Chapter 17
It was early evening when Elysia left her flat with her mind a razor’s edge and her face cleaned up the best she could manage. Beatriz had been warned to tie up her business with Scarzan immediately. Elysia wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that was about at this point. She’d kept her word, though, and that was what mattered. Rollie was set to receive a message informing him to ready his people. The diversion they demanded would be upon them soon, and if all went to plan, her debt to the House would be paid as quickly as it had come upon her. Which was exactly why Elysia now darkened the doorway of the notorious House Gardenia.
Kava’s meager sun had not yet set. Without the dark of night, the House’s fading beauty seemed to warn you its sweets would turn to dust on your tongue and all treasures won inside its doors may disappear by morning. Elysia was not here for the decadence or the many sinful delights of the House, though.
She banged her fist on the House Gardenia door with a bold impatience, ready to be done with this entire mess. She was tired and run through. The mystery that her life had devolved into had lost its luster, and now she would fight to author its ending before some man in her life stole the pen.
She stood in the doorway with a dark cascade of hair and a twilight purple dress that floated out into the night. Soft pink dusted her cheeks and darkened lashes curled to the sky. She came to the Doorman this time as a flower who carried a blade. A sentiment someone like the Doorman ought to appreciate.
The door swung open and a young man with golden hair and trails of glitter spraying out from his eyes answered the door. “The House isn’t open. Come back at dusk.”
He made to slam the door shut, but Elysia shoved her foot in the way, smiling grimly. “Tell the Doorman that Elysia Parker has come with a proposition.” Her fingers tapped the dagger sheathed along her tapered waistline. Curved with an intricate bronzed handle, she’d made sure to steal her favorite deathly toy back from Gage.
The worker squinted at her, astutely surmising that it was highly unlikely the stubborn woman with the knife would politely remove herself, and he, after all, was not the muscle of this place. He let out a curse under his breath. “Just wait a minute, will you?”
He started yelling over his shoulder, and Elysia could hear his fellow people of the House telling him to piss off before falling back into peals of laughter. She sighed, looking up to the sky. She didn’t want to barge in and drag the Doorman out, but she would. Her mother would die if she could see this lack of manners on full display. The thought brought a reluctant smile to her face.
“Elysia Parker. Can’t say I’m not curious.”
The Doorman stood shamelessly in the doorway with a hand on her hip and a mauve dressing gown seducing her every curve. She turned on her heel. “Come. Get ready with me.”
Elysia looked at the golden-haired man with I told you so written across her satisfied face and promptly trailed after the Doorman’s dressing skirts. The House Gardenia was even more lively when its doors were closed than when guests tumbled through its halls. The men, women, and people of the House both scurried and lazed about all in different phases of preparation for their nightly performances.
Women in just their corsets basked over the edges of beautiful chairs, grinning like rogues, and men with shirts half open and top hats askew threw tiny arrows at targets, laughing as their drinks spilled. A pair of men sat still as statues, tracing each other’s eyes with smokey liner and smudging it out to unholy perfection. Both the air and the chandeliers shook with music meant for dancing. And jubilant destruction took the form of tornadoes of children, all tearing through the House with little shrieks to announce their arrival.
Elysia did not realize she had stopped until the Doorman called out, beckoning her to come along up the stairs. There was something about this strange House with its makeup and illusions. Her first and only evening here had left a terrible taste in her mouth, but this was something altogether different. Before the lights went out and the evening show began, it appeared the House was a home . She followed the Doorman, her eyes still wandering back to the folks playing and teasing as they readied themselves. Her feet were slow as her fingers slid over the bannister. She didn’t want to look away. Watching them brought an unexpected longing to life inside her.
She couldn’t help but wonder if the House’s real secret just might be love.
A different sort of love, but love nonetheless. The love found between people who did not have a home, but then found one in both this place and each other. The love that she imagined came from a space in which your soul felt its own freedom.
Her throat tightened. She thought she might like to know that one day. What it would be like to be both anchored and set free within love. Somehow, she doubted that was in the cards.
