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Levada ao entardecer: Os sobrenaturais (Saga Acampamento Shadow Falls) Hunter C. C. Year: 2012 Language: portuguese File: EPUB, 1.46 MB Your tags: 0 / 0

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Desperta ao amanhecer: Os sobrenaturais (Saga Acampamento Shadow Falls) Hunter C. C. Year: 2012 Language: portuguese File: EPUB, 1.83 MB Your tags: 0 / 0

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About the Author

Copyright Page



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To Matthew, for the soapstone

To Allison, for telling me Dashiell was the wrong name

And to both of you, for being amazing siblings





SEVEN YEARS AGO

While some rooms on the estate had monsters hiding beneath the beds, Tella swore her mother’s suite concealed enchantment. Hints of emerald light dusted the air as if fairies came to play whenever her mother left. The room smelled of flowers plucked from secret gardens, and even when there wasn’t a breeze, the sheer curtains billowed around the magnificent canopy bed. Above, a citrine chandelier greeted Tella with the musical sounds of kissing glass, making it easy for her to imagine the suite was a bewitched portal to another world.

Tella’s tiny feet made no sound as she tiptoed across thick ivory carpets to her mother’s dresser. Quickly, she stole a look over her shoulder and then snatched her mother’s jewelry box. Slick and heavy in Tella’s hands, the box was made of mother-of-pearl and covered in spiderwebbed gold filigree; Tella liked to pretend it was also charmed, for even when her fingers were dirty, they fortunately never left prints.

Tella’s mother didn’t mind if her daughters played with her dresses or tried on her fancy slippers, but she’d asked them not to touch this box, which only made it more irresistible to Tella.

Scarlett could spend her after; noons daydreaming about traveling shows like Caraval, but Tella liked to have real adventures.

Today she pretended a wicked queen was holding a young elfin prince captive, and to save him, she needed to steal her mother’s opal ring, Tella’s favorite piece of jewelry. The milky stone was raw and rough, shaped like a starburst, with sharp tips that sometimes pricked her fingers. But when Tella held the opal up toward the light, the stone sparked, covering the room in embers of luminescent cherry, gold, and lavender that hinted at magic curses and rebel pixie dust.

Sadly, the brassy band was too large for Tella’s finger, though every time she opened the box, she still slipped it on in case she’d grown. But this day, right as Tella slid on the ring, she noticed something else.

The chandelier above her stilled as if it, too, had been caught by surprise.

Tella knew every item in her mother’s jewelry case by heart: a carefully folded velvet ribbon edged in gold, bloodred scarlet earrings, a tarnished silver bottle that her mother claimed held angel tears, an ivory locket that wouldn’t open, a jet wristlet that looked as if it belonged on the arm of a witch rather than her mother’s elegant wrist.

The only item Tella never touched was the dirty-gray sachet, which smelled of moldy leaves and charnel-sweet death. It keeps the goblins away, her mother once teased. It kept Tella away as well.

But today, the ugly little purse flickered, drawing Tella toward it. One moment it looked like a bundle of rot and smelled of decay. A blink later, in its place rested a gleaming deck of cards, tied with a delicate satin ribbon. Then, in a flash, it was back to the nasty pouch before it transfigured into the cards again.

Abandoning her play mission, Tella quickly grabbed the silky cord and lifted the deck from the box. Instantly they stopped shifting.

The cards were so very, very pretty. Such a dark hue of nightshade they were almost black, with tiny hints of gold flecks that sparkled in the light, and swirly strands of deep red-violet embossing that made Tella think of damp flowers, witches’ blood, and magic.

These were nothing like the flimsy black-and-white cards her father’s guards had taught her to play betting games with. Tella sat down on the carpet. Her nimble fingers tingled as she untied the ribbon and flipped over the first card.

The young woman pictured reminded Tella of a captive princess. Her lovely white dress was shredded, and her tear-shaped eyes were as pretty as polished sea glass, but so sad they hurt to look at. Most likely because her head was caged in a rounded globe of pearls.

The words The Maiden Death were written at the bottom of the card.

Tella shuddered. She did not like the name, and she was not fond of cages, even pearly ones. Suddenly she had the feeling that her mother would not want her seeing these cards, but that didn’t stop Tella from turning over another.

The name at the bottom of this one was The Prince of Hearts.

It showed a young man with a face made of angles, and lips as sharp as two knife blades. One hand near his pointed chin clasped the hilt of a dagger, and red tears fell from his eyes, matching the blood staining the corner of his narrow mouth.

Tella flinched as the prince’s image flickered, there and gone, the same way the foul sachet had wavered earlier.

She should have stopped then. These cards were definitely not toys. Yet a part of her felt as if she was meant to find them. They were more real than the evil queen or the elfin prince of her imagination, and Tella dared to think that perhaps they would lead her on a genuine adventure.

The next card felt especially warm against her fingers as Tella turned it over.

The Aracle.

She did not know what the strange name meant, and unlike the other cards, this one did not appear to be violent. The edges were covered in ornate swirls of molten gold, and the center was silver like a mirror—no, it was a mirror. The shining middle reflected Tella’s honey-blond curls and her round hazel eyes. But when Tella looked closer, the image was wrong. Tella’s pink lips were trembling, and fat tears were running down her cheeks.

Tella never cried. Not even when her father used harsh words, or Felipe ignored her in favor of her older sister.

“I wondered if I’d find you in here, my little love.” Her mother’s soft soprano filled the room as she swept inside. “What adventures are you having today?”

As her mother bent toward the carpet where Tella sat, her hair fell around her clever face in elegant rivers. Her mother’s locks were the same dark brown as Scarlett’s, but Tella shared her mother’s olive skin, which gleamed as if she’d been kissed by the stars. Though just then Tella watched her mother turn moonstone pale as her eyes latched on to the upturned images of the Maiden Death and the Prince of Hearts.

“Where did you find these?” Her mother’s sweet voice remained, but her hands swiftly snatched the cards, giving Tella the impression she’d done something very wrong. And while Tella often did things she wasn’t supposed to, usually her mother didn’t mind. She’d gently correct her daughter, or occasionally tell her how to get away with her little crimes. It was her father who was easily angered. Her mother was the soft breath of air that blew out his sparks before they could ignite into flames. But now her mother looked as if she wanted to start a fire and use the cards for kindling.

“I found them in your jewelry box,” Tella said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were bad.”

“It’s all right.” Her mother ran a hand over Tella’s curls. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. But even I don’t like to touch these cards.”

“Then why do you have them?”

Her mother concealed the cards inside the skirts of her gown before setting the box on a high shelf by the bed, beyond Tella’s reach.

Tella feared the conversation was over—as it undoubtedly would have been with her father. But her mother didn’t ignore questions from her daughters. Once the box was tucked safely away, her mother folded herself onto the carpet beside Tella.

“I wish I’d never found these cards,” she whispered, “but I will tell you about them if you swear to never touch this deck, or another deck like this, again.”

“I thought you told Scarlett and I never to swear.”

“This is different.” A corner of her mother’s smile returned, as though Tella was being let in on a very special secret. It was always this way: when her mother chose to focus her glittering attention on Tella alone, she made Tella feel as if she were a star and the world revolved around only her. “What have I always told you about the future?”

“Every person has the power to write her own,” Tella said.

“That’s right,” her mother said. “Your future can be whatever you wish. We all have the power to choose our own destiny. But, my sweet, if you play with those cards, you give the Fates pictured inside them the opportunity to shift your path. People use Decks of Destiny, similar to the one you just touched, to predict the future, and once a future is foretold, that future becomes a living thing, and it will fight very hard to bring itself about. This is why I need you to never touch those cards again. Do you understand?”

Tella nodded, though she didn’t truly understand; she was still at that tender age when the future seemed too far away to be real. It also did not escape her notice that her mother never said where the cards came from. And that made Tella’s fingers clench a little tighter around the one still in her hand.

