Chapter 12
The door swung open smoothly, releasing the sounds of scattering dice and slapping cards. Booming alcohol fueled voices shoved over the top of each other to be heard. She came in quietly, observant of the chaos billowing around her. There were men entwined in a corner, lost to the world around them. Players held in the grip of a games table, sweating with fear and money. And music drowning any inclination to escape before it was too late.
All the occupants were so entrenched in their games that nary a single eye turned in her direction. Her feet didn’t make a sound on the thick carpet as she tiptoed past, girding herself for what was to come. Because he was here. And not even the magic in her chest could mute the growing feeling of foreboding zinging through her blood.
Scarzan sat at the center chair of the main table, his pointed face splotched and red with drink. Her nose wrinkled, watching his eyes twitch with each play of the game. His forehead looked moist, and even though she couldn’t possibly smell him from here, she just knew the man smelled like stale sweat and onions trapped beneath his ugly suit. Gross. Between the drunk and high bodies and the size of the room, Elysia felt a wave of claustrophobia. Too many mindless people crammed into one space. It made her skin itch.
She was safe where she was—out of sight and with a good view. She couldn’t hear, though. She edged closer, leaving the safety of the shadows where no one had noticed her.
Her earlier fear whispered that something was ever so very wrong, but Scarzan’s secrets shushed the sound and filled her ears with promises of a payout worth her while.
She found herself folding into a chair two seats away from the rat. Her heart pounded. What am I doing? She forced herself to relax, crossing one long leg over the other. Getting what I came here for, that’s what. There was no reason to panic. This was her job, for the undead gods’ sake. Scarzan had just managed to crawl under her skin and make her doubt grow loud. But there was nothing to fear.
The dealer motioned for her to be brought a drink. “This round’s full, miss. You’ll have to wait.”
Elysia nodded and curled her fingers around the damp glass, giving it a sniff. Gin and juice . She didn’t want to play, anyway. The man to Scarzan’s right turned to her with a laugh. “Are you sure you want to play at this table, miss? There’s lots of other rooms in the House.”
Elysia looked up with interest at the stranger next to her, smiling knowingly. “And why would I not? Do you think the stakes are too high for a girl like me?”
He let out a booming laugh that matched the slight crook in his nose and sat back in his chair. Crossing his arms over a broad chest, he leaned in close to her ear. “Our friend in the middle here is never happy with an ordinary game.”
Elysia slid her drink around in a circle and considered his words. The dark honey colored liquid funneled into a mimicry of destruction. She dropped her voice. “You mean to say money is not the prize?”
The man slammed down his empty beer mug and laid three cards along with a tiny gem.
“No, love, not tonight.”
She frowned. “Then what are we playing for?”
The secrets danced in a whirl around her head now, and she felt a single bead of sweat form on her brow. She hadn’t trained enough for a place like this with secrets new and old forming and escaping with every breath and movement in the House.
By the gods, Beatriz was going to owe her.
Scarzan’s ears turned up at their conversation. He appeared ready to bark until he registered what was resting two chairs away from him like a young, untouched daydream. Liquor-shot eyes groped downward, lingering where jewels glinted against skin.
He didn’t even bother ripping his eyes away as he directed the dealer.
“New game. Deal the girl in. No one sits at this table without playing.”
He looked her in the eyes with a certain smug satisfaction on his face. "The price is yourself unless there’s someone else you’d care to bid. Winner chooses their prize from the losing participants.”
Unsmiling, he held her stare several seconds longer than was comfortable. She would’ve expected the disgusting sludge of his insides to reflect in his eyes, but instead she found them to be flat and void beneath the red spider veins of alcohol. The man was an empty, hateful vortex, walking around, pulling in anyone and everyone he could into his depraved existence. Everyone knew too. And yet he remained a diplomat for his people. Practically untouchable.
But betting people? That was insanity. Kava had never allowed such practices. Servants were paid. Maybe not fairly, but they were paid and owned by no one. Yet here in this musty room they were betting people like they were gods and everyone else was an old watch to pawn for one more round.
All for a game that literally was nothing more than a means to pass the time.
Her fingers gripped the edge of her chair as she thought about bolting. Forget Beatriz. Forget whatever bullshit she thought she needed dirt on this man for—she hadn’t agreed to sell herself off for a tip.
But the truth is right there… Can’t you see it?
A heady rush of insatiable curiosity filled her. All she needed was for him to admit it.
