Chapter 23
Topp Blatz stood dripping sand and sea water onto the lush, impractical white carpet. There was a ragged split he could feel in his chest. The longer he stared at her, the wider it grew until there was a cavern within his ribs. Heart in his throat, guilt ran like acid through every part of him.
Nose broken, one eye sealed shut, her face discolored and swollen, he could barely see the woman he had kissed and touched every inch of. With purple and red smudges from face to neck, he was afraid to see what was below the blanket pulled up to her collarbone.
She’d had the chance to leave, to escape—and she had gone back. He was so deeply, irrationally angry with her. If she would have just left, then she wouldn’t be mangled and a breath away from dying. She had gone back in, and he had left. Guilt racked him. He had left because he knew what her going back in meant—she wasn’t going to get away and he would have to watch the prelude to her death. Watch her be beaten, then corralled with the rest of them to be taken to his father.
And it was his fault. All of it.
He had known that his mission to uncover the truth of their kingdom’s decay would require much of him, but he hadn’t expected this. He had not prepared for the moment that he would walk away from his only friend in this wretched land, knowing it meant her death. That loving him had been her death.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew she had pursued him thinking he would be her refuge. His crown a shield and barrier from the noose that had stolen so many. Instead, he had become a reaper. Standing by idly, watching and waiting as she died, knowing he couldn’t interfere.
The air danced in response to his thoughts. It shorted out with crackles that spelled out his anger, his hate. Crouching next to the bed, he breathed her in, letting her warm, dark floral scent wash away the pain and guilt eating him into oblivion. His strong, calloused fingers became feathers against her hair. Born and raised in the same fold, she should have known better than to get too close to him. There was no such thing as hiding in the shadows of the Crown. But then, maybe she had known better, considering she never willingly gave him her trust or her secrets.
He’d only wanted to observe, to listen in and find out what the rebels knew. He’d known he would have to give at least a few of them up. Hand their names over to his father as the price for what he learned. Nothing had gone as he’d expected.
He should have realized he was being followed. That his father’s men would be watching, waiting for him to strike without them. That even the mention of a lead was going to send them all running after his heels. They thought him an arrogant man off to prove himself.
But he hadn’t noticed. He’d been caught in the thrall of tracking Elysia across the city and to the sea. Blinded by the idea of finally gaining a solid lead, nothing could have stopped him. Her scent had filled him, becoming his sole and only focus until it was too late, and he was watching her descend into the sea with the king’s men ready to rush the water once she disappeared.
It was a godsforsaken miracle that in the pitch-black of night, they could not see who had entered those deep waters. He closed his eyes, fingers still in her hair.
She would hate him now.
Her breath made a wheezing sound on an inhale and on her exhale, he let go of the woman he had loved. He would never admit it had been a mistake to leave her there. Because there wasn’t an apology in all the worlds that could ever undo what he had done. Some choices were irredeemable, not even time able to soften the damage or pain. And he was a smart enough man to know this was one of them. But whatever happened next, he would not make the same mistake twice.
Love or hate. He would do what he had to, to keep them both alive.
Elysia woke to the smell of earth and storm lingering, but when she opened her eyes, it was the intense gray eyes of her sister staring into hers.
Beatriz deflated, dropping her head and mumbling, “They kept saying you would wake up, but gods, Elysia.”
She reached out, grabbing Elysia’s hand firmly, no hesitation in her grasp. “All I wanted was some intel on Scarzan. Not for you to kill the man, poison the entire court, and end up like this.” A note of hysteria heightened and sped her usually low, ever unbothered speech.
Beatriz gathered herself, her face growing sharp as a broken bottle. She glared back at the Doorman, who had been hovering a few feet away. The owner of the House Gardenia’s high, rounded cheeks deepened in color at her girlfriend’s unspoken reprimand.
Elysia shifted, attempting to sit up, only for Beatriz to immediately fluff and plump pillows, shoving them behind her until she could sit properly. Elysia’s lips twitched in a little grin. Her sister’s sudden nurturing instincts were like watching a dog walk on its hind legs. She paid for her mirth though, the smallest movement of her mouth causing shooting pain throughout her face.
“Hand me the pain tonic, will you?” Beatriz called back, her eyes sharp with the vigilance of a seasoned war medic instead of the haze Relaclave’s renowned party girl usually wore as a veil over her eyes.
The Doorman selected an opaque brown bottle from a rough-hewn pine nightstand, handing it off silently. Glancing around the room, Elysia felt it was safe to assume she had overtaken a male staff member’s room. Natural pine furniture and a simple dark green blanket on the bed. One neat stack of books and two oil lamps providing a soothing glow. It was the sparsest room she’d seen within the House. Elysia accepted the small brown bottle from her sister, but only held it, rolling it between her hands. She needed her mind clear for at least a bit longer.