In her haste to pick up the deck, Tella’s mother hadn’t noticed the third card Tella had turned over. The one still in her possession. The Aracle. Tella carefully hid it beneath her crisscrossed legs as she said, “I swear to never touch a deck like this again.”





ISLA DE

LOS SUEÑOS





1

Tella was no longer floating.

She was on the damp ground, feeling far, far away from the bright, sparkly thing she’d been the evening before. Back when Legend’s private isle had radiated amber-tipped light, which breathed enchantment and wonder, along with a hint of deception. A delectable combination. And Tella had reveled in it. During the party to celebrate the end of Caraval, she had danced until her slippers were stained with grass and sipped flutes of bubbly wine until she’d practically floated.

But now she was facedown on the cold, hard forest floor.

Not daring to open her eyes, she groaned and brushed bits of nature from her hair, wishing some of the other remnants from last night could be as easily swept away. Everything reeked of stale liquor, pine needles, and mistakes. Her skin itched and crawled, and the only thing worse than the spinning in her head was the twisted soreness in her back and neck. Why had she thought falling asleep outside was a brilliant idea?

“Argh.” Someone grunted the not-quite-satisfied sound of a person on the verge of waking up.

Tella opened her eyes, peered to the side, and then closed her lids immediately. Dirty saints.

She was not alone.

Amid the towering trees and the untamed greens of the forest floor, Tella had flashed open her eyes just long enough to glimpse a dark head of hair, bronzed skin, a scarred wrist, and a boy’s hand covered with a black rose tattoo. Dante.

It all rushed back in a surge of blurry memories. The feeling of Dante’s experienced hands wrapped around her hips. His kisses on her neck, her jaw, then her mouth as their lips became intimately acquainted.

What in all the hells had she been thinking?

Of course, Tella knew exactly what her thoughts had been during the Caraval performers’ party the night before. The world had tasted like magic and starshine, like granted wishes and dreams come true, yet beneath it all, death still coated Tella’s tongue. No matter how much champagne she drank, or how warm the air grew from dancing, Tella still shivered from the chilling recollection of how it had felt to die.

Her jump from Legend’s balcony had not been an act of despair; it had been a leap of faith. But for just one night she hadn’t wanted to think about it, or why it mattered. She wanted to celebrate her success, to forget everything else. And Dante had looked like the perfect way to do both. He was attractive, he could be charming, and it had been too long since she had been properly kissed. And, saints, did Dante know how to kiss.

With another groan, he stretched beside her. His large hand landed on her lower back, warm and firm, and far more tempting than it should have been.

Tella told herself she needed to escape before he woke. But even asleep, Dante was so good with his hands. He idly ran his fingers up her spine to her neck, lazily digging into her hair just enough to make her back arch.

His fingers stilled.

Dante’s breathing grew suddenly quiet in a way that told Tella he was now awake as well.

Swallowing a curse, she hastily pushed up from the ground, away from his stilled, skilled fingers. She didn’t care if he saw her sneaking off; it would be far less uncomfortable than exchanging any forced pleasantries before one of them became bold enough to make an excuse for why he or she needed to rush away. Tella had kissed enough young men to know that anything said by a boy right before or directly after she kissed him could not be believed at all. And she really needed to leave.

Tella’s memories might have been blurry, yet somehow she couldn’t manage to forget the letter she’d received before things became interesting with Dante. A stranger, face hidden underneath the cloak of night, had slid the note into her pocket and disappeared before she could follow. She wanted to reread the message right away, but considering what she owed the friend who’d sent it, she did not think that would be very wise. She needed to return to her room.

Damp earth and spiked tree needles snuck between her toes as she began to slink away. She must have lost her slippers somewhere, but she didn’t want to waste time searching for them. The forest was tinged with indolent honey light and punctuated by heavy snores and murmurs that made Tella think she and Dante weren’t the only ones who’d passed out under the stars. She didn’t care if any of them saw her sneaking away from the pretty boy, but she didn’t want anyone telling her sister.

Dante had been more than a little nasty to Scarlett during Caraval. He worked for Legend, so it had only been an act—but although Caraval was over, it was still somewhat difficult to weed out the bits of fact from fiction. And Tella didn’t want her sister further hurt because Tella had chosen to have some fun with a boy who’d been so cruel to Scarlett during the game.

Thankfully the world remained asleep as Tella reached the edge of the forest, and then, Legend’s turreted house.

Even now, with Caraval officially ended, and all the candles and lanterns inside unlit, the mansion still breathed wisps of beguiling ember-glow light, reminding Tella of tricks yet to be played.

Until yesterday, this estate had contained the entire world of Caraval. Its grand wooden doors had led visitors to elegant balconies draped with lush red curtains, which surrounded a city made of canals, streets that had minds of their owns, and uncanny shops full of magical pleasures. But in the brief time since the game had ended, the turreted house had shrunk in size and the ephemeral wonderland hidden within its walls had disappeared, leaving behind only the parts that would normally belong inside of a grand house.

Tella trotted up the closest staircase. Her room was on the second floor. With a rounded robin’s-egg-blue door, it was easy to find. It was also impossible to miss Scarlett and Julian, standing next to it, holding on to each other as if they’d forgotten how to say the word good-bye.

Tella was glad her sister had finally lost herself in some happiness. Scarlett deserved every joy in the Empire, and Tella hoped it would last. She’d heard Julian didn’t have a reputation for stringing girls along, he never carried on relationships after Caraval, and he’d not even been scripted to stay with Scarlett after bringing her to Legend’s isle. But he lied for a living, which made it difficult for Tella to trust him. Yet, as the pair stood there with their arms wrapped around each other, and their heads leaning closer together, they looked like two halves of the same heart.

Their eyes stayed locked as Tella crept around them toward her room.

“Is that a yes?” Julian murmured.

“I need to talk to my sister,” Scarlett said.

Tella halted in front of the door. She swore the letter in her pocket grew suddenly heavy, as if impatient to be read again. But if Julian had just asked Scarlett what Tella had hoped, then Tella needed to be a part of this conversation.

“What is it you want to talk to me about?” Tella interrupted.

Scarlett pulled back from Julian, but his hands remained wrapped around her waist, weaving through the blushing ribbons of her dress, clearly not ready to let her go. “I asked your sister if you’ll both go with us to Valenda for Empress Elantine’s seventy-fifth birthday celebration. There will be another Caraval and I have two tickets.” Julian winked.

Tella tossed her sister a grin. This was exactly what she’d hoped for. Although a part of her still couldn’t believe the rumors she’d heard over the past week were true. Caraval only occurred once a year, and she’d never known of two games being played so close together. But Tella supposed even Legend made exceptions for the empress.

Tella continued to look at her sister hopefully. “I’m surprised this is even a question!”

“I thought you didn’t like Elantine’s Day because it always overshadowed your birthday.”

Tella wobbled her head as she weighed her answer. Her true reasons for wanting to go had little to do with Elantine’s Day, although her sister was correct. For as long as Elantine had been empress of the Meridian Empire, her birthday had been a holiday, Elantine’s Day, which was ushered in with a full week of parties and dances, bended rules, and broken laws. On the girls’ home isle of Trisda, this holiday was only celebrated for one day, on the thirty-sixth day of the Growing Season, but it still overshadowed Tella’s birthday, which had the misfortune of occurring the day afterward.

“It will be worth it to visit Valenda,” Tella said. “When do we leave?”

“Three days,” Julian answered.

Scarlett puckered her mouth. “Tella, we need to discuss this first.”

“I thought you’ve always wanted to go to the capital, to see all its ancient ruins and the carriages that float through the sky, and this will be the party of the century! What’s there to talk about?”

“The count.”

Julian’s brown skin went gray.

Tella’s face might have done the same.

“The count lives in Valenda, and we can’t let him see you,” Scarlett said.