She studied the players to her left. Three men. One woman. All willing to throw away someone else or themselves. When push came to shove, she was willing to bet they would sub someone in on their behalf if they lost. Her face remained serene, even as anger became a tense, unbearable force within her chest.
Her fingers trickled up her chin until she rested her face in her palm.
“Ever lost someone you wanted to keep?”
Scarzan’s face flushed at her pointed question. She hadn’t said, did you gamble away your only daughter? But she’d come as close as she could. Nerves jumped inside her as she waited for him to respond.
He started to sneer, but her neighbor with the booming voice cut in, elbowing her as he answered. “Thought I’d seen it all in the rooms at this House. But finding out about a politician swapping their kid’s life out for their own? Seems the games in Bellia are even better than here. Wouldn’t want to be that kid, though.” He shook his head and made a tutting sound.
She blinked. He’d somehow lost his own life to the crime lords, but turned over his daughter instead. Her stomach felt sick, her mind’s eye conjuring horrible images of a scared girl being thrown to the wolves.
The cool cut of Scarzan’s voice raised the hairs on Elysia’s arms, but she just smiled and played with her hair as he talked. “I’ve never once made a bet I wasn’t prepared to lose. That was the best deal I ever made, getting rid of that impossible wildcat of a girl.”
Hot rage as sharp as the dagger hidden beneath her clothes threatened to wipe the benign, vacant expression from her face.
The logic that had taken flight the moment she stepped through the House’s front door screamed at her to make her exit. To blush and stammer, murmuring of her mistake. She’d gotten exactly what she’d come here for—she had everything she needed for both Beatriz and herself. The woman who had been collecting secrets for years knew this was the moment to exit.
It would have been perfect.
But the diviner within her begged her to stay, to let this man unwind more of his secrets at her table. The magic whispered to her that his secrets were worth the price. The music played on, wrapping around her, asking her not to go so soon.
If he had bet his daughter—had claimed this deed aloud to everyone without a shred of shame—then what else had a man like Scarzan done?
The question kept her planted in her seat.
The other folks at the half-moon game table waited to see what the girl would say to the monster in the suit. They couldn’t decide if she was just plain stupid or if there was something more beyond her pretty face. She paid them no mind, barely sparing a glance their way. She was here for his secrets, not for their questions or stares.
That fading voice of reason reminded her she was rubbish at cards. It argued that this was a terrible plan. But she didn’t really need to win. She just needed one more secret, and then she’d slip away before the time ran out. Just the one. Then she’d go.
She slung an arm back and tossed out a jovial grin. “Let’s play.”
The dealer hid a cringe, but nonetheless, he began shuffling the cards, resetting the trays of gems.
The game was rocks.
The story went that the game had first been made by a small boy out on the streets of Kava. A boy with quick hands and sharper eyes who could play cards like some sang to the moon. In the brilliance of his youth, he crafted a game like no other, and he called it rocks.
The game spread from the streets to kitchens. Past gated walls to underground tunnels where maids and guards alike played long after dark. And then one day the game found itself within the heart of the castle. The castle had swept up the game in its hand and thrown it back out in a tournament with a new name. They called it gems.
They were not dirty street children, but men with dignity and class. Therefore, the game would be gems. And yet, it was an open tournament, and one particular street boy with charm down to his toes swindled his way into their ranks.
He stole game after game until he took the whole damn thing. And when they swore in the young man with his ripped knees and broken-in cap as Kava’s newest treasurer—well, he told them it had always been rocks and it would always be rocks.
Remy’s daddy had changed since then. His cool dark skin gleamed under castle torchlights and he dressed finer than the king himself. He’d grown sharper and colder so that he did not wither in the heat of the castle’s intrigues, but rumor had it that the King’s treasurer still liked to find a game out on the streets now and then when the mood struck him right.
Elysia now found herself wishing she’d paid even a lick of attention to the man who’d invented rocks as he’d prattled on and on at Remy Wincraft’s home about how to play Kava’s favorite pastime. Because with a handful of cards and a full line of gems, she could only pray to those who did not listen for luck to be on her side.
The gentleman at the far end of the table kept his head ducked down and threw in a card without a gem. A safe opening to set the cards in motion. Elysia scanned her own hand, her heart dipping at what she saw. This was it, the truth was in, and the undead gods really, truly did hate her. She had never seen such a terrible hand.
The ox of a man next to her knocked her elbow. “Your turn, little lady.”
Ew. She smiled and followed the first player’s lead. Two cards. No win, no loss, no gems.