Closing her eyes, she made a decision. When she opened them again, her dark brown irises had gone distant and glassy. “Do you trust her?” Voice sore and covered in rust, she nodded at the Doorman.
Beatriz paused, taken aback, before answering quietly. “Yes. Entirely.”
Elysia nodded. “Then you both might want to sit. I’ll tell you everything. If you don’t want to know, I understand, but you’ll need to leave.”
A smirk curled across the Doorman’s face, lightening Elysia’s heavy words. “Ms. Parker, I would think we’re past that given we have a murder under our belts.”
Elysia’s face wrinkled even as she nodded in reluctant agreement. Beatriz sighed, staring up at the ceiling, muttering about not being able to get any peace.
She’d thought it would be cleansing to finally tell it all. That it would at the very least bring relief to fill in all the gaps of Beatriz’s knowledge, considering she’d only known of the haunting dreams plaguing her sleep. Especially when there was so much more to tell. From the secrets that enchanted her to the blackmail of their father and the prince hunting her into the sea.
She didn’t labor over his betrayal. Mainly because she couldn’t even bring herself to speak his name. The very thought of him filled her with an anger that demolished all reason and set a painful fire to the love that had once consumed her heart and blinded her eyes.
Heart full of ashes, she didn’t feel relieved at all after telling them everything. She felt as if a cold excavation had been done. Her ribs torn asunder, splayed and pinned out wide like moth wings, revealing all that was her for them to dissect and reject.
Beatriz, for once in her life, sat with no words breaking the thin line of her lips. She just sat, stunned, until a familiar indignation overtook her. She shook her head as if that could change what she just heard.
Her voice was a sharp whisper. “I am so angry that you did not tell me about Father.”
Showing rare restraint, she blew air out through her nose like a fire breathing beast before continuing. “But I know... I know that I have given you no reason to trust me. All that you know of me is what I’ve shown you and the rest of the world. I would have gotten you out of there. I just—I thought you wanted that life. I thought you loved being a daddy’s girl, always sitting in all those meetings and having the entire court fawn over you. I saw the way you looked at that crown, at Topp , like they were your salvation, but I didn’t understand.” Tears filled her hard, gray eyes.
Elysia stared at her hands, not wanting to see the soft lines of pity on her sister’s face. “I thought I could make it work. That if I worked hard enough, pretended well enough—that I would be safe. That I could really be one of them.”
She swallowed hard and looked up, eyes dull and bleak. “But I will never be one of them, and I was foolish to think I could be. There will never be a woman with undead gifts and a crown on her head. Not in this land.” Her fingers tightened on the brown bottle. “It was a delusion. Necessary to survive, but a delusion, nonetheless.”
A sudden knock on the door startled them all.
The sight of who stood in the door frame had apprehension filling Elysia’s voice as she struggled to sit up straighter against all the pillows. “What are you doing here?”
The woman entered cautiously, eyes roving from face to face. Elysia couldn’t blame her—Beatriz and the Doorman had both shoved to their feet, practically blocking Elysia from sight as they stood like guards.
Elysia tugged on her sister’s off-white button-down shirt that looked like it belonged to a man. “Stop it. Both of you. This is Mari. She’s a part of the group I was telling you about. She’s friends with Rollie.”
Beatriz’s unsettling stare did not falter. If anything, it grew even more unhinged, her eyes narrowing. “The people who expected you to poison the entire court, kill a diplomat, and almost drown solving their stupid fucking riddle?”
Elysia picked at the forest green blanket. “Technically, they just wanted a distraction… The killing was really for your girlfriend. Debts to be paid to the House and all...” Elysia trailed off, realizing she definitely was not helping matters.
The mythic Doorman of House Gardenia withered at how Beatriz tensed. She busied herself straightening the already perfectly organized tonics on the nightstand. Silver hair swinging, Beatriz turned her glare to Mari, uncaring if the woman deserved her wrath or not. “Well, what do you want?” The words were clipped and sharp enough to poke her eye out.
Ah, there was the Beatriz that Elysia knew and loved. So warm, so fuzzy.
Mari edged around the small bed, opting for the side that was free of Elysia’s newfound bodyguards. Her usual bold and sunny countenance seemed faded. She clutched an old book in her hands. Black with gold embossments and gilded edges, it looked familiar as it glinted in the light. Setting the book down, one hand grabbed onto a bedpost, her brow creasing in thought.
“I heard you stayed. Fought the king’s men and even the prince himself.”
Beatriz grumbled about her sister having rocks for brains.
Elysia shrugged, twinging at the pain in her ribs. “We all know it was my fault they found us. The prince followed me.”
Elysia shushed her sister’s objections, but Mari continued staring at Elysia thoughtfully. She finally spoke. “I don’t think I judged you wrong. You’re ignorant and selfish, but not malicious.”