Scarlett was the overly cautious sister, but Tella couldn’t blame her for this reservation.

Count Nicolas d’Arcy was Scarlett’s former fiancé whom Scarlett’s father had arranged for her to marry. Before Caraval, Scarlett had only written him letters, but she’d believed herself in love with him. She’d also thought the count would keep both her and Tella safe—until Scarlett met him during Caraval and learned what a despicable human being he was.

Scarlett was right to worry about the count. If Scarlett’s former fiancé discovered Tella was alive, he could send word to their father—who believed Tella was dead—and it would shatter everything.

But things would also fall apart if Tella didn’t go with Legend and his performers to the Empire’s capital city of Valenda. She might not have had the chance to reread the letter from her friend, but she knew what he wanted, and she would never get it for him if she was separated from Legend and his performers.

During Caraval, Tella hadn’t been entirely certain who worked for Legend. But all of his performers would be on the boat to Valenda—Legend might even be on the boat as well, giving her the opportunity she needed to finally get the one thing her friend required.

“The count is so concerned with himself he probably wouldn’t recognize me even if I walked up to him and gave him a slap in the face,” Tella said. “We only met for a moment, and I was not looking my best.”

“Tella—”

“I know, I know, you want me to be serious,” Tella cut in. “I’m not trying to mock you. I’m fully aware of the danger, but I don’t think we need to be afraid of it. We could just as easily perish in a shipwreck, but if we let that fear stop us, we’ll never leave this isle again.”

Scarlett grimaced and turned to Julian. “Would you mind giving my sister and me a moment alone?”

Julian answered against Scarlett’s ear, too low for Tella to hear. Whatever he said made Scarlett blush. Then he left and Scarlett’s mouth flattened into a line as she and Tella enclosed themselves in Tella’s room.

Inside, unmentionables were everywhere. Stockings peeked out from the drawers of a dresser topped off with bonnets, while a variety of capes, gowns, and petticoats formed a path to her bed, which was covered in a teetering pile of furs that she’d won in a card game.

Tella knew Scarlett thought she was lazy. But Tella had a theory: Neat rooms were easy to rifle through and search undetected because it was simple to put carefully placed things exactly where they’d been. But messes, on the other hand, were difficult to re-create. With one sweeping gaze, Tella could see no one had been brave enough to lay a finger on her personal disaster. Everything appeared untouched, even though there now seemed to be an additional bed, which Tella imagined must have magically appeared, or more likely had been carried upstairs for her sister.

Tella didn’t know how long they’d be allowed to stay on the isle. She was relieved they weren’t being kicked out right away, although if they’d been evicted, maybe Scarlett would have been more eager to travel to Valenda. But Tella didn’t actually want her sister to be forced into anything; she hoped Scarlett would make the choice for herself. Though Tella could understand her sister’s reluctance. Tella had died during the last game. But that had been her decision, it was for a good reason, and she wasn’t planning on dying again. It had been as horrid for Tella as it had been for Scarlett. And there were still so many things Tella wanted—and needed—to do.

“Scar, I know you think I wasn’t being serious out there, but I think we need to start being happy rather than serious. I’m not saying we need to participate in Caraval, but I think we should at least go to Valenda with Julian and the others. What’s the point of all this glorious freedom if we don’t enjoy it? Our father wins if we keep living as if we’re still trapped beneath his heavy fists.”

“You’re right.”

Tella must have misheard. “Did you say I’m right?”

Scarlett nodded. “I’m done with being scared all the time.” She still sounded nervous, but her chin now lifted with something like determination. “I’d rather not play the game again, but I want to go with Julian to Valenda. I don’t want to trap myself here like our father trapped us on Trisda.”

Tella felt a surge of pride. Back on Trisda, Scarlett held on to her fear, as if it would keep her safe, but Tella could see her sister fighting to let it go. She really had changed during Caraval.

“You were right last night, when you encouraged me to give Julian another chance. I’m glad I went to the party, and I know I’ll regret it if we don’t go with him. But,” Scarlett added, “if we go to Valenda, you have to promise you’ll be careful. I can’t lose you again.”

“Don’t worry. I swear it.” Tella solemnly took her sister’s hands and squeezed. “I enjoy my freedom way too much to let it go. And, while we’re in the capital, I’ll be sure to wear impossibly bright dresses so I’ll always be impossible to lose.”

Scarlett’s mouth tilted toward a smile. Tella could see her sister trying to battle it, but then it transformed into a melodious laugh. Happiness made Scarlett even prettier.

Tella giggled with her until their smiles matched, as if worries were things made for other people. Yet Tella could not forget the letter in her pocket, reminding her of a debt to be paid and a mother who still needed to be saved.





2

It had been seven years since Tella and Scarlett’s mother, Paloma, had disappeared.

There was a period of time that started about a year after her mother left, when Tella preferred the idea of Paloma being dead. If she was still alive, Tella reasoned, she’d made the choice never to return to her daughters, which meant she couldn’t have really loved them. But if Paloma was dead, then maybe she’d intended to return, but had never been given the chance; if she was dead, it was possible she’d still loved Scarlett and Tella.

So for years Tella clung to the hope that her mother had met death, because no matter how hard Tella tried, she could not stop loving her mother, and it hurt too much to imagine that her mother didn’t love her back.

Tella pulled out the letter she’d received from her friend. Scarlett had left to tell Julian they’d go with him to Valenda. But Tella didn’t know how long she’d be gone, so she read swiftly.



* * *



Dearest Donatella,

Congratulations on escaping your father and surviving Caraval. I am pleased our plan worked, although I had no doubts you would survive the game.

I am sure your mother will be quite proud, and I believe you should be able to see her soon. But first you must keep up your end of our bargain. I hope you haven’t forgotten what you owe me in exchange for all that I’ve shared with you.

I plan on collecting my payment very soon.

Truly yours,

A friend



* * *



The aching in Tella’s head returned, and this time it had nothing to do with the drinks she’d consumed the night before. She couldn’t shake the sense something was missing from the letter. She swore there’d been more to it when she’d read it at the party.

Tella held the message to the butterscotch light streaming through her window. No hidden lines of script appeared. No words shifted before her eyes. Unlike Legend, her friend didn’t lace his letters with magic tricks, but she often hoped he would. Maybe then she’d be able to confirm his identity.

She’d first contacted him more than a year ago, to help her and her sister escape from their father. But Tella still had no idea who her friend was. For a while she had wondered if her correspondent was actually Legend. But her friend and Legend could not be the same person—the payment her friend referred to made Tella certain of that.

She still needed to acquire this payment. But now that she and Scarlett were going to Valenda with Legend’s players, Tella felt more confident she would. She had to.

Her pulse danced faster as she hid her friend’s letter and opened her smallest trunk—the one she’d not allowed the players to rifle through during Caraval. She had filled it with money pilfered from her father. But that was not the only treasure it concealed. The interior was lined with an unappealing burnt-orange and lime-green brocade that most people would never look at closely enough to notice the slit along the edge of it, which allowed her to hide the catalyst for this entire situation: The Aracle.

Tella’s fingers tingled as they always did when she pulled out the wicked little card. After her mother disappeared, her father had gone mad with rage. He’d not been a violent man before, but when his wife left him, he’d changed almost instantly. He’d thrown her clothes in the gutter, turned her bed into firewood, and burned everything else into ash. The only items that had escaped were the scarlet earrings Paloma had given to Scarlett, the raw-fire opal ring that Tella had stolen, and the uncanny card in Tella’s hand. If she’d not taken this card and the ring right before her mother left, Tella would have had nothing to remember her mother by.

The opal ring had shifted color shortly after her mother’s disappearance, turning fiery red and purple. The edges of the Aracle card were still made of molten gold, but the image in its shimmering center had changed as well, countless times. Tella hadn’t known what it was when she’d first stolen it from her mother’s Deck of Destiny. Even days later, when she’d looked in the mirror and seen fat tears streaming down her cheeks—re-creating the image the Aracle had first revealed—Tella didn’t piece it together. It wasn’t until more time went by that she noticed that when the Aracle revealed an image, it always came to pass.