Elysia started observing the players rather than her pathetic cards. The furthest man remained hunched, hiding both his hand and his face. A woman with a pinched expression and brows permanently bunched had her knee bouncing beneath the table as if her body fought the urge to run away.
And then there was Scarzan.
His former smugness had been wiped clean, leaving his face unnervingly blank. The corner of his lips kicked up as he played a few cards, and he lifted his eyes to hers, daring her to notice the groundwork he was laying.
Elysia clamped down on the instinct to flinch or let any kind of fight rise up in her eyes, and instead lazily re-directed her attention to the cards he had played. Why is he looking at me like that?
Understanding settled like a weight around her neck. Shit.
Rocks was a complicated game. It wasn’t solely your own cards that mattered, but how the cards all played together and against each other. Scarzan’s cards took her lifeless throwaways and turned them into a play that scored him a gross amount of points. He was using her poor hand to taunt her.
The dread Elysia felt earlier returned as a terrible knowing. He was not playing simply to win the game, but rather to win her. Any magic induced delusion of gaining another secret from this man had gone silent. Her eyes shot between her cards to the other players, trying her damndest to dig herself out of this hole. But Scarzan pulled further and further away in the lead, leaving it impossible for someone else to win.
And so the rounds went, with Elysia making feeble attempts to play herself out and Scarzan boosting her cards to keep her alive. He was toying with her. He could just let her play out and still choose her as the prize as was the winner’s right to choose from the lot, but the game had become a hunt, and like any prey she began to think that if she could not fight, then she should run.
Elysia slid her eyes to the door and wondered how much the House was really going to care if she dared to break their sacred rules and escape from Scarzan’s clutches. It would be terrible to get away only to end up dead on the beach. Would there be men and women with hoops down their ears chasing her into the streets? She wished she had bothered to find out if the House’s servants were the pretty type of decoration for wandering eyes or the kind that hid knives and tricks in their sleeves. Both, of course , she answered her own question with an internal sigh. Gods, I’m an idiot.
She had never dared explain what was really happening when she lost herself in the thrall to Gage—that it was magic and not some unquenchable thirst for the poison of this city. He’d told her over and over again that she needed a lifeline, an anchor if she couldn't keep her head while out on jobs. She always blamed it on the sweet surge of excitement and curiosity that made her head swirl and feet feel light. Pointed out that plenty of men lost their heads from something similar in fights and such.
But right about now, she was wishing she had taken his advice to heart.
She’d never thought it was that serious.
Except now it was, and with each hand played, she realized she would not be unearthing any more life-ruining secrets or happening upon the perfect blackmail before the game’s end. A cloud of shame darkened within her chest. How could I be this stupid? Her magic had gotten the better of her, and it was no one’s fault but her own for thinking herself invulnerable. The shame burned, turning her thoughts to the shoulds and woulds of it all. I shouldn’t have pissed Gage off. He would have helped.
Sure, she’d barely smuggled herself out of stuffy apartments that she didn’t quite remember slipping into and donned aprons to slide out of kitchen doors of homes she’d rather forget, but in truth there had always been a part of herself that loved it. A part that laughed with its head thrown back and hands stuck to her hips with the invincibility of someone who had never been caught. It was the part of her that did not have to be Elysia Parker, daughter of the Crown, but was instead allowed to be something so very, very different.
She hadn’t blinked when Augustus Freer chuckled as he ordered the death of his first wife. Just like she hadn’t blinked when her father let it happen because no one would have cared about a murder that was stopped . No, he needed something irrefutable. Like the bloody corpse of Freer’s wife to hold over the man’s head for the next twenty years.
She had not quaked when she hid a breath away in a wine cask from the bloodletters as they did their work.
She had not cried when her father repeatedly threatened to turn her into a bloodhound for the cursed folks of their land whenever she dared balk at his demands.
She had watched the life fade out of the men who had threatened her with an almost detached, clinical type of understanding. They had harmed women in unspeakable ways, they had wanted to harm her, and now the undead gods delivered them a mercy in killing them before they could further besmirch their souls.
It was important for her to remember that she was not a good person. Sometimes she almost forgot, but then there were nights like these to remind her of what she had known since she was child who could not stop her feet from finding others just like her. Those people were dead now. But she wasn’t.
The Crown was a jagged thing, dripping in blood that was not its own, but that was how it survived—it took that blood and made itself stronger. This was its lesson to all its children.
