It was no surprise she hadn’t made any progress delving into the arcane matter of her dreams. All those long nights she’d spent wearing down candle after candle reading had been fruitless. If she was honest, she knew the answers she sought would not be found within the old, crumbling pages of a book.
Because the answer was simple. There was no cure for the cursed. Even children knew that.
But she still had to look—she would drop to her knees and beg the undead gods who did not hear for an answer if it would stop the dreams. She could handle the secrets. Finding hidden truths was an invisible magic. Hard to prove. But what was happening while she slept?Next to the prince.That was going to get her killed.
Cursed to know what she should not, to find what she should not. And yet, the answers she needed eluded her. Itwas maddening. It was enough to make her question whether she knew anything at all. Of course, that wasn’t true. She knew plenty. The things she did know just seemed to be useless in this endeavor.
Here is what Elysia did know:
The hidden streets and tunnels of Relaclave as well as the freckle below her lip.
That she liked flowers better than most people.
Enough gossip to make you blush.
And how to slip through a crowded room without a soul noticing her steps.
She would have once told you that the last thing she knew in her carefully curated life was that sooner rather than later, she would find herself engaged to Topp Blatz, Crown Prince of Kava.
It was simple, really.
And it had all been going to plan. Her father’s plans. Her mother’s plans.Her underminings.
Her entire life she had known there were only two options for a woman like her. A woman who should have already been dead. The first was to hide away in obscurity and live a life so bland that no one ever noticed there was something different about her. A safe, boring life somewhere far from the whispers of Relaclave. Unfortunately, this had never been an option for the daughter of Jack and Georgia Parker. Born into the politics of the Crown, everyone knew her face and everyone knew her name. Running away was impossible. Her father would rather have her executed than let his prize bloodhound escape. This left her with only one path forward.
She pictured the king, Garrison Blatz, with his fawning crowds and golden crown atop his head.
She had realized one all-important truth as a child growing up in this magicless kingdom. The one who wears the crown can do no wrong. They becomeuntouchable. She didn’t have anyromantic notions of saving the land—saving the ones cursed like her. Her greatest and only ambition was to save herself. And if that meant marrying Topp Blatz and wearing the crown that would see her destroyed, then so be it. She had given up any naive ideas of morality long ago.
Until the dreams swept in like a tidal wave, destroying all she had once been so certain of in this life. All the work she had put in to ensure that her curse was undetectable. That she would survive this world where any false step could be her demise. That one day she would wear the Kavian crown and be safe at last.
Uncertainty and vexation were her constant companions now. She’d been navigating her curse just fine these last twenty-four years. Years of jobs for her father and no one was the wiser about her littlepredicament. A prickle of guilt gave her pause at the thought of all those jobs, but she stomped it dead. A hoarse growl echoed in her throat as she paced the length of her flat. She knew better than to dwell on the work she did for her father.
She stopped, bare feet cold against the wood floor, staring out the window at the wisps of smoke rising off of chimneys. Underneath her strivings, true fear pushed her, never allowing her to rest.
It was like someone had taken a seam ripper to the fabric of her life. Thread by thread, they plucked, snapping her fate in two. And no matter how she grabbed or clutched at the tapestry, she would not be able to stop it from unraveling in her hands.
Elysia threw herself onto a chair littered with clothes, still ruminating on her father and his demands. It was easier to focus on his smaller requests. The bullshit political maneuvering. The leverage that moved the scales. Because otherwise, she had to remember that her hands were covered in blood. That she’d traded innocent lives to protect her own.
When she was younger, she had liked to imagine that if she was careful, then perhaps one day she could find freedom and use her talents for something better.
Now, she harbored no such delusions or musings about if she’d use her curse for good.
All she wondered now was if the part of her that was a quiet, long beaten-down scream for vengeance would cry true. Truth be told, she knew it was equally likely the more pathetic side of her that still vied for her parents’ approval would win out in the end.
The metal plate of the mail slot clanked against itself, drawing her eyes and attention. A cream envelope poked through the slot, and she could already guess it was from her mother, given no one else was insane enough to be up in the middle of the night issuing a summons.
Leaving her morbid reverie behind, she stood, tossing the pillow she’d been holding aside to where her cat would once again claim it for its own. Hunched down in a squat, she attempted to pull out the envelope. Cursing, she yanked even harder, but the courier had somehow jammed the thick paper into the crevices of the mail slot and it wasn’t budging. Thinking it would be easier to pull it out from the opposite side, she opened the door.
Elysia stopped dead in her tracks. There was a package. Beneath the dim amber light of the poorly tended hall lamps was a small brown box with burgundy liquid seeping out onto the black-and-white tiled hallway floor. It was tied with a perfectly happy twine bow. Frozen, she stared down at the box, knowing she wouldn’t like whatever was inside.
A heavy breath filled her chest, sounding like the sea, and then practical resolve squared her shoulders. This mess wasn’t going to clean itself. She snatched the envelope out of the mail slot, damn near ripping it in half, and grabbed the bloodied boxoff the ground. Marching back inside, she dumped the box with a loud thump into the sink and hurried back to the front door to wipe down the floor with an old rag. The last thing she needed was the landlord on her ass aboutbloodstaining the tiles.
She opted for the easier of the two deliveries first. It’s not like the bloody box in her sink was going anywhere. Tearing open the cream envelope, she found a note from her mother, as expected.
Did other people’s mothers send calls to action at four in the unblessed morning? Elysia squinted at the honeyed demand for both her and Beatriz’s presence. Thepleaseandthank youwere perfunctory. Georgia Parker did not ask her daughters, she told them, and she was telling them to be prompt and present for a strategy session regarding the upcoming Raven Ball.
She cringed at the idea of debating food choices and centerpieces, but when she thought about the possibilities of the Raven Ball, a flicker of excitement raced through her.