At first the images were inconsequential: a maid trying on Tella’s favorite gown; her father cheating at cards. Then the visions of the future grew more upsetting, until one day, immediately after Scarlett’s engagement to the count, Tella saw a most disturbing image.

Scarlett was dressed in a snow-white wedding gown, studded with rubies and petals and whisper-thin lace. It should have been beautiful. But in the Aracle’s vision, it was stained with mud and blood and tears as Scarlett sobbed violently into her hands.

The horrid image remained for months, as if the card were asking Tella to prevent her sister’s arranged marriage and change the future—not that Tella needed prodding. She’d already been forming a plan for her and her sister to run away from their controlling father, one that involved Legend and Caraval. Tella knew if anything would tempt her risk-averse sister to take a chance at another life, it would be Caraval. But Legend wouldn’t respond to any of Tella’s letters, just as he’d never responded to Scarlett’s.

The image on the Aracle incited Tella to search for more information about Legend. There were wild rumors Legend had killed someone during a game years before, and Tella hoped finding out more about that would convince him to pay attention to her.

To fuel her search, Tella collected on every favor she was owed until she’d been told to write to an establishment called Elantine’s Most Wanted. It was supposedly a business in the Meridian Empire’s capital city of Valenda. No one ever told her exactly what sort of business it was in. But after Tella asked for information about Legend, the shop responded with a message that said:

We’ve found a man who’s agreed to help you, but be warned, he often requires payments that involve more than money.

When Tella wrote back to ask for this man’s name, the man himself simply replied:

It’s best if you don’t know.

—A friend

Tella always took this response to mean her friend was a criminal, but he’d been a faithful and clever correspondent. The information he’d provided about Legend was not what she’d expected, but using it, Tella had written to Legend again and pleaded for his help.

She succeeded this time. Legend replied to Tella, and as soon as he agreed to help her and her sister escape their father, the Aracle changed from Scarlett in a wrecked wedding gown to Scarlett at a lavish ball, in a gown made of rubies that drew the eye of every suitor she walked by. This was the future Tella wanted for her sister, full of glamour, celebrations, and choices.

Unfortunately, a day later the vision was replaced by another glimpse of the future that had not changed since.

Tella didn’t know if the enchanted card would show the same awful picture today; after everything that had happened during Caraval, she hoped that perhaps it had changed.

But the image hadn’t shifted.

All the air and hope fled Tella’s lungs.

The card still showed her mother. She looked like a battered version of the Lady Prisoner, depicted in Decks of Destiny, covered in blood, and caged behind the harsh iron bars of a dim prison cell.

This was the future that had prompted Tella to make another request of her friend and ask him if he could also help find her mother. Tella’s previous searches for Paloma had led nowhere, but her friend, who was not bound to a backwater island like Tella, clearly had better ideas and methods of how to search.

She had memorized his reply by heart.



* * *



Dearest Donatella,

I’m looking into the request regarding your mother and I already have a strong lead. I believe the reason you couldn’t find her before is because Paloma was not her real name. However, I will not be able to reunite you with her until you pay me back for the information I sent you about Caraval Master Legend.

In case you forgot, I need Legend’s true name. The others I’ve tasked to do this have all failed. But since you’ll be spending time on his private isle, I’m sure you will succeed. Once you have the name, we can discuss my payment for finding your mother.

Yours,

A friend



* * *



This news about Paloma’s name was the only information Tella had learned about her mother since she’d left seven years ago. It gave Tella genuine hope. She had no idea why her friend wanted Legend’s name, whether it was for personal use, or if it was information another client had tried to purchase. But Tella didn’t care; she would do whatever it took to uncover Legend’s name. If Tella could do this, she believed she would finally see her mother again. Her friend had not let her down before.

“Good lord!”

Tella looked up to see her sister’s large eyes go wide as she reentered the room. “Where did you get all those coins?” Scarlett pointed at Tella’s open trunk.

But at the word coins, Tella’s thoughts were suddenly elsewhere. Her friend had wrapped a strange coin inside the last letter he’d sent. That’s what she was missing! It must have slipped out of her pocket when she’d been tumbling around the forest floor with Dante.

Tella needed to get back to the forest and find it. She concealed the Aracle inside her pocket as she shot toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Scarlett called. “Don’t tell me you stole all that money!”

“Don’t worry,” Tella replied. “I took it all from our father, and he thinks I’m dead.”

Before Scarlett could respond, Tella raced from the room.

She moved so fast she was already outside of the turreted house, on a street lined with hatbox-shaped shops, when she realized she was still barefoot. A mistake she felt quickly.

“God’s teeth!” Tella yelped. She was only halfway to the forest and it was the third time she’d stubbed her toe. This time she swore a rock jumped up from the cobbled street and attacked her exposed feet on purpose. “I swear, if another one of you bites my toes I will drown you in the ocean where the mermaids can use you to wipe their—”

Tella heard a low, deep, and unnervingly familiar chuckle.

She told herself not to turn around. Not to give in to her curiosity. But being told no—even from herself—only made Tella want to do the opposite.

Carefully she snuck a look over her shoulder, and instantly regretted it.

Dante strutted down the other side of the quiet street with amused eyes fixed on her.

Tella averted her gaze, hoping if she ignored him he’d stay on his side of the road and pretend he hadn’t just seen her yelling at a rock.

Instead he crossed the street, intentionally striding toward her with those impossibly long legs of his, broad mouth smiling as if he had a secret.





3

Tella told herself her stomach only tumbled because she hadn’t eaten that morning. Dante might have slept on a forest floor, but not even a blade of grass clung to his polished boots. Dressed in inky shades of black, without so much as a loose cravat, he looked like a dark, wingless angel who’d been tossed from the heavens and landed on his feet.

Tella had a sudden flash of the way he’d approached her at the party last night, and her insides did another flip. He’d responded with disinterest that bordered on ignoring her when she’d first said hello. But then she’d caught him watching her from the across the party—just glimpses, here and there—until, out of nowhere, he’d appeared at her side and kissed her until her knees gave out.

“Please don’t stop such an interesting speech on my account,” he said, returning her to the present moment. “I’m sure I’ve heard far more colorful curses.”

“Did you just insult my use of profanity?”

“I thought I asked for more dirty words.” His voice pitched so low Tella swore it curled the ribbons trailing down the back of her dress.

But this was Dante. He talked like this to all the girls, flashing his devastating smile and saying wicked and beguiling things until he got them to unbutton their blouses or lift their skirts. Then he pretended they didn’t exist. She’d heard the stories during Caraval. So Tella should have been safe to assume that after last night this boy would never speak to her again, which was what she wanted.

Tella enjoyed the kissing, and maybe once upon another time she might have been tempted by the idea of more. But the problem with more was it could also bring more feelings, like love. Tella wanted nothing to do with love; she’d learned long ago it was not in her destiny. She gave herself the freedom to kiss as many boys as she liked, but never more than once.

“What do you want?” Tella asked.

Dante’s eyes widened enough to betray surprise at her sharp tone, yet his voice remained pleasant as he said, “You dropped this in the forest last night.” He held out one large palm, showing her a thick brassy coin embossed with a disjointed image that resembled half of a face.

He had her coin! Tella could have leaped out of her skin to grab it, but she doubted acting too eager would be wise.

“Thank you for picking it up,” she answered coolly. “It’s not valuable, but I like to carry it as a good-luck charm.”

She reached for it.

Dante pulled his hand back, and tossed the brassy disc into the air before catching it. “Interesting choice for a charm.” Suddenly he looked more serious, thick brows drawing closer together over coal-dark eyes, as he flipped the coin over and over, letting it dance between his tattooed fingers. “I’ve seen some odd things during Caraval, but I’ve never known someone to carry one of these for luck.”

