Chapter 25
Elysia moved with purpose, wanting to be on these streets not a moment longer than necessary. If she could have tunneled her way across the city, then she would have, but unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. The handkerchief of lace she’d shoved in her pocket was now draped across her face, hiding her identity. Tiny jeweled pins, snug and secure in her hair, held it in place. Better people think her in mourning than for someone to see her face and send word to the prince or her parents.
Her absence wouldn’t be tolerated much longer by her parents—she’d sent a message informing her mother that she was traveling, but would be back in time for the Raven Ball. A risky move given her father’s temperament, but better than disappearing without reason and having them send out a search party.
Her feet carried her like a whisper past folks stumbling out of taverns. Spirit Street was not somewhere she frequented if she could help it. Vile scents of piss and stale liquor with a hint of sea brine turned the air rancid. Beneath her veil, Elysia’s face scrunched, unsure if it was worse to breathe through her nose or her mouth. Her foot stuck to the unpaved muddy street, releasing with a disgusting squelch. While most streets in the northside were paved with smooth, dark gravel, it seemed both the residents and the Crown knew better than to waste any money on the upkeep of this particular street.
The taverns and hideaways lining both edges of the street were not the softly lit, golden hued spaces that her sister frequented. Beatriz and her friends did their drugs off of marbled bars and watched rooms spin from rich, swanky couches. The dank taverns on this street met a different need. The crushing, relentless need of people who knew nothing would ever change, that tomorrow and the next day would be the same as yesterday, but a pint would always be just a few coins. People who toiled and toiled and toiled, yet still could barely afford the bloated prices for imported food. These were the same people who sailed the seas and traveled the continent to procure everything from spices and vegetables to the occasional fruit for those who could afford it, but then ended their days in a room they shared with five other men.
On Spirit Street, the men and women who would take your coin for pleasure were not trained and allowed choice like the gentle people of House Gardenia. At the House they could turn you away without a second thought or fear of consequence. The people you found on Spirit Street were desperate, and desperate people made terrible choices because they were the only choices left to make.
Elysia walked up to a mildew-ridden tavern with wooden boards warped from the moisture-heavy air. The window giving a glimpse inside had been broken, likely from a fist based on the size of it. She didn’t find it promising that the owner hadn’t bothered to replace the glass pane, as if they knew it wasn’t worth the trouble. Stark white lettering spelled out her destination on a plank nailed high above the pea-green door. The Salty Rim.
She didn’t bother to kick the mud from her boots before putting her shoulder into the door to open it. A brass bell clanged over head, heads turning with lingering stares. She knew why they were staring. The soft boots. The crushed velvet peeking out beneath her plain cloak. Even plain well-made items could scream money. Most importantly, this wasn’t the kind of place that saw new faces often. They knew their own, and she wasn’t one of them.
She’d expected as much, her eyes skipping over the patrons as she searched for the person who ran the bar most nights. Rumor had it the owner kept an old sea plank encrusted with rusty nails beneath the bar. The way people told it, no one started a fight twice in the Salty Rim. Elysia imagined it was rather hard to make the same mistake twice when you ended up with rusted nails planted in your skull.
The only law that seemed to be enforced in these parts was magic being forbidden like it was everywhere. Otherwise, the king’s guards and soldiers tended to look the other way. If it didn’t impact the Crown, then they weren’t being paid to care.
Elysia found her target right where she expected her. Standing behind the bar, the woman’s catlike laurel-green eyes looked like she already had her mind made up about Elysia, and the verdict was not in her favor. Bare arms crossed, she wore an oversized faded aqua-blue shirt with the sleeves torn off and the buttons split open just enough to reveal an ample chest. Mink-gray heavy trousers met old worn out thick-soled boots. Paired with the wild black waves coursing down her back, the effect was as intimidating as it was attractive.
From her face to her body language, Elysia gathered that Jessa Roberts did not have time for anyone’s shit today. She especially did not have time for a two-timing Crown bitch’s shit.
Elysia watched as Jessa stared at her, an undeniable hint of violence in her gaze. She continued polishing the glass in her hands until it shone brightly against the dingy light of the tavern. A warped reflection of herself and the shithole behind her danced on the glass’s surface. Glancing away, her eyes fell onto the nail studded plank of lore an arm’s length away from Jessa, and she started to wonder if this had been such a grand idea after all.
Against her better judgment, she tried to open the conversation.
“Jessa.”
“Crown. Bitch.”
Jessa kept polishing the already clean glass, her lips curled in disgust.
Elysia's mouth tightened, but she ignored the insult. Untying her cloak, she used it as a cushion for the splintered wooden stool. She sat down, folded her hands and tried again, cutting to the point. “Do you remember what Mari asked me that night? About what happens when I sleep?”
