieved in our area. This is not the same as the hunt ball, held in our stateroom.
“Why do they keep talking about our babies?” I murmur the question to him when we get a brief moment somewhat on our own.
“There is a theory that the matching is done by way of controlling future genetics. The Artifice does not operate the way men do, with a short-term view of the world. It knows it is building the world yet to come. Short-term pain is acceptable if it leads to long-term gain.”
We have been immediately overheard. People cluster around us, men desperate to be in Arthur’s orbit. They have a particular puppyish energy that makes me realize just how respected he is. I knew Archon-General was an important position, but Arthur is more than merely important. He is a legend among these men.
“In other words, the ends justify the means,” a lady says. She smiles as she says it, as if she knows she is putting a cat amongst the pigeons.
Again, I feel tension fizzling in the air. We did not talk about the Artifice much at home. It was not a subject of discussion, much less controversy.
The men scowl at the women they have brought, but the women seem unconcerned. A woman’s interaction with the Artifice is usually limited to whether she is selected or not, so maybe it is simply because the great authority is an irrelevance to these people. It used to seem like an irrelevance to me.
Emmaline takes me by the hand, drawing me away from Arthur’s side with a broad and knowing smile.
“Come with me, dear. The ladies socialize together. It gives our men the chance to spend time together and talk shop without having to pretend to be civilized.”
There is a smattering of laughter at her comment, which I take to be accurate.
The ladies’ lounge is a plush, ornate space. This venue is grand in many ways, but the area set aside for female conversation is especially beautiful. It is also popular. Emmaline leads me through the space, introducing me here, there, and everywhere. Everybody is nice to me because everybody has to be nice to her.