“I suppose I like to be original.”

“Or you have no idea what it is.” His rich voice sounded more entertained than before.

“And what do you think it is?”

Dante tossed the coin once more. “It’s said these were forged by the Fates. People used to call them ‘luckless coins.’”

“No wonder it’s never worked well.” Tella managed a laugh, but something gnawed—foolishness, perhaps—at not having recognized the object.

Tella had been obsessed with the Fates ever since finding her mother’s Deck of Destiny. There’d been thirty-two of them, comprising a court of sixteen immortals, eight places, and eight objects. Every Fate was known for one particular power, but that wasn’t the only reason they’d come to rule most of the world centuries ago. It was also said they couldn’t be killed by mortals, and that they were faster and stronger, too.

Centuries ago, before they’d vanished, the Fates pictured in Decks of Destiny had ruled over most of the earth like gods—cruel ones. Tella read everything she could about them, so she’d heard of luckless coins, but she felt ridiculous admitting it now.

“People called them luckless because finding one was always a bad omen,” Dante said. “The coins were rumored to have the magic ability to track a person’s whereabouts. The Fates would slip them into the pockets of their human servants, their lovers, or anyone else they wished to follow, keep close, or control. I’ve never held one before today, but I’ve heard if you spin a luckless coin, you can see which Fate it belonged to.”

Dante set the coin atop the edge of a nearby bench.

An unpleasant thrill danced up Tella’s spine. Although he seemed to know a lot of obscure history, she couldn’t tell if Dante put faith in the power of the Fates, but she believed in them.

The Maiden Death was said to predict the loss of a loved one or family member. And within days of flipping it over, and seeing the maiden with her head caged in pearls, Tella’s mother had vanished. She knew it was childish to believe that turning the card had caused this disappearance. But not all childish beliefs were wrong. Her mother had warned her, the Fates had a way of twisting futures. And Tella had seen the Aracle, time and time again, predict futures that came to pass.

Tella held her breath as Dante gave the object a sharp twist.

Whir, whir, whir.

The coin twirled until the etchings on either side began to take a solid shape, merging together as if by magic to form a brutally familiar picture. A dashing young man with a bloody smile, and the sort of havoc-wreaking grin that made Tella picture teeth biting into hearts and lips pressed against punctured veins.

Though it was small, Tella could clearly see the image. The cruel young man held one hand near his pointed chin, clasping the hilt of a dagger, while red tears fell from his eyes, matching the blood staining the corner of his mouth.

The Prince of Hearts.

A symbol of unrequited love and irrevocable mistakes that never ceased to fill Tella with both dread and morbid bewitchment.

Scarlett had spent half her childhood obsessed with Legend and Caraval. But Tella had been fascinated by the Prince of Hearts ever since he’d predicted her loveless future when she’d pulled him from her mother’s Deck of Destiny.

The myths claimed the Prince of Hearts’s kisses had been worth dying for, and Tella had often wondered how such a deadly kiss would feel. But as she’d grown, and kissed enough boys to realize that no kiss could be worth dying for, Tella started to suspect the stories were merely fables to illustrate the dangers of falling in love.

For it was also said the Prince of Hearts was not capable of love because his heart had stopped beating long ago. Only one person could make it beat again: his one true love. They said his kiss had been fatal to all but her—his only weakness—and as he’d sought her, he’d left a trail of corpses.

A fresh chill licked the back of Tella’s neck, and she slapped her palm atop the coin.

“I take it you’re not a fan of the prince?” asked Dante.

“The coin looked as if it was about to topple off, and then I’d have to chase it.”

The corner of Dante’s mouth edged up; he couldn’t have looked less convinced.

It also didn’t escape Tella’s notice that he’d just spoken of the Prince of Hearts as if he and the other Fates were still walking around the Empire, and not vanished for more than a century.

“I don’t know why you’re really carrying that coin,” Dante said, “but be careful. Nothing good has ever come from anything a Fate has touched.” His eyes lifted skyward, as if the Fates were watching from above, spying as they spoke.

Then, before Tella could respond, Dante was confidently walking away, leaving Tella with a coin that burned her palm, and the uncanny sensation that perhaps there was more to the pretty boy than she’d originally suspected.





4

Tella found herself thinking of unrequited love and kisses worth dying for as she spun the Prince of Hearts luckless coin on the same bench Dante had. Why had her friend given her a relic from such an ancient myth? She hoped it wasn’t because he didn’t trust her and wanted to keep track of her.

Maybe the rare coin was a gift from her friend to remind Tella of just how skilled he was at acquiring things that were difficult for most people to find—a reminder that he was the only one who knew how to locate her mother.

A shop bell rang. Just a tiny, pixie-light sound, but Tella snatched her coin up and looked down the street, to where a young man swaggered out of a shop. She followed the deep red lines of his morning coat up to the young man’s vibrant eyes, greener than freshly cut emeralds—

And a bath of crimson clouded Tella’s vision.

She knew this young man. He’d shed his eye patch since Caraval, but he still had the same ink-black hair, overstated aristocratic clothes, and impossibly vain expression as Count Nicolas d’Arcy—Scarlett’s former fiancé.

Tella’s hands clamped into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms. She had only officially met Count Nicolas d’Arcy once, but she spied on him on several occasions during Caraval. She’d seen him chase after her sister, and heard that once he’d caught her, he’d been willing to do unspeakable things to keep her. Scarlett had managed to escape. But Tella could have strangled him, or poisoned him, or mangled his pretty face, if Legend had not promised in one of his letters that he’d remove her sister from the game if Tella strayed from her role and interfered in any way.

So Tella had been forced to do nothing.

But the game was over now; Tella could do as she pleased.

The count was currently several shops away, too busy gazing at his reflection in a window to notice Tella. The wise thing would have been to sneak onto a different street so that he wouldn’t discover she was still alive.

But Tella meant it when she’d said she doubted the count would recognize her if she walked up to him and slapped him in the face. For what he’d done to her sister during Caraval, he deserved more than a slap, but Tella didn’t have any poison in her pockets.

She stalked closer. Maybe she’d throw in a well-aimed kick, and—

One hand clamped over Tella’s mouth, while another banded around her waist. She kicked, but it didn’t stop her assailant from dragging her back into a splinter-thin alley.

“Takeyourhandsoffme!”

Tella pitched forward as the arms around her dropped away.

“It’s all right.” The voice was low with a lilting accent. “I’m not going to hurt you, but don’t run.”

Tella spun around.

Julian’s dark hair was still mussed from Scarlett’s fingers, but his eyes were no longer the warm liquid amber they’d been when he’d gazed at her sister earlier. They were tight around the corners, hard.

“Julian? What in all the hells are you doing?”

“I’m trying to stop you from making a mistake you’ll regret.” His gaze shot down the narrow redbrick alley, back toward the street with the loathsome Count Nicolas d’Arcy.

“No,” Tella said, “I’m pretty sure if I make this mistake, I’ll be very happy. I’m surprised you don’t want to bloody him as well, for what he allowed my father to do to you.” She nodded toward the jagged scar that went from Julian’s jaw to the corner of his eye. Caraval players could come back to life if they died during the game, but their scars remained. Tella had heard that during Caraval Scarlett’s fiancé had just stood there, doing nothing to stop Tella’s father as he’d sliced Julian’s face.

“Trust me,” Julian gritted out, “I’ve wanted to bloody up Armando more than once, but—”

“Armando?” Tella interrupted. Not the count. Not Nicolas. Not d’Arcy, or that filthy piece of garbage Count Nicolas d’Arcy. Julian had called him Armando. “Why did you just call him Armando?”

“From the look on your face, I think you’ve already guessed. Armando was never engaged to your sister. He works for Legend, just like I do.”