A flicker of confusion gave away the truth before Jessa’s face smoothed.
Given the events that had occurred two seconds afterward that evening, she wasn’t surprised Jessa couldn’t recall what had been said. Perfect. That was exactly what she had hoped for.
Elysia smiled like she held a secret in her teeth. “Pour me a drink because I think you’re going to want to help me.”
Jessa scoffed. “Doubt it.”
And yet curiosity must have trumped her disdain given she grabbed a bottle of gin and popped the cork. Pouring out two small shooters, she pushed one over to Elysia. “Surprised you’re willing to show your face here—anywhere really after attacking the prince.” Accusation hardened her eyes. “Or maybe you were in on it the whole time.”
Elysia shook her head slowly, fingers toying with the edge of her glass. If Jessa really believed that, then she would have already chased her out of here or thrown a punch. “I don’t think the prince would have left me there then, do you?”
The words twisted the irrepressible pain she had been trying so hard to keep away. “He followed me. Knows enough that he could have me killed. Maybe it's sentiment that keeps him from turning me in, but I doubt it. I wouldn’t have come if I knew he was following me. I wanted information, not to get people killed.” She blinked, keeping the shine out of her eyes. This woman was a stranger who despised her, not a bosom buddy whose shoulder she could cry on.
Jessa’s eyes tracked over the almost completely faded bruises on Elysia’s skin. “Heard you got your ass handed to you on the beach.” A dark smirk crossed her face.
Elysia’s temper flared, her eyes narrowing. “I heard you’d be rotting under the sea if a Crown bitch hadn’t come back to save you and your sorry ass. Your people need training. They stood around like helpless children waiting to drown.”
Jessa grabbed her glass and held it up. “To not dying.”
Elysia huffed a laugh, holding her own shooter out.
The gin was awful. But somewhere between their third and fourth drink, Elysia decided to go through with her plan. She winced as she took another sip of gin, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear.
“Your friend, Victoria, she has visions of another realm, right? That’s where I go when I sleep. At least that’s what Mari and I think. Mari also thinks the god who lives there stole Kava’s magic.”
She made a face implying she knew how crazy this sounded. “I figure I’ve got nothing to lose at this point. Might as well find out.”
Jessa studied her, eyes slightly squinted. “You’re just going to find this hypothetical god and ask him if he took our magic?”
“God of death,” Elysia corrected and hiccuped.
Jessa’s eyes went large and she shook her head. “You’re a little crazy, aren’t you?”
Elysia lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. What do you care if I get killed?”
Her answer was flat and fast. “I don’t.”
Elysia smiled. “Exactly. That’s why I want you to help me figure out how to stay in that realm long enough to find this guy.”
Jessa blew out a long breath, but didn’t answer.
A bit drunk, blind desperation colored Elysia’s words. “We could bring magic back—if he took it, then he can give it back. Kava would change .”
Dropping her towel on the bar, Jessa scrubbed at her face. “Let’s say you do find this god. The most likely scenario is you’re dead before you can so much as bat your pretty brown eyes.”
Elysia held up a finger in rebuttal. “Mari gave me a book, and I read the lore—he’s known for cutting deals. And like I said, I don’t have anything to lose. My life in Relaclave is over. I can go on pretending it's not, but it's only a matter of time before the prince or my father,” she stumbled, wishing she hadn’t said that, but continued. “Before someone turns me in. Escape is unlikely, and maybe enough people have died because of me and my magic.”
Her eyes glassed over in spite of herself. “Maybe, maybe I’d like to do something good before I die.”
Jessa looked at Elysia knowingly, her shoulders moving as she chuckled. “Mari got to you with her crusader bullshit, didn’t she? She’s got a gift for getting people to be better than they are.” Her head moved side to side, then she shrugged. “Or maybe she’s just good at making people feel guilty as shit. Either way, it works.”
“I mean it, though. There is a list of names that grows longer with each month and year that I am connected to the Crown. I can only control my magic so much, and my father—” She tensed. “He demands names as payment. I don’t know who she was to you, but there will always be another Syren. Please help me do this. At the very least, I can go there and find out if any of it is true. Isn’t that worth it?” She held Jessa’s gaze, hopeful but unexpectant.
Jessa stared at her for a whole minute, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she thought. “To be clear, I don’t think this will work. From the little I know of the gods, you can’t outsmart them, and what could you possibly have to offer them?”
Bitter honesty hardened the bartender’s face, making her look older than her years. “I’ll help you, but this is Kava—the gods only give curses here, and I don’t see that changing just because you’ve grown a conscience.”
The lanterns swung gently overhead, casting warm inconsistent light onto the bar, and Elysia smiled, holding out her glass with a shrug. “To tricking gods then. Because I’m done with being cursed.”