Elysia stoodon a small wooden platform with a polite grimace plastered on her face. Attending her mother’s events meant being scrutinized like a cow out for sale. Georgia Parker walked around her in a tight circle with the utmost seriousness. She fluffed a bit of Elysia’s skirts and slowly brought her eyes to meet her daughter’s. “You’re wearing slippers with a cocktail dress?” The disdain was palpable.
Yes, Mother, because you can’t run for your life in a pair of heels.But she couldn’t say that. She also couldn’t say that most heels were murder on her scars. So Elysia closed her eyes and asked the undead gods to give her strength. Not for the evening. Just to make it through the next minute with her mother without talking back. Grown or not, she would not put it past her mother to find some way to torture her if she so much as blinked wrong in her direction. Couldn’t have her doll acting out. That would be just dreadful.
She was just about to fake an ankle injury when Daphne burst into the room with Remy a step behind.
“Ooh, Elysia,” she cooed. “That dress is magnificent.”
And it was. Delicate straps met a fitted bodice that acted as a corset, giving Elysia the illusion of a much more ample chest than was reality. All her training sessions with Gage had chipped away what had once been soft flesh, leaving behind only sleek muscle. But she didn’t mind. She liked her toned arms and firm thighs she had earned from hours of weights and sparring. The tulle skirt fell in straight, opaque sheaths down to her ankles, giving glimpses of leg as she moved. And with her hair piled atop her head in a smooth bun, she could have easily passed for one of her favorite dancers. Lithe, deceptively strong, and ready to perform on the stage that was a Relaclave party. She’d chosen a stunning midnight blue that matched the sweeping waters of the Valvere Sea not only for the color but because it obscured the dagger strapped to her thigh.
Remy strolled up beside her, making a show of looking Elysia up and down before plucking a gin fizz off a serving tray.
“Sexy ballerina looking for her prince,” she declared.
Elysia laughed. Biased but heartfelt, she grinned at Remy’s comment. Spinning on her toes to face them, she kept her face aglow with excitement, pretending tonight was like any other where they would drink too much and cackle in the corner. She leaned forward, resting an arm around each woman’s neck and hopping off the platform.
“If it isn’t the mostbrilliantanddashingwomen in all of Kava here to be my dates.” She gave them a quick squeeze before letting go.
Daphne took a bow, blonde hair falling over her shoulder. “At your service, madam.” She straightened, a devious look coming into her pale, aqua eyes. “My vagina is going to turn to dust if I don’t find some dick tonight. I need someone rich and ready to ravish me.”
Remy choked, hacking on her gin fizz. She took another drink, soothing her cough. “Gods, Daph, I know it’s been a while,butwow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say vaginaordick before.”
Daphne nodded seriously. “Dire times.”
Elysia’s mother sighed and dropped the edge of the tulle skirt she had been holding. Even she knew her complaints would not be heard over the noise of three alcohol-fueled women. Georgia glided on staggering heels to the door, calling over her shoulder, “Five minutes, ladies.”
A resounding “yes, ma’am” chirped in her direction, causing Georgia to smile lightly as she exited. Elysia could practically hear the thoughts in her mother’s head. How much it satisfied her to have all her chicks coiffed and in perfect formation. Her mother did love when the guests were as beautiful as her parties.
The door snicked shut and Remy and Daphne immediately closed in on Elysia, shoving more highball glasses around until there was not a single empty hand. Events like these were not meant to be done sober. They were only tolerable with a very specific amount of alcohol in your blood combined with the irreverent commentary of your best friends.
That being said, Elysia eyed the gin bottle in Daphne’s right fist and cringed inside at the thought of all that liquor coming back up later. She pretended to sip her own glass while Daphne rattled off about the new tailor she'd found in the south end of the city. She was convinced this up-and-coming seamstress was being gouged by false taxes. And no one was more motivated than Daphne when there was a convenient injustice that suited her interests. Remy listened attentively though, her eyes completely zoned into Daphne’s dramatic re-enactment, nodding and humming in all the right places. She promised to give the woman a consultation soon, leaving Daphne flushed and victorious. A true beacon for social justice and tailors everywhere.
Elysia stood there soaking in the familiar dynamics, her body relaxing in their presence. She really wished she hadn’t invited them. It wasn’t like she could spare them from the poison’s path, but she was confident that all the guests would be well by morning—except for one.
The avoidant creature that lived beneath her skin beseeched her to crush the poison she carried between her breasts underfoot. To call the whole thing off and down gin fizzes until she was dizzy with false delight. She would laugh and tumble and dance in a whirl with Topp’s arms around her, ending the night tangled in his bed as she had so many nights before.
The vial ofjust in casepoison rolled against her skin as she moved. A cold, silent reminder of her task.
“Are you ready, Elysia?” Daphne and Remy, ever the gallant escorts, each held out an arm. Unaware of what was to come and half drunk, their smiles lit all the way to their eyes.
“Ready.” Hooking her arms through theirs, they set off to meet the night.
The double doors swung wide, giving a sweeping view of the Golden Seal’s latest feat. Dazzling light washed the dance floor. Labradorite swirls in the floor sparkled as those same chandelier lights hit them just right. And swashes of dark gauze fell from the sky. The fabric twisted and tied just so, to create miniature alcoves meant only for two. On any other night, Elysia would have floated between those gauzy nests, collecting secrets like helpless insects in a spider’s web. But not tonight.
Her father’s threats played in her mind as they took the final steps to the grand staircase where they would make their entrance. All those women who looked like her. Syren, dead and useless while she was still alive. Syren healed people. What did she do?Exploit and kill.She was no better than the man who raised her. Like most people, she had sworn to herself that she would never be like her parents. But it seemed no matterhow hard she tried, she came up short in that regard. A numb, dead sort of feeling enveloped her heart, staving off the shame that stuck to her always. The staircase loomed, only steps away. There wasn't time for those types of thoughts right now.
But her brain persisted, shoving the image of Topp dripping wet in the market, his full lips spewing false promises of trust to the front of her mind. The image mocked her.He knows and yet he still underestimates me.Maybe he didn’t understand the entirety of her magic—but she thought it bold to lie to her face when he had likely put together what she could do.
They stopped beside the carpeted stairs, and her stomach twisted into knots. She stared down at the mass of courtiers and politicians below. All resplendent in their silk and tails and top hats. None expecting to be poisoned. Innocent people about to be dragged into her mess.
The world wanted her to be gentle and quiet.
Pliable with her eyes wide shut.
Moldable to their every whim without thought or complaint.
And she had been. For so long.
Desperate to be the good girl who met their ever moving expectations. Desperate to wash the filth of her curse off her skin and be marked clean with a crown she didn’t even want. She knew now that she was never going to fit inside their boxes.