Tella swayed on her bare feet as Caraval’s familiar mantra rushed back: Remember, it’s only a game. We want you to be swept away, but beware of being swept too far away.…

That villain.

Tella had thought herself immune, since she’d been writing letters to Legend as he planned the game. But apparently she’d been wrong. Legend had fooled her, exactly like he’d fooled everyone else. It had never occurred to Tella that an actor might have been playing the role of her sister’s fiancé.

Legend truly did deserve the name he’d given himself. Tella wondered if Legend’s games ever ended, or if his world was an endless maze of fantasy and reality that left those caught inside it forever suspended somewhere in between the two.

Across from her, Julian pulled at the back of his neck, looking more nervous than apologetic. Julian was impulsive. Tella doubted he’d thought through the consequences of telling her the truth. He’d probably just reacted when he’d spied her about to go after Armando.

“My sister has no idea, does she?”

“No,” Julian said. “And for now I want to keep it that way.”

“Are you asking me to lie to her?”

“It’s not as if you haven’t done it before.”

Tella bristled. “I did that for her own good.”

“This is for her own good, too.” Julian crossed his lean arms and lounged back against the alley wall.

In that moment Tella wasn’t sure she liked him at all. She hated the claim he’d just made. Saying something was for someone else’s own good was almost always another way of justifying something wrong. Of course since she’d said it first, she couldn’t properly berate Julian the way she wanted.

“We’re going to Valenda in a few days,” Julian went on. “What do you think your sister will do if she discovers that she never met her real fiancé during Caraval?”

“She’d look for him,” Tella admitted. It would be easy to do since he lived in Valenda. Tella had never understood it, but Scarlett had really wanted to marry this man whom she’d never even seen a portrait of. She’d imagined him with hearts in her eyes, always reading the best things into his bland, unromantic letters.

Scarlett would probably claim it was curiosity, but knowing her sister, deep down she’d probably feel as if she needed to give him a chance, which could be disastrous. Tella once again saw the image of Scarlett sobbing in a bloodied wedding dress. The Aracle showed that she’d erased that future, but there was still a chance it could come about.

“Scarlett won’t like it when she finds out you’ve lied to her,” Tella said.

“I think of it as fighting for her.” Julian rubbed the dark stubble covering his chin. He looked and sounded like a boy a little too eager to jump into a street brawl, yet Tella sensed genuine mettle beneath his words. She still felt a little uncertain as to how long Julian’s affections toward her sister would last, but in that moment Tella imagined Julian would cross any and every moral line to keep Scarlett’s heart. Oddly, it made her trust him more.

It might have made Tella’s life easier to refuse him; then Scarlett wouldn’t worry about Tella being spotted by the count while they were in Valenda, because the real count had never seen her face. But, despite how much simpler it could make things, Tella couldn’t take the risk of telling her sister the truth. A union between Scarlett and the count would end in heartbreak and devastation. The Aracle had shown this, and the card never lied to Tella.

“All right,” she said. “I agree not to say anything to Scarlett about Armando.”

A half nod, as if Julian knew Tella would comply with the deception.

“Despite my actions during Caraval, I don’t enjoy deceiving my sister.”

“But it’s hard to stop once you start.”

“Is that how it is with you? You spend so much time lying you can’t tell the truth?” The words came out sharper than Tella intended, but to his credit Julian didn’t bite back.

“Caraval might all feel like a lie to you, but it’s my life—my truth. This last game was as real for me as it was for your sister. While she was fighting for you, I was fighting for her.” His voice roughened. “I might have lied to your sister about who I was, but my feelings for her were genuine. I need more time with her before she learns anything else that might make her doubt me.”

“What happens if Scarlett sees Armando is still on the island?”

“Legend is sending him to Valenda early, along with a few other performers.”

How very convenient.

“Since I’m doing this for you, I want a favor,” Tella added with a bit of inspiration.

Julian rocked his head back and forth, appearing to consider it. “What sort of favor?”

“I want to know Legend’s real name. Who is Legend, really?”

Julian laughed before she even finished. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with him too.”

“I know better than to fall in love with Legend.”

“Good. And no,” Julian said, no longer laughing. “That’s not even close to a fair trade, and, even if it were, I can’t tell you Legend’s name.”

Tella folded her arms across her chest. She hadn’t really expected him to answer. The few performers she’d been able to question had given her similar responses. There’d been lots of chuckles and smirks, and some had just ignored her altogether. She imagined it was because most of them had no clue as to who Legend really was, but Julian’s response was different enough to make her hope she’d finally found someone better informed.

“If you can’t tell me Legend’s name,” Tella said, “point me in the direction of someone who can, or we don’t have a deal.”

All remaining traces of Julian’s humor vanished. “Legend’s identity is his most guarded secret. No one on this isle will reveal it to you.”

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to expose the truth about Armando to Scarlett.” Tella turned to leave the alley.

“Wait—” Julian grabbed her wrist.

Tella resisted the urge to smile. He was desperate.

“If you promise not to tell Scarlett about Armando, I’ll share the name of a performer who might answer some questions.”

“Might?”

“He’s been with Caraval since the beginning, and he knows things. But he doesn’t give away information for free.”

“I wouldn’t believe him if he did. Tell me his name and we have a deal.”

“It’s Nigel,” Julian answered quietly. “He’s Legend’s fortune-teller.”

Tella had never met Nigel, but she knew who he was. The young man was unmistakable. Every inch of Nigel, including his face, was covered in bright, lifelike tattoos that he used to predict the future. Of course, Nigel’s role sounded different on Julian’s lips, as if he wasn’t truly there for those playing Caraval, but to pass on information to the master of Caraval.

“Be careful,” Julian added, as if Tella needed another warning. “Fortune-tellers aren’t like you and me. They see the world as it could be, and sometimes they try to bring about what they want, rather than what should be.”





5

The air was full of salt and secrets. Tella took a deep breath, hoping the evening was also threaded with the magic that haunted Legend’s ship, La Esmeralda.

Everything about it breathed enchantment. Even its swollen sails appeared charmed. They blazed red in the day and silver at night, like a magician’s cloak, hinting at mysteries concealed beneath, which Tella planned to uncover that night.

Drunken laughter floated above her as Tella delved deeper into the ship’s underbelly in search of Nigel the Fortune-teller. Her first evening on the vessel she’d made the mistake of sleeping, not realizing until the following day that Legend’s performers had switched their waking hours to prepare for the next Caraval. They slumbered in the day and woke after sunset.

All Tella had learned her first day aboard La Esmeralda was that Nigel was on the ship, but she had yet to actually see him. The creaking halls beneath decks were like the bridges of Caraval, leading different places at different hours and making it difficult to know who stayed in which room. Tella wondered if Legend had designed it that way, or if it was just the unpredictable nature of magic.

She imagined Legend in his top hat, laughing at the question and at the idea that magic had more control than he did. For many, Legend was the definition of magic.

When she had first arrived on Isla de los Sueños, Tella suspected everyone could be Legend. Julian had so many secrets that she’d questioned if Legend’s identity was one of them, up until he’d briefly died. Caspar, with his sparkling eyes and rich laugh, had played the role of Legend in the last game, and at times he’d been so convincing Tella wondered if he was actually acting. At first sight, Dante, who was almost too beautiful to be real, looked like the Legend she’d always imagined. Tella could picture Dante’s wide shoulders filling out a black tailcoat while a velvet top hat shadowed his head. But the more Tella thought about Legend, the more she wondered if he even ever wore a top hat. If maybe the symbol was another thing to throw people off. Perhaps Legend was more magic than man and Tella had never met him in the flesh at all.

The boat rocked and an actual laugh pierced the quiet.

Tella froze.

The laughter ceased but the air in the thin corridor shifted. What had smelled of salt and wood and damp turned thick and velvet-sweet. The scent of roses.