Her magic had bested her. But she would not be anyone’s prize this evening nor any other.
A man like Scarzan wouldn’t take losing lightly. He would take it out on more than one woman in this House. And she knew that. Somewhere deep in her gut, she knew he would lash out, violating the women of this House for her escape. But it didn’t change what she was going to do.
It couldn’t.
She sat loosely in her chair, with an almost girlish naivete in the soft lines of her face and the wide set of her eyes. Yet if anyone bothered to pay even the smallest amount of attention, they would realize her languid posture, her countenance—none of it matched her wine-drenched hair or the daggers she couldn’t quite kill from her eyes.
Behind her false serenity, Elysia realized she had never in all her schemes truly felt afraid until now. Not like this.
Her fear told her several things.
First was that it was pertinent for her to remember the violence beneath Scarzan’s sallow skin.
Second was that the crescendo of this evening’s song had not been the secret that so easily jumped from his arrogant lips. It was the now unescapable knowledge that she wanted to kill this man. Perhaps she simply had a sore spot for shitty fathers who peddled out their daughters for their own ends, but more than that, it was how when she looked into his eyes she saw everything that was wrong with her world. Beyond her disgust and vicious desires, she had the strange premonition that he was going to become a nuisance if he wasn’t handled properly.
And third, it was really, really time for her to be going.
Elysia began to squirm in her chair, wiggling and clenching her thighs. She waved a server to her side with embarrassment flooding her cheeks and whispered, “Is there a bathroom on this floor?”
“Down the hall and to your right, miss.”
Scarzan’s eyes darted over as she stood to exit. He barked with the hardened assurance of someone who was rarely denied. “No one leaves the table until the game is done. No one.” His eyes narrowed on her.
Elysia paused with her legs bouncing uncomfortably. “Sir, I really don’t think this can wait...” She trailed off, as if flustered at his indecent behavior.
The man to her left seemed wholly unaffected by Scarzan’s intensity. He waved a hand, brushing the diplomat’s spittle and anger aside. “By the river, let the girl go to the bathroom. Do ya want her to piss all over the carpet? She won’t be leaving the House unpaid—no one ever does.”
The servers remained still, none wishing to defy Scarzan.
His fingers clenched. “Five minutes.”
Elysia kept her shoulders from heaving in relief, nodding obediently as she scurried from the room. Five minutes. Five minutes to save her own neck and get as far from the House as possible. She willed her legs to behave normally until the door shushed over the carpet back to closed, and then she lunged like a madman down the hall, fingers scraping at the first door handle she came upon.
Shoving the door open, she stumbled into a sprawling leisure room and prayed her luck had returned. Not that I ever had any. She started with the window, straining and pulling to no avail. Of course, it was sealed. Godsdammit .
“No one in or out,” she muttered to herself. She spun around.
She had maybe three minutes now.
The seconds dwindled.
Elysia took a long, ragged breath. She was better than this. She had trained for this. Not the magic. But for escape? Yes. There was not a building in Relaclave she could not hide in or escape from. An escape was nothing more than a secret.
She would get this room to tell her its secrets.
She closed her eyes and listened to the soft current of the old, smoky air.
There .
Like a catch in the fabric of the ether that made the room, she took hold of the thread and followed it in her mind’s eye until she stubbed her toe. Her eyes opened. What in the gods’ names?
She stood between two windows. The wall between them was plain and without any marks. The thread held taut, drawing her fingers to the window frame’s edge.
Feet clattered down the hall.
Her fingers pressed to the wood.
A banging on the door began.
The wall popped with a hiss and slid back behind the other window, and in the space between stood the Doorman with a satisfied catlike grin and cunning eyes holding an oil lamp to break up the darkness.
Elysia startled and did the first thing that came to mind.
She swung. And gods, did she swing hard.
The woman’s eyes widened right as Elysia’s fist smashed her face.
The Doorman fell back like a statue and slid down the wall until she did not move.
Her heart thundered and bloodied crescents appeared on her palm where her nails had dug in. Elysia shook out her hand, cursing internally. Fuck, that really hurt. She stared down at the Doorman, taking in the woman’s jet-black roots creeping into her bleached blonde hair, the dark lashes dusting her high cheeks.
She’d knocked out a myth, and she’d be damned if she didn’t live to tell the tale.
Elysia stepped over the Doorman muttering an apology and yanked the hidden panel shut right as she heard the lock break and the door slam open. She shuddered, thinking of the rage Scarzan would emit when he realized she was gone.