The Doorman looked back at her with questioning eyes, but Elysia said nothing. She just shook her head and followed her upstairs. Elysia found her words as she entered a lavish dressing room that swirled with soft tones of lavender and cream and gray. “The people of the House... They wish to be here, don’t they?”
She spritzed on perfume from an ornate glass bottle and considered the question. Taking a deep inhale as the mist hit her neck and chest, the Doorman made a pleased sound in the back of her throat. A sugar-sweet scent with something sharp beneath its breath pillowed through the air. Elysia thought it matched her company well. Delectable but dangerous.
Racks and racks of silk and organza decorated the room. From suits to dresses and corsets, the Doorman knew how to draw the eye. She sat down on a cream footstool, turning to a vanity suited for a queen. The marbled vanity glittered beneath the soft glow of countless tea lights. Even when no one was watching, it was like she couldn’t help but entice and beguile.
The Doorman pulled down a small pot of face cream from a towering stack of choices and looked up at Elysia through the mirror. “The House is not like other pleasure houses, Ms. Parker. The House is my home and I open it to those who would make it their own as well. Do you not care for the ones in your keep?”
Elysia remained silent. She had none in her keep, spare the ever-dashing Sir Larkspur and the tiny sprouts she tended, and she was afraid that even her cat was mad at her after so many days of simply piling food high and dashing back out the door. She would very likely be snubbed with a flick of his regal tail upon her return.
The Doorman watched these thoughts play across Elysia’s face, and her shoulders dropped with a sigh. She scooped out some moisturizer and began rubbing it into her face with smooth circular motions.
“I forget. You’re a Parker, and more than that, you’re Crown. There is no one more important to protect than yourself.” She scoffed, but was quick to keep talking with a wave of her manicured hand. “I’m not one to judge. I haven’t lasted this long in my line of work without vigilance. But what is life without someone to trust and hold?”
She pursed her lips, looking at Elysia shrewdly. “It’s a lonely life, putting your love into the wrong hands. But I suppose people underestimate the bonds forged in childhood. They’re irrational and completely heart driven.”
Elysia met her eyes in the mirror, but kept her mouth clamped shut. She’s not wrong. All the Crown kids were grown up now. And yet, for better or for worse, they couldn’t leave each other behind. Rollie bringing her into the fold even though it risked himself. Remy and Daphne subtly reminding her that deviance in behavior was how people found themselves ostracized or dead. And Topp hesitating to end her life and their love in spite of what it meant to be a Blatz.
All of their love was dishonest—at the end of the day, they would all choose their own necks. But if there was the choice to save each other and themselves, then they would every time. And in her world, that was about as close as it got to love.
The Doorman tipped her head knowingly, unaware of Elysia’s musings. “It’s a shame about Syren Herrin. She was a good but stupid woman, healing everyone left and right. But we’re fools for those we love, and that’s what I saw in my House the other night. You love your sister. And now your beau knows the truth of what you are.” She paused, grabbing another jar. “Don’t worry, unlike him, your secret is safe with me.”
The Doorman stopped what she was doing and looked at Elysia with a stark sadness in her eyes. “From one woman to another—choose yourself, Elysia Parker, before time runs out. That man has a destiny to fulfill and love will not stop him.”
Elysia blinked rapidly as if it could stave off the painful truth of the Doorman’s words. Her voice came out thick. “I have always loved my sister. But this was my fault. Not hers.”
She cleared her throat sharply. “But I did not come here to discuss the prince or his ambitions.”
Heartbreak masquerading as regret twinged within her. Sometimes she wished she had never met Topp. She should have chosen a pretty but insipid man. Instead, she chose one with the security of a crown and clever, enthralling eyes. Don’t forget the part where he’s why you die. She was an idiot.
The Doorman nodded, accepting her words. “No, that is not why you came, is it? Tell me about your proposition, Ms. Parker.”
Elysia dragged over a matching pillowed footstool and sat down, crossing her ankles out leisurely in front of her. “These people are your family.” She sat with the thought for a moment. Everything in her plan depended on the Doorman agreeing to her designs. Looking back up, she found the Doorman studying her carefully, so she looked right back without any fear and spoke boldly.
