A poorly disguised intervention, that’s what this was.
Elysia grumbled to herself. She’d been avoiding this little meeting as long as she possibly could. And how terrible was that? To avoid your oldest friends.Never said I was a good person. Elysia walked over to her vanity, dropping onto the stool. Gods forbid if she showed up looking tired.
The most laughable part was that she had kept her biggest secrets from them since they were children. They had no idea that she sparred with Kava’s Shadow. That she cursed him when he struck too hard and brought him sweets on his birthday. They would die if they knew that her elusive skill for aiding in court matters was often the result of her climbing in and out ofwindows and blending into busy rooms to listen in on delicate conversations.
She looked at her hands, a familiar bitterness falling over her. They would turn her in faster than a wolf in the woods if they knew the truth of her. The curse. All she’d done to hide it.
Elysia leaned in toward her mirror to dab a bit more concealer upon the dark clouds resting beneath her eyes.This,of all things, was what they had noticed. That she was tired. And a bit short-tempered. Forgetting their usual weekly tea and gin dates.
She dropped the makeup with a clatter. What’s the worst they could say? She pursed her lips at the thought. Knowing Daphne, they could say an awful lot.
Slipping into her favorite emerald cloak, she gave a little twirl. An effervescent laugh tinkled out, the sound so contrary to the dread she felt inside. The cloak’s smooth lining hugged her close while black ribbons at her neck swept into an elegant bow. She tugged at the ribbons until they nestled perfectly at the hollow of her throat and watched as Elysia Parker, daughter of the Kavian court and the Crown, so easily fell into place. She lifted the hood gently over her loose dark hair before stepping out into the faded gray of a Relaclave morning.
The entire kingdom decayed beneath a film of soot, but here in Relaclave, the filth was made into art as it settled layer by layer over the beautiful cream buildings their city was known for. It wasn’t actually soot, not in the truest sense, but that was what it looked like, and that was what everyone called it.
The heels of Elysia’s buttoned boots thudded rhythmically against the worn cobblestone streets. There wasn’t a street or building in Relaclave that had not been tinged with the gray veil that had begun with magic’s end. Some of the cleverer architects and planners had even begun to account for the hazy filter that would layer over their meticulous designs.
The older half of the city, the north side near the sea, boasted of curving cream buildings made soft with soot and contrasted with stark, sharp dark lines.
The city of charcoal came to life on the north side.
Indeed, at night one could see its famous doors of every color holding fast against the dinge. Swashes of blood red and the coldest of blues held the locks and keys to this part of Kava’s world.
Elysia had wondered for years what the colors meant, and how they came to be in a city such as this, but whenever she asked someone old enough to know, they looked away, reminding her not to ask such questions about the time before the Fall. They were fascinating, though, colorful and untouched by the grime layering over everything else.
The doors were a beacon of sorts, always guiding people to where they needed to be.
Elysia trained her eyes ahead, searching for the yellow door that would bring her to this trial. She wove in and out through the crowds with practiced ease and paid no attention to the scurrying droves of people that foretold a wretched storm arriving.
Her gloved fingers pressed down upon a black iron handle. She shoved firmly until the sunshine-painted doorway budged, its heavy frame cracking open just enough for her to slip through. She paused, inhaling the mouthwatering scents of almond and hazelnut wafting through the air. The flames within the wall-mounted oil lamps danced, their soft light warming the hallway. Between the cozy lights and sweet smells, a sense of comfort enveloped her, easing her tension.
More than that, this was their spot. Somewhere to meet and laugh and just be. At least it used to be—she hadn’t come in quite some time.
Elysia walked with measured steps down the narrow and deceptively dilapidated hall until it melted into the snug, candlelit haven that was Fillie’s Café. As much a spot for lovers as it was for friends, Fillie’s rarely had an empty seat.
Despite their lack of reservation, Remy lounged in a high-back velvet chair. Then again, most businesses in these parts could find a spare chair for Remelda Wincraft. Better known as Remy to those she called friends, but to the many she was Ms. Wincraft. And Ms. Wincraft was good at what she did.
Elysia couldn’t help but feel another fissure of warmth crack through the wall she had been steadily building while schlepping across the city as she let the sight of her oldest friend wash over her. She was a shark with the curves of a panther, and Elysia loved her for it.
Her cherry-red dress drew out the warmth of her deep brown skin, and tiny cap sleeves armored her shoulders. She set a trap in the sweeping low-cut of her dress and executed it well with a waistline that nipped in, the fabric smoothing over her hips down to midcalf. A sharp jacket with a high buttoned collar rested on the arm of her chair.
Elysia felt her lips tip up as she drew closer to the table, her hands tucked within the folds of her emerald cloak. Remy was making the poor waiter sweat as she trailed a finger down the menu that she already knew by heart.
Remy’s daddy ran the treasury for the Crown and had passed on his gift for numbers and figures. By the time she was sixteen, Remy knew the Kavian tax code better than most of the decrepit, cheating accountants who swindled folks left and right. All it took was the girl’s favorite local café bankrupting for her business to be born.
Elysia slid silently into an open chair and smiled appreciatively as she always did that Remy had saved Fillie’s. It turned out that Fillie’s wasn’t really bankrupt; they werejust getting really, royally screwed. The Crown taxes were like that sometimes, when you offended the wrong person—like the treasurer.
Remy’s daddy still wasn’t sure if his wife had given birth to a terror or a prodigy, but it seemed he held out hope that one day she would come to her senses and leave that nonsense behind. Good girls didn’t fight back against corrupt tax practices. They especially didn’t do it when their father was the face of said corruption.
Elysia thought he was better off taking a swim in the venomous-fish-infested waters of the Valvere Sea.
She tugged off her leather gloves. “Where’s Daphne?”
Remy gave a dip of her chin, and Elysia glanced in that direction. She let out a huff, and Remy nodded dryly in commiseration.
From her baby blue sheath to her icy-blonde locks, Daphne fluttered in like a winter breeze. She made warm hellos to the hostess and offered a knowing wiggle of her fingers to at least three separate groups of people before finally gliding to their table.
She plopped several small brown shop bags to the floor and sat back with a satisfied sigh, crossing one leg over the other. Her bright eyes scanned Remy and Elysia. “Finally, we’reallhere.”