Tella’s skin prickled; gooseflesh rose on her bare arms.

At her feet a puddle of petals formed a seductive trail of red.

Tella might not have known Legend’s true name, but she knew he favored red and roses and games.

Was this his way of toying with her? Did he know what she was up to?

The bumps on her arms crawled up to her neck and into her scalp as her newest pair of slippers crushed the tender petals. If Legend knew what she was after, Tella couldn’t imagine he would guide her in the correct direction, and yet the trail of petals was too tempting to avoid. They led to a door that glowed copper around the edges.

She turned the knob.

And her world transformed into a garden, a paradise made of blossoming flowers and bewitching romance. The walls were formed of moonlight. The ceiling was made of roses that dripped down toward the table in the center of the room, covered with plates of cakes and candlelight and sparkling honey wine.

But none of it was for Tella.

It was all for Scarlett. Tella had stumbled into her sister’s love story and it was so romantic it was painful to watch.

Scarlett stood across the chamber. Her full ruby gown bloomed brighter than any flowers, and her glowing skin rivaled the moon as she gazed up at Julian.

They touched nothing except each other. While Scarlett pressed her lips to Julian’s, his arms wrapped around her as if he’d found the one thing he never wanted to let go of.

This was why love was so dangerous. Love turned the world into a garden, so beguiling it was easy to forget that rose petals were as ephemeral as feelings, eventually they would wilt and die, leaving nothing but the thorns.

Tella turned and left the doorway before she could think another cruel thought. Scarlett deserved this happiness. And maybe it would last. Perhaps Julian would prove himself worthy of Scarlett and keep his promises. It did look as if he were trying.

And, unlike Tella, Scarlett wasn’t the one who’d been doomed to unrequited love by the Prince of Hearts.

The hallway shifted again as soon as Tella closed the door. The path of petals before her vanished and a new trail formed out of ginger smoke and incense—the scents that always lingered around Nigel.

Again, Tella sensed that Legend was toying with her as the smoking curls of incense widened into the shape of hands and waved her toward an open door.

Tella’s skin heated as she stepped inside. Waxy yellow candles lined the edge of the room, and in the middle of it all was Nigel, lounging atop a bed covered in a velvet quilt the deep shade of plum wine. His lips, surrounded with tattoos of barbed blue wire, stretched wide, not quite a smile, more like the opening of a trap.

“I wondered when you’d pay me a visit, Miss Dragna.” He motioned for Tella to take a seat against the mountain of tasseled pillows positioned at the foot of his temporary dais. Just like during Caraval, Nigel only wore a stretch of brown cloth, leaving all his vibrant tattoos exposed.

Tella’s eyes fell to the circus scenes depicted on his thick legs, transfixed by the vision of a woman with feathers for hair, dancing with a wolf in a top hat. Not wanting Nigel to interpret the meaning, she quickly lifted her eyes, only for them to land on his arm and the image of a broken black heart.

“What is it I can do for you?” asked Nigel.

“I don’t want my future told. I want information about Legend.”

The tattooed stars around Nigel’s eyes glittered like wet ink, eager and intrigued. “How much are you willing to pay for this?”

Tella pulled a purse of coins from her pocket.

Nigel shook his head. Of course he would not accept her money. Coins were not the preferred method of payment in the world of Caraval.

“Traditionally we perform once a year, giving us months to recover,” said Nigel. “This time Legend has given us less than a week.”

“I’m not giving you any days of my life.”

“I do not desire your life. I want your rest.”

“How much?” Tella asked cautiously. She had gone days without sleeping before. Giving up a few nights of rest didn’t seem too great of a sacrifice. But that was how these bargains always appeared. On the surface, Legend’s performers made them sound like insignificant inconveniences, but they were never that straightforward.

“I will take from you in proportion to what I give you,” Nigel said. “The more questions I answer, the more rest I will receive. If I give you no answers of value, you will lose nothing.”

“And when will you take my sleep?”

“As soon as you leave this room.”

Tella attempted to see every angle of the deal. It was the evening of the twenty-fourth and they were scheduled to arrive in Valenda the morning of the twenty-ninth. There were four days of travel left. Depending on how much sleep he stole, she’d be exhausted by the time they reached Valenda. But if he gave her concrete information about Legend, it would be worth it.

“All right. But I will only give you my sleep as long as we are on this boat. You cannot take anything from me while we’re in Valenda.”

“I can work with that.” Nigel retrieved a brush along with a tiny pot full of burning orange liquid from the stand beside his bed. “I’ll need your wrist to complete the transaction.”

Tella hesitated. “You’re not going to paint anything permanent on it, are you?”

“Whatever I draw will disappear as soon as you pay me in full.”

Tella stretched out her arm. Nigel moved with practiced skill; his cold brush swirled and twirled along Tella’s skin, as if he often used body parts as a canvas.

When he finished, a pair of eyes, exactly like hers, peered back at Tella. Round and hazel-bright. For a moment she swore they pleaded with her not to make this choice. But losing a little sleep felt like a small sacrifice if it would give her the information she needed to fulfill the debt to her friend and finally end the last seven years of torment that had begun the day her mother had left.

“Now,” said Nigel, “what is it you wish to know?”

“I want Legend’s true name. The one he was called before he became Legend.”

Nigel ran a finger over his barbed-wire lips, drawing a drop of blood—or was the blood tattooed on the tip of his finger?

“Even if I wanted to, I could not tell you Legend’s name,” said Nigel. “None of his players can reveal this secret. The same witch who banished the Fates from earth centuries ago gave Legend his powers. His magic is ancient—older than he is—and it binds us all to secrecy.”

Though no one was certain why the Fates had vanished and left the humans to rule themselves, there were mumblings they’d been vanquished by a powerful witch. But Tella had never heard anyone say this was the same witch who had given Legend his powers.

“That still doesn’t tell me anything about Legend’s true identity.”

“I’m not finished,” Nigel said. “I was going to tell you: Legend’s magic prevents his true name from being spoken or revealed, but it can be won.”

Spider legs danced over Tella’s skin, and one of the painted eyes on her wrist began to close. It fell swiftly, in a way that made her feel as if she was running out of currency, but also very close to the answer she needed.

“How do I win the name?” she asked quickly.

“You must participate in the next Caraval. If you win the game, you will come face-to-face with Legend.”

Tella swore one of the stars tattooed around Nigel’s eyes fell as he finished. It was probably all the ginger smoke and pungent incense addling her brain, giving her visions of living tattoos.

She should have left then. The eyelids on her wrist were more than halfway closed now, and she had the answer she needed—if she won Caraval, she’d finally have Legend’s name. But something about Nigel’s last words left her with more questions.

“Is what you just said a prophecy, or are you telling me that the prize for the next Caraval is the real Legend?”

“It’s a little of both.” The tattoos of barbed wire piercing Nigel’s lips turned to thorns, and black roses bloomed between them. “Legend is not the prize, but if you win Caraval, the first face you see will be Legend’s. He plans to personally give the next winner of Caraval their reward. But, be warned, winning the game will come at a cost you will later regret.”

Tella’s skin frosted over as the painted eyes on her wrists closed shut, and her mother’s familiar warning flashed back: Once a future is foretold, that future becomes a living thing and it will fight very hard to bring itself about.

Then it hit her. A wave of fatigue so intense it knocked her down against the cushioned bed. Her head spun and the bones in her legs turned to dust.

“What’s happening?” she panted, her breathing abruptly labored as she fought to sit up. Was there more smoke in the room, or was it her vision blurring?

“I probably should have clarified,” Nigel said. “The spell on your wrist does not take your ability to sleep, it makes you fall asleep so that you can transfer the rest you receive to me.”

“No!” Tella swayed as she pushed up from the bed, vision narrowing until all she could see where glimpses of scoffing tattoos and snickering candlelight. “I don’t want to sleep all the way to Valenda.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late. Next time, do not agree to bargains so easily.”





