“You're such a brat?—”
Beatriz swung a swift foot at the door right as Elysia ripped it open. Beatriz toppled into the room, legs buckling and arms flailing.
Elysia smiled sweetly. “You need to be careful! Could break an ankle like that.”
Beatriz glowered, shooting her a look as she straightened out her lanky frame. “Don’t use that gross Crown voice with me. Gives me the creeps.”
Walking back over to her project, Elysia settled down onto the floor once more as if she hadn’t just antagonized a viper.
“Shut the door, will you? And lock it. Who knows who followed you here with the company you keep.”
Elysia smirked as Triz’s dark plum lips grumbled. The old nickname still fell out sometimes. Familiar and foreign, just like them. Her sister twisted all the locks and strutted into the living space with her hands upon her hips like she owned it.
Ignoring her, Elysia proceeded to paint a thin layer of translucent paste on the matching sheet of glass. After corking the paste, she finally turned her attention to Beatriz.
“So, what do you want? What do you need this time?” Her tone remained matter-of-fact. They both knew there was only one reason Beatriz ever visited.
She lined up the edges of the glass and pressed the sheets together.
Perfect. It would be ready to sell once framed.
Her sister stared over her shoulder. “You... You’re the one who sells these?”
Elysia glanced up. “Keeps this roof over my head. Not all of us can swindle our endless lovers into paying our bills.”
“You’reliterallydating a prince.” Her face tilted with a knowing sort of pity. “You’re that bad at sex, huh?”
But then her demeanor shifted from mocking to a narrow, scheming type of focus as she stared at the flower art. “How much?”
“Hm?” Elysia stood, not answering Triz’s question.Why do you suddenly care?was the real question. She’d been living on her own for a few years now, selling her pieces the whole time. It wasn’t a hidden operation. Every week, she was at the market.Even her parents knew about it. They hated it, of course. Said it was wrong to remind people of what Kava used to be.Wrong to wish for anything different.
Beatriz’s long fingers motioned impatiently at the framed flower pressings that were ready to be sold. “How. Much.”
Elysia shook her head at Beatriz’s agitation with a little grin.Too easy.Carrying her latest piece to a safe spot where it could rest and dry, she answered. “Depends on the piece. About ten coins, though.”
Triz’s eyebrows shot up. “Ten coins? Ten measly fucking coins? Most folks have never even seen a damn flower in Kava! You could make a killing if you wanted.”
Elysia bristled, muttering under her breath as she put away her supplies. “I make enough, okay? You drugged-up cow’s ass.”
Grinning, Beatriz tossed the small pot of paste up and down. Elysia snatched it out of the air. “Give me that. And stoptouchingthings.”
Beatriz waved away her insults and orders as if they were a fly, already examining a knickknack that Topp had given her. “At least usdrugged-up cowsdon’t have assholes so tight that we walk funny.” She gave Elysia a look while miming a ridiculous walk, her legs stiff and butt puckered.
“I donotwalk like that.”
“Sure, you don’t.” She grabbed a framed flower pressing, making Elysia’s blood pressure jump.
“If you could do more of this”—she gestured around at the dirt and plants—“would you? You could have a serious business. There’s no one else in the land with flowers, dead or alive. They’re not worth importing, either.”
Elysia’s head slanted, gauging her sister’s sharp observations as she sank onto the arm of the leather couch. “Can’t. Rollie made the flower house, and I don’t think he’s too keen on doingme any favors right now. Besides, since when does Relaclave’s favorite party girl care about anything serious?”
Her words were curious but still caustic. Once again, Beatriz didn’t even bat an eye. Elysia hadn’t really expected her to—her sister was well aware of what people said about her. Star of Relaclave’s most salacious tales, her sister never missed an opportunity to reprimand her for caring what others thought.
“You’ll never win them all, Elysia. Those sniveling old bags of bones wouldn’t know a good time if it smacked them in their fake teeth.”
Elysia’s lips twitched at the memory. Her sister, drunk and hanging out of a carriage, giving life advice.
She left her memory and found Beatriz looking at her in annoyance, an expression that was usually followed by snide comments about Elysia being such aprecious little doll. Beatriz kept her mouth shut for once, though. Instead, she filled it with wine. Tipping the jug back with expert ease, she smacked her lips once finished and looked around expectantly.