Elysia swallowed, absorbing the woman’s observations. Her tone was neutral, objective even, which only made it worse. She had been evaluated and this was the conclusion.
Mari’s brow went up in surprise as she kept talking, her thumbs brushing against the uneven pages of the book. “Even Jessa had to admit afterward that it seemed unlikely you knew what was going to happen. She lived, by the way, thanks to you making sure everyone got onto the beach. She was able to escape when she woke up in the wagon they’d all been loaded in.”
She looked down, away from Elysia’s gaze. “There’s quite a few people who didn’t make it, though. Both ones who fought and ones who traveled. They had more men scattered around the shores waiting—imagine their surprise when we popped out of thin air right in front of them.” She ran a hand over her hair, tiny baby hairs bouncing free from her thick braid. “Shit fucking luck.”
Her warm brown eyes betrayed her sadness, and guilt rose in Elysia. No one would ever see those people again unless it was dead in the main square. But the king was efficient, smart. People disappearing without rhyme or reason was just as effective for putting the fear in the masses as a head lopped off on a Sunday afternoon. He knew when each method was needed and used them accordingly.
“But I didn’t come here to talk to you about last night. I promised you information, and if you think it will help you stay out of the Crown’s graveyard, then I’m happy to give it, even if you have no interest in our cause.”
She slid the heavy book across the bed to Elysia and tapped it with her fingers. “Tell me what it’s like where you go. When you travel in your sleep.”
Elysia stared past their faces at the plain wall in front of her. Whoever lived here didn’t even have a single painting or piece of art. She’d told Beatriz and Gage about how she left her body and found herself in another land, another place, but she hadn’t divulged what happened once she was there. Right when she thought she’d told everything there was to tell, she found another piece of herself to lay bare.
It was all too easy to conjure up visions of the dream inside her head. After pushing away the images for months, they sprang up and unfolded like a story, waiting to be told. Body tired and aching, she told them her tale.
“I fall asleep the same as anyone and when I wake, it’s in another land—another realm, perhaps.” She paused, eyes lost in her memories. “Kava seems to degrade more and more with each passing year, but this is different. It’s death and decay and yet there’s life.”
Beatriz coughed like an old man, hacking without shame or subtlety. Everyone stared, and the Doorman’s brow pinched with concern, but she waved them off. “What do you mean?”
Elysia let out a soft breath in the back of her throat, wishing her ribs and face would stop throbbing so she could concentrate. She searched for the words to describe this other world she fell into while asleep. The first image that came to mind was her bare feet, planted deep in the loamy dirt, how it oozed and chilled her toes. How the overwhelming expanse of the charcoal atmosphere hung over her with foreboding.
“Death seems natural there, I suppose. The soil is dark and rich—fertile, beneath my feet. The sky is a swirl of black and turquoise with a blood red haze. The trees are like bones. White with needle thin fingers. I’ve never seen anything like them. And there’s a river. I don’t think it’s one you would want to fall into.” She blanched a little, thinking of the dark, oil-slick river. It was beautiful, but so were many deadly things.
Mari struggled to keep the fear and awe from her face. “What happens when you’re there?”
Elysia chewed on her chapped lips that still tasted of blood and gently touched the cool poultice strapped over her swollen shut eye.
“There’s this song. It’s haunting, echoing out from nowhere and everywhere all at once. And I’m drawn to it, but the dream never lasts. The music feels like it’s for me though, which I know doesn't make any sense at all.” Her chest ached even at the thought of it.
She ran her hand over her face and regretted it at once, able to feel just how swollen and misshapen she’d become.
Mari paled now and her voice came out a bit choked. “Have you ever seen anyone while you’re there?”
Elysia scratched at the dried blood on her hands. “I always have a strange feeling of someone watching. I even thought there was someone once, but no matter where I look, there’s no one. Like I said, I’m never there very long.”
Beatriz’s face wrinkled in distaste. “Gods, Lys, of all the places—you managed to find somewhere even worse than Kava. Sounds creepy. Like dead people creepy.” Her last words ended in a mutter.
Mari’s face swung hard to Beatriz. “I think that’s exactly where she is. Where death himself lives—they used to call it the realm of death and deals.”
She picked at short, bitten nails and took a deep breath. “Elysia, magic didn’t just suddenly disappear from Kava one day. It was stolen. By the man—the god who rules that land.”
Elysia wanted to scoff and brush the rebel leader aside. They were a godless land. She hadn’t grown up going to temples or making petitions with offerings or flames. Other lands still believed the undead gods were the source of magic, but who was to say? Growing up in Kava, the stories of the gods weren’t even allowed to pass over your lips. The idea that this undead god of death had swooped in like a villain and stolen all their magic felt far-fetched and a little silly. Yet her skin prickled and she felt the weight of Mari’s words. At the very least, Mari believed what she was saying.