6

There were shipwrecks more graceful than Tella. As she stumbled away from Nigel’s quarters her legs refused to walk a straight line. Her hips continued to bump into walls. Her head knocked against more than one hanging lantern. The journey to her room was so perilous she lost her slippers, yet again. But she was almost there.

The door wobbled before her eyes, one final obstacle to conquer.

Tella focused all her strength to pull it open. And—

Either she’d entered the wrong room, or she’d already begun to dream.

Dante had wings. And, holy mother of saints, they were beautiful—soulless jet-black with midnight-blue veins, the color of lost wishes and fallen stardust. He was turned toward his nightstand washing his face, or maybe he was kissing his reflection in the mirror.

Tella wasn’t entirely sure what the arrogant boy was doing. All her blurring eyes could see was that his shirt and coat were gone and a massive pair of inky wings stretched across the ridges of his back.

“You could be an angel of death with those things.”

Dante tossed a look over his shoulder. Damp hair the color of black fox fur clung to his forehead. “I’ve been called many things, but I don’t know if anyone has ever said I’m an angel.”

“Does that mean you’ve been called death?” Tella slumped in the doorway, legs finally giving out. She hit the floor with a graceless thud.

A laugh, delicate and light and very female, came from the other side of the room. “I think she swooned at the sight of you.”

And now she was going to throw up. There was another girl in the room. Tella got a noxious glimpse of a jade-green dress and shining brunette hair before Dante’s body stepped into her line of her vision.

He slowly shook his head. “What did—”

Dante’s gaze landed on the closed pair of eyes painted on her wrist.

He made a jagged sound that could have been a chuckle. But Tella wasn’t sure. Her hearing was nearly as muddled as her head. Her eyes gave up and closed.

“I’m surprised he got to you.” Dante’s words were very close now, and low.

“I was bored,” Tella mumbled. “It seemed like an interesting way to pass the time.”

“If that’s true you should have just come to me.” Dante was definitely laughing now.

* * *

The next several days were a blur of unfortunate hallucinations. Nigel took all of Tella’s dreams, but he left her with the nightmares. There were terrifyingly realistic images of her father forever taking off his purple gloves, as well as visions of shadows and shades of dark that did not exist in the mortal world. Cold, damp hands stroked her hair and others ripped out her heart, while bloodless lips drank the marrow from her bones.

Before experiencing death during Caraval, Tella would have said the dreams felt like dying over and over again. But nothing felt like death, except for Death. She should have known better than to think Death wouldn’t haunt her after she’d escaped. Tella was amazing; of course Death would want to keep her.

But although she’d dreamed of Death’s demons, when Tella came to consciousness, she was greeted by a goddess.

Scarlett stood next to her bed holding a tray of treasure, one laden with cream biscuits, eggs fried in butter, nutmeg custards, thick brown-sugared bacon, and a mug of spicy drinking chocolate.

Tella stole the fattest cream biscuit. She felt groggy, despite sleeping for days, but eating helped. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“I thought you would be hungry after what happened.”

“Scar, I’m sorry, I—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I understand how easy it is to be tricked by Legend’s performers. And everyone on board this ship thinks Nigel took too much from you.” Scarlett eyed Tella, as if hoping she’d confess exactly why she’d gone to the fortune-teller.

Although Tella wanted to justify her actions, she sensed this was not the time to bring up the deal she’d made with her friend. Scarlett would be horrified to learn her sister had been writing to a stranger she’d met through Elantine’s Most Wanted, which was a shady establishment at best.

Tella had been telling Julian the truth when she’d said she didn’t enjoy lying to her sister. Unfortunately, that didn’t always prevent her from doing so. Tella kept secrets from Scarlett to protect her from worrying. Their mother’s disappearance meant Scarlett stopped being a carefree girl at an early age and became more of a caretaker for Tella. It wasn’t fair, and Tella hated adding to the burdens her sister already carried.

But Tella wondered if Scarlett had already found out what she’d done.

Scarlett kept nervously smoothing out wrinkles in her skirt, which seemed to grow more rumpled with every touch. During Caraval, Legend had given Scarlett a magic dress that shifted in appearance—and right now it looked as anxious as Scarlett. Her sleeves had been made of pink lace but now they were turning gray.

Tella took a fortifying sip of chocolate and forced herself to sit up straighter in the bed. “Scar, if you’re not upset about the deal I made with Nigel, what’s bothering you?”

Scarlett’s mouth tilted down. “I wanted to talk to you about Dante.”

Damn it all. It wasn’t what she’d expected, but it wasn’t good, either. Tella had forgotten about passing out in Dante’s room. He must have carried Tella back here and Scarlett must have seen him, half-naked and holding Tella close to his chest.

“Scar, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I swear there is nothing going on between Dante and me. You know how I feel about boys who are prettier than me.”

“So, nothing happened between the two of you after Caraval ended?” Scarlett crossed the small cabin and picked up a pair of silver slippers, the same ones Tella had left in the forest. “He dropped these off last night along with an interesting note.”

Tella’s stomach turned as she plucked the thin sheaf of paper poking out from one of the shoes.

I’ve been meaning to return these since that night we spent in the forest.

—D

He really was a blackguard. Tella crumpled the note in her fist. Dante must have written it to torment Scarlett for rejecting him during Caraval.

“All right,” Tella said. “I confess, Dante and I did kiss the night of the party. But it was terrible, one of the worst kisses I’ve ever had, definitely not something I would wish to repeat! And I’m so sorry if doing that hurt you, I know he was terrible to you during Caraval.”

Scarlett pursed her lips.

Tella had probably taken the lie a little too far. One look at Dante and any girl could tell he knew what to do with his lips.

“I don’t care that you kissed him,” Scarlett said. “If I’d met him before Julian, I might have ended up kissing him too.”

A highly disturbing image popped into Tella’s head, and she understood her sister’s unease even more acutely. The idea of Scarlett and Dante together made Tella want to threaten him to stay far away from her sister, not that Tella thought it was even a possibility. But if just the notion worried Tella—who was all for Scarlett enjoying herself—she could only imagine how troubled her overprotective sister felt.

“I don’t want to control you,” Scarlett continued. “We’ve both experienced enough of that. I just don’t want you hurt. Caraval begins tomorrow at midnight, but as I learned during the last game, Legend puts his game pieces in place far in advance.” Scarlett shot another uneasy look at the slippers Dante had returned.

“You don’t have to worry, Scar.” And for once Tella spoke the absolute truth. “I trust Dante even less than I trust most people, and I know better than to let myself get swept away by Caraval.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to play.”

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

“Tella, I wish you wouldn’t.” Scarlett smoothed her now completely gray skirts, this time leaving sweaty streaks. “What happened with Nigel reminded me of the more regretful things I experienced. I don’t want that for you.”

“Then play with me.” Tella’s words flew out impulsively, but even after giving them a second thought, it felt like a brilliant idea. Tella had watched Caraval from behind the scenes, but her sister had actually played and won. As a team they would be unbeatable. “If we’re together, you can make sure I don’t get tricked by performers like Nigel again. And I can ensure you’ll have fun. We’ll take care of each other.”

Scarlett’s dress immediately perked up, as if it were all for the idea. Its drab gray lace turned raspberry red and spread from her sleeves to her bodice, like attractive armor. Unfortunately, Scarlett still appeared wary. She’d gone from endlessly smoothing her skirts to anxiously wrapping her piece of silver hair around her finger, a streak she’d earned after losing a day of her life in the last Caraval.

Tella considered telling Scarlett the real reason she needed to play and win, but she doubted mentioning their mother would help her cause. Scarlett didn’t talk about their mother. Ever. Whenever Tella had tried to talk about Paloma, Scarlett either changed the subject or ignored her completely. Tella used to think it was too difficult for Scarlett, but now Tella thought Scarlett’s hurt had turned to hