Gage looked up from the fish he was deboning, irritated. “Take that cloak off. We’re eating.”
She made no move to take off the cloak. Sneaking past him was an impossible task, which is why she hadn’t bothered. Hands sliding into her pockets, she answered him. “I can eat when I come back.”
He nodded tightly, his fingers gripping the counter behind him now. “So, you’re coming back then?”
She spoke softly, cutting to the heart of the matter. “I will not run. I can’t. I won’t. The magic holds me here, and there are things I need to do. If you want me to leave, then I’ll go—I know my presence threatens you too.”
His face, his entire body, became stone. Turning back to the stove, he dropped the now boneless and chopped fish into a pot. “One second past midnight and the doors will be locked. I'll have my men throw you in a cell. Do you hear me?”
Kava’s Shadow did not have any children of his own, but he did have one impossibly frustrating little sister. And it appeared he would do whatever he could in order to keep her safe.
Elysia blinked at his tone. She was fairly certain she’d just been given a curfew for the first time in her life as a grown woman. A smile cracked her face, and she forced herself to walk backward into the hall instead of burying him in a hug.
“Midnight,” she answered, slipping out the door into the already darkening night.
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 thenorthside 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 inher 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.”
