But it’s my father’s words that repeat the most often, that linger, that fester, enough to make me consider the unthinkable. The wordcowarddances behind my eyes from the moment I wake until the moment I sleep, permanently etched in my brain. I have never let my father down before, and yet every morning when he greets me across the breakfast table, there is shame in his eyes, shame aimed at me. I know I should be making this easier on him, but I cannot bring myself to give him the one thing he truly needs: my word that I will be the one to take his life from him.
The idea Dom proposed is so preposterous, I tend to dismiss it the second it flits through my mind. But it has begun to linger there, the more time has gone on. I still do not think the Gifted should regain their rights and privileges, think that not regulatingtheir Gifts can only end in disaster for all of Avon. And yet I’m just selfish enough to wonder how I might use this Caterine’s Gift for my own benefit.
And so one night, I dress in my best, a tuxedo with tails and a top hat slick enough to make Alex proud.
I don’t tell anyone where I’m going, commanding a carriage to drive me into the city. After about two hours, the grassy green knolls of Scota give way to the cobbled streets of the capital, the wheels of the carriage clacking over the rocks. I watch from the window as we pass by Scota’s prosperous farms, the emerald fields rich and vibrant, and move into Stratford’s dingy streets. Trash litters the cobblestones and the smell of sewage seeps through the carriage doors. More than one person is perched along the streets, tucked under blankets that do little to shelter them from the elements.
What could the country look like if all four provinces lived by Scota’s model? Perhaps peace and prosperity for all is possible. If it is, I might be the only one able to achieve it.
The carriage turns a corner and rolls to a stop. We’ve left behind the slums of Stratford and arrived in what feels like a different world, though I know we are only a few streets away. Here, opulent townhouses tower over a road that is smoothly paved and lined with gilded carriages. The street in front of the club is crowded with patrons waiting for entry, their jewels glinting under the bright lights adorning the front of the building. So much wealth while only blocks away, there is so much need. It churns my stomach, and for a second, I think of asking the driver to turn around and head back home. But I’ve come this far, I might as well explore my options.
Bold red letters lined with more lights announce our arrival at La Puissance. I step from the carriage and make my way through the chittering crowd. Laughter and joy surround me as I slip the doorman a handful of gold coins to expedite my entry. The noise isoverwhelming, so different from the calm, country evening air of Scota. My brain buzzes, and I struggle to focus as my senses are overloaded. Rich perfume erases any lingering hints of sewage from my nose. The only thing brighter than the colors are the diamonds. The wave of sounds that overtakes me is enough to drown out even my darkest of thoughts. For a second, I appreciate how easy it could be to get lost in La Puissance. It’s not an entirely unwelcome feeling.
The moment I set foot in the lobby, carpeted in plush crimson with an immense golden staircase at its center, I’m greeted by a stunning woman in a glittering red corset, the skirt of her dress cut high in the front and flowing down to the floor in the back. A giant feather tops her head, along with a massive gemstone that sparkles like her smile.
“Welcome, my lord. Is this your first time visiting La Puissance?”
I nod, refusing to be charmed by this gorgeous creature, determined to reveal as little of myself as possible.
She tucks her hand into the crook of my arm, gently pulling me away from the front doors and farther into the club. Opulence is everywhere, from the dripping jewels adorning the women to the ornate gold railings and balustrades. Costumed people are draped on chairs and across the railings like further ornamentation. Laughter rumbles around me, the air vibrating with it. In one corner of the lobby, a small group of people crowd around a woman, barely dressed, with a sword lodged in her throat. She pulls it out slowly and her audience erupts in cheers as she licks the blade and smiles.
My escort pauses just long enough for me to watch a man pull the sword eater into his lap before she leads us through a wide doorway and utter madness greets us on the other side. The cavernous room is packed full of people, their shouts and giggles competing with the live band performing onstage. The music is loud, thumping, the horns wailing out notes I’ve never heard before. There’s adance floor, but nothing happening is like anything I’ve ever seen at a society ball. In twos and threes and fours and fives, people writhe against one another, their bodies pressed so tightly together it’s hard to tell where one ends and another begins. Most of the men wear tuxedos, but several are wearing skirts and dresses, some bare-chested and glistening with sweat. Most of the women wear next to nothing, but some are dressed in evening gowns, others in tuxedos. It’s as titillating as it is shocking, and my mouth goes dry. I’m surprised to find myself wanting more, the urge to insert myself into the undulating masses catching me off guard.
Across the room from the stage, a massive bar takes up an entire length of the wall, crowded with even more patrons. Balconies ring the room, people shouting from above to their friends down below. Several doors line the hallways on the second level, and it doesn’t take much imagination to picture what happens behind them, though the sound of the music drowns out any hints.
The woman watches me while I take it all in. She takes pity on me, chuckling and leading me toward the bar. “What’s your poison, love?” She has to lean in close to be heard, and she doesn’t pull away.
“Whisky,” I yell back so she can actually hear me.
The woman hands me a glass, pressing it into my hand while at the same time pressing her breasts into my arm. “You are quite attractive, my lord.”
I notice she still makes use of honorifics, even though the Uprising has officially done away with all titles—one of the few things they’ve managed to accomplish quickly. I don’t bother to mention the correct title would beYour Highness, shoving the hand bearing my signet ring deep in my pocket.
I take a bracing sip of the drink, not sure how to let this woman know that despite her beauty I’m not interested.
But she clearly has experience enough to read me like a book. She laughs again. “Stick around, the show’s about to begin. You don’t want to miss Lady Caterine.” She blows me a kiss as she turns to leave me alone at the bar. “Come find me if you change your mind!”
I nod, though we both know that I won’t.
I am, however, grateful for the information she’s provided me. Lady Caterine is set to perform soon. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to observe her.
Strolling through the room, I keep my head down. I’ve already recognized nobles—former nobles, I suppose—from Venezia and Talia, and I would be a fool to think no Scotan citizens are among the crowd. The last thing I need is for someone to recognize me.
I slip into a seat at one of the spindly black café tables arranged in front of the stage, pulling down on the brim of my hat and sipping cautiously from my drink. A whole bathtub full of whisky wouldn’t be enough to soothe my nerves, but the searing down my chest at least gives me something else, something concrete, to focus on.
Without warning, the room goes dark, a pitch black so deep it envelops the massive space.
Rather than inspiring panic, the room explodes in raucous cheers. The people clearly know what’s coming.
Soft strains of music fill the air, and the crowd falls into a hushed silence, like the entire room is holding its breath. I find I’m holding mine, too.
The music gets louder, and faster, and a spotlight kicks on, aimed at the red velvet curtain hiding the stage. The crowd cheers and screams again as a single gloved hand emerges from the gap in the curtain.
It disappears after a quick twist of the wrist. A second later a footemerges, encased in a gold strappy shoe that looks more like a weapon than footwear. The curtain pulls back ever so slowly, revealing a shapely leg sheathed in some kind of sheer sparkly fabric.
The leg disappears, and for one long minute there’s nothing but the cries of anticipation from a ravenous crowd.
The next glimpse we get is of the most perfectly round backside I have ever seen. It’s encased in more sparkles, black and shimmering under the lights of the stage.