Elysia chose her words carefully, keeping her skepticism from her voice. “Let’s say that’s all true. Why would a god need our magic? Isn’t that where people who believe in the gods say the magic comes from? And if it is there, can it be taken back?”
Mari threw up her hands. “I don’t know! All the stories paint the gods as extremely fickle. Maybe he was bored. Maybe someone pissed him off. Maybe he’s just greedy.” Mari closed her eyes, containing her burst of passion. “You don’t know Victoria.”
The small brunette from the night before flashed through Elysia’s mind.
“But she’s never wrong. Her visions are terrifyingly accurate, and I’m telling you she has seen the land you’re describing over and over. If she says that’s where our magic is, then I believe her.”
Beatriz threw Mari an unimpressed look and turned back to her sister. “Sounds like a load of shit to me. Fuck Kava, fuck magic. Get out of here while you can.”
Elysia rolled her eyes, but knew her sister was serious, and frankly, she had a point. Her mind conveniently glossed over the bit about there being a god powerful enough to steal an entire kingdom’s magic. She knew the very thought ought to inspire fear and trepidation. But as seemed to be happening lately, her anger opened its eyes, ready to spit at the idea of someone being so arrogant as to doom an entire people all for a bit more magic. Their kingdom was rotting. Soot falling to the ground and turning people’s blood black, and even though no one would say it, everyone knew it had started after the Fall. Finally, she had someone to blame, and it pleased no small part of her to think of stealing Kava’s magic back.
She spoke darkly to none of them in particular. “It’s hard to even imagine that Kava wasn’t always like this...”
Kava, a dirty stain in their magical world, somehow still standing as the one mundane, godless kingdom in existence. She thought about all those trips with her father to other lands, and not for the first time, wondered if he had kept her locked away on ships and in carriages for fear of her seeing how beautiful the world could be with magic free.
Mari tapped the book again. “Read the stories. If you’re going to be pulled into enemy land, then you should at least know who you’re dealing with.”
Elysia snorted. Where wasn’t enemy land? She was a woman with undead gifts. She was an enemy of the Crown who had been stupid enough to lay with its prince. Maybe she should just take her chances in this new, unknown enemy land. How bad could this god be?
She finally looked clearly at the book, her heart picking up its pace. She grabbed Beatriz’s arm. “Triz, that’s the book. The book from the library!”
Beatriz’s mouth formed a pinched, flat line of distaste. She snatched up the book, not bothering to ask for permission. Rifling through the pages, she closed the book with a clap. “Of course it is. Right, so magic lady, how do we stop it? Because whatever garbage you were just spewing about my sister trying to save magic isn’t happening. This kingdom is a shithole and will die a shithole, no use getting taken down with it.” She stared pointedly.
Elysia sighed, chastising her sister. “Her name is Mari, Beatriz.”
“I don’t care , Elysia.”
The Doorman swooped in, her sultry tones diffusing the brewing sibling storm. “Mari, is there a way to stop what’s happening to Elysia?”
There was a hint of pity in the soft press of Mari’s lips. “I’ve never known there to be a plant or method for stopping magic. It’s as much a part of you as the blood in your heart and veins.”
Beatriz began to pepper Mari with questions about who else they could talk to and where they might go for help, but Elysia cut her off with an air of exasperation. “Triz, I don’t want to stop it. I mean, I did. Before. But, now, I don’t.”
Her dark eyes grew resolute, her tone matter-of-fact. “The prince knows everything. He left me for dead last night.”
Frustration had her shaking her head. “Nothing will change the fact that my days are numbered even if we did find some way to rip the magic out of me. If anything”—she turned to Mari—“I want to know if there’s a way to control it. I want to be able to stay in that realm and explore. If our magic is there... Well, I’d rather go down trying to do something useful than trying to escape. Besides, it’d be a long shot getting out of here when every merchant ship and export is overseen by my father, traveling by horse would take forever, and the train construction keeps getting pushed back.”
Beatriz, the older sister who had never protected or coddled until now, let out a deranged hiss. “Have you completely lost your senses?” She grabbed the newly acquired book and strode to the door, holding it open wide.
She stared at Mari. “Get. Out.”
Looking back at Elysia, she snapped. “And you, take the damn pain tonic. If you’re not out or loopy as a bat within the next five minutes, I’ll pour it down your throat myself.” She left in a whirl of feminine rage, her feet banging down the stairs.
Everyone left after that. The room grew warm and fuzzy in a pleasant sort of way. She’d taken the pain tonic, not minding the reprieve it offered from her thoughts and physical agony. The world softened, her discomfort and lingering anxiety flickering out until she was boneless. Sinking back into the pillows, she closed her eyes.
Beatriz might not be willing to help her, but there was someone who would. A loose smile graced her lips as she fell under the blanket of sleep. Yes, there was someone who would be more than willing to help her find a way into the realm of death and deals.