Hannalinde gnawed her lower lip, unsure whether to admit the source. “An apothecary.”
“Betje talks too much,” Pudding said fondly, but then her expression grew serious. “I won’t lie. It’s quite risky at this stage. The women I know who do this work are skilled, but they can’t put you back together if something goes wrong. I’ve seen women come through it well, and I’ve seen women not come through it at all. You must be certain.”
Hannalinde’s fingers curled in her lap. “I understand there are risks. I just don’t see any alternative.”
“There are always alternatives,” Pudding said gently. “Do you have family?”
She shook her head, mouth pressed tight.
“Well, your friend here has a fat purse and a fine gown. I’m sure she’d help if it’s money that troubles you. And even if thefather isn’t a good man, he undoubtedly has family who would step in to raise the child if you cannot face it.”
“Not likely,” Hannalinde murmured, hating how small her voice sounded. “He’s a gargoyle, and I don’t even know his name.”
“I see.” Pudding gave a sympathetic cluck. “I hate to say it, but you gamble even more with your life if you’re carrying a gargoyle’s child. They dig in their claws early and don’t readily let go. I can put you in touch with a woman who might try. She’s experienced and as careful as anyone in the trade. But I won’t lie to you about the odds. At four months, with a half-gargoyle child, you’re rolling dice, and the stakes are your life.”
Carlijn’s hand found her shoulder, squeezing hard. “She’s right, I would help you, if you want to keep it. Iwillhelp you. Only say the word.”
Sweet friend. “Your father will cut off your allowance if you share it with me, and you know it.”
“Then I’ll marry the wool merchant and give youhismoney.”
Pudding tossed her head back and laughed. “A good friend indeed.”
“What do you want to do, Hann, truly?” Carlijn whispered, her eyes round and glistening when Hannalinde glanced over at her.
The fiddle downstairs had stopped. In the silence, she could hear the muffled sounds of the inn: a creaking bedframe, a low voice, the clink of glasses and coins. Ordinary commerce. She’d come here expecting the same kind of transaction. Pay a fee, endure a procedure, walk away lighter.
But there was no guarantee she’d walk away. And even if she did, there was no guarantee the gargoyle wouldn’t just put another of his spawn in her. Only her death would prevent it. She had no other way to stop him.
The thought sat in her throat like a bone she couldn’t swallow.
“You’re not sure,” Pudding ventured kindly.
“I’m sure I don’t want this child.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “I’m sure I didn’t choose it. I’m sure I can’t raise a half-gargoyle baby alone in a city that already hates me enough.”
“But?”
“But I don’t deserve to die for it.” She stopped. Her breath came in short, tight bursts, and she pressed her knuckles against her lips. The baby hadn’t moved yet. She couldn’t feel it, couldn’t picture it, could barely accept that it existed. And still, the thought of someone reaching inside her with instruments to remove it made her chest close like a fist. “Neither does the child, for that matter. We are the ones who must pay the price, but we are not at fault, are we? We did nothing wrong.”
“Of course not,” Carlijn said loyally. She scooted closer, looping her arm through Hannalinde’s, and leaned her head on her shoulder.
Pudding said nothing for a long moment, just watched Hannalinde with a shrewd expression. Then she reached into her bodice and fished out a few coins. She handed them to Carlijn. “Be a doll and order a tea tray at the bar, would you? We need some fortification to sort this out.”
Carlijn nodded, obviously grateful to be given something to do. Once she’d left and the sound of her heels on the stairs had faded, Pudding turned to Hannalinde.
“Don’t think too long on it, love. The longer you wait, the riskier it will be for you,” she said plainly. “It’s going to be hard either way. So you must pick your problem to solve. I will be frank with you: at this point, giving birth is safer.”
If only it were so simple. “Even if I survive a gargoyle birth, there’s still the problem of raising the child. I’m not sure I can. Every time I looked upon it, I would know how it came to be. How could I love such a child? And yet every child is deserving of love.”
“There may be another way to solve that problem.” Pudding’s gaze sharpened, reminding Hannalinde of when ascaccusopponent lit upon a move to play. “What if you had a protector? Someone with standing, who would raise the child as his own, give it his name and give you the safety you long for?”
Hannalinde’s stomach twisted. No one could keep her safe. “That sounds too good to be true. Like a child’s story with a happy ending that is impossible in real life.”
Though it was possible. She thought of her friend Idabel. She’d managed a gargoyle pregnancy alone, had carried it to term and raised the child in the rookery while her mate was away at war. But even though she and her half-gargoyle child were shunned by many, both inside and outside the Tower, she’d had her mate’s family to help in his absence. And when he returned, he’d done everything in his power to protect her. To make her happy.
Hannalinde had watched with quiet envy, glad for her friend to have built a sweet little family but yearning for one of her own. They’d written each other faithfully in the years since Idabel left Solvantis, though less frequently since she’d settled into her new home in the cliffs, absorbed by the demands of motherhood and her happy life among the gargoyles there. But Idabel’s path had been carved by love, and Hannalinde’s had been carved by violence. They were not the same.
“It’s not impossible. You should visit the Nadir,” Pudding advised.