“Scarzan killed one of your own. I would like to see him dead as well. If I’m going to be caught and executed, then I might as well take a bit of the trash out before I go.” Her voice went tight, betraying the terror that raged inside her at the thought of being on the execution block.
The Doorman’s eyes continued to slowly track over Elysia. She popped off the tops of several tubes of lipstick, humming as she swatched them on her hand. Setting the lipsticks down, she turned, giving Elysia her full attention. There was a generous portion of skepticism in her voice.
“I had not pegged you for one of the old ways. Tell me what draws your hand, Ms. Parker. Because I do doubt the death of a whore you did not know has begged your tears or blade.”
She went back to her mirror, reaching for black ink and a brush. The Doorman’s words were as harsh as the line she flicked out from the corner of her monolid eye, but Elysia had expected nothing less.
She switched to her other eye. “And how might one kill vermin like that, anyway? They always seem to escape through holes in the wall.”
Elysia huffed a short laugh, not missing the Doorman’s slight. “What draws my hand, indeed? The truth is, the world is crawling with men like Scarzan.”
She looked down, her jaw flexing and emotion beginning to leak into her voice. “One less is nothing in the grand scheme of things. But I am tired of fawning and hiding and running. If I was braver, then I would go after the lot of them—the king, my father. But I’m not. And there’s still a foolish hope in me that I’ll make it out of this somehow. And to be blunt, killing this one man will pay many debts for me.”
Elysia implored the beautiful woman in front of her. “You watched him every night while he ransacked your House. You and your people know what and who he likes better than anyone else.” A tiny dangerous grin crossed her face. “I would like to set a trap the night of my mother’s farewell gathering.”
The Doorman looked on knowingly. “And what do you need from me for this trap?”
A hint of vengeance glimmered in Elysia’s eyes.
She snatched a scarlet red tube of lipstick off the vanity. “I’m so glad you asked. I will be in need of a woman who can walk and talk like sin whom Scarzan will not be able to refuse. Simple men deserve simple plans. One woman, one poison, one death.”
The Doorman raised the brow she was currently filling in. “You expect me to call off your debt when you come here asking for my best trained courtesan to become an angel of death?”
Elysia smiled and dabbed at the shade she’d swiped on her lips. “Of course not. That would be absurd.”
She looked up, waving the lipstick in the air as she spoke. “Everyone will get poisoned in different amounts. But only from the drinks, which come from sealed bottles. No poison in the food, keeping the kitchens free of blame. I’ll also be bringing in some more muscled hands to do the serving. No servant will take the blame for my actions if I can help it. The woman I am requesting from you is simply a distraction to ensure he drinks his drink and stays long enough to die dramatically.”
She clacked the lipstick back down on the vanity. “Everyone around him will begin to take ill. And with half the Crown falling down, shitting themselves and Scarzan dead on the floor—well, the guards will be in a tizzy. It will be perfect.”
Something wild shone in her eyes as the plan played out in her mind, but then she coughed lightly and folded her hands primly, coming back to herself. “Well, what do you think?”
The Doorman’s cool dark eyes were wide and her mouth was frozen in a half open pout. She blinked once, then twice, and turned back to the mirror, shaking her head and muttering. “The two of you are a menace. Crown-trained menaces.”
“And?” Elysia prompted her, unperturbed by the Doorman’s fairly accurate evaluation of the Parker sisters.
“And you’ll have one highly motivated courtesan in your service. The drinks will go down, and then she will be gone, along with your debts.”
Elysia’s grin was just shy of unhinged. She just might be able to turn the tides of these games yet.
“I’ll see myself out then.”
She came to a stop in the doorway. “Oh, to be clear. You do know your girl will have to drink the poison like everyone else, right? Wouldn’t want her to look suspicious.” Elysia smiled innocently.
“Fucking Parkers.” A spiked heel sailed in Elysia’s direction, but she was already gone, laughing as she floated down the stairs.