Closing the hidden panel had effectively cut off the only source of light, leaving her in utter darkness. She couldn’t tell her ass from her face in here. Elysia brushed her hands against the walls—to her right was the true outer wall of the House. Unsurprisingly, all the windows were sealed shut and painted so that no one could see in or out.
She began to jog, knowing she had no time. The passages were no doubt only known to the Doorman, and now, like so many other secrets, to Elysia. She picked up the pace as her anxiety ratcheted higher. There has to be a way out. No one designed a pleasure house without an escape hatch. She sprinted now between the walls like a rodent in a maze even though her pukeweed exhausted body begged her to stop.
The exit has to be somewhere.
From one thought to another, her foot caught and her shoulder banged against the wall as she crashed down to the floor.
A wet, garbled laugh sounded above her.
Shit. She tried to press back up, but the Doorman was already there, lighting the passage with the amber glow of her oil lamp. One hand pinched her bloodied nose while one thick shapely leg kicked out, her booted foot shoving Elysia back down to the dirty floor.
The Doorman peered at Elysia curiously like she was some newfound specimen that needed labeling. She nudged Elysia’s face side to side with the toe of her boot until understanding filled her eyes and an impressed smile brought her face wide.
“You Parker girls sure do know how to make a woman work.”
Elysia scrambled to stand and was promptly shoved back down. This time the spiked boot stayed over her throat.
“My people told me you were puking in an alley this evening.”
She kept the pressure on Elysia’s throat and smiled pleasantly.
“But here you are, causing almost as much trouble as your sister. Honestly, I’m not sure I can handle two of you. Imagine if you actually worked together.” Her face blanched a little at the thought.
Elysia propped up on an elbow, pushing back against the boot.
“How did you know?”
She frowned. “That it was you? Haven’t you heard any of my stories?” The Doorman seemed genuinely offended.
She chuckled, digging the tip of her boot into the soft flesh beneath Elysia’s chin. “It was a bit of a surprise to see the terror that is your mother this evening, but it wasn’t until just now that it all made sense. You, Elysia Parker, have most definitely never been given a token of entrance. As I said before, the pair of you would likely wreck this city, so I’ve withheld your token the last few years. Saved myself the headache.”
She smacked her boot side to side on Elysia’s face. “But here. You. Are! With that sweet doll face and a wig, wearing your best friend’s clothes. As if I wouldn’t know—insulting, really,” she added.
Elysia grimaced. “You’re the one who let me in.”
The Doorman removed her foot and twirled, leaning back against the wall. She gave a complimentary tip of her chin as she spoke. “Well, to be fair, I didn’t realize it was you then. Truly, your makeup—so good. I thought your sister was going to shit herself. But something seemed off. I couldn’t imagine anyone hated themselves enough to steal from the Golden Seal. Or would go to the trouble of creating such a convincing disguise! But then when the prince trailed your ass like clouds to the sun into that godsforsaken room— that is when I knew.”
Elysia held her blank expression even though she felt near vomiting for the second time this evening. The prince? She wanted to scream into the never-ending nightmare that was this night.
Instead, she groaned.
“Men,” she said flatly. Specifically, her blasted man, ruining her plans. And how had he even known she was here?
The Doorman smirked and settled her hands on her hips, strumming her fingers against the silk of her pants. “Wouldn’t know. I don’t touch the creatures.” She continued speaking, her tone brisk, “There are several reasons I am helping you today, Elysia Parker. The most pressing being that my girlfriend scares me almost as much as she delights me, and I happen to know she would be quite displeased if I killed her baby sister, even if you did violate the House.”
Elysia choked on the word girlfriend. Beatriz was in a relationship? Did Beatriz know she was in a relationship?
The Doorman shrugged, considering Elysia from where she towered over her. “Beyond not wanting your sister or the prince to come for my neck, it does not escape me why you are here. You think you’re helping your sister.” Her brow furrowed as if Elysia was a riddle she hadn't quite solved.
“You care for her. How un-Parkerly of you.” She smiled broadly, sounding like she was giving out a favor. “Nonetheless, actions have consequences. You're in my debt now, Elysia Parker, and I will come calling.”
And with that, the Doorman’s elbow drew back, her tiny fist cracking out like lightning as she clocked Elysia squarely, right between the eyes.
Elysia’s head snapped back and the last thing she heard was the Doorman’s laughing words, “Say hello to the prince for me, will you? Tell him we’re even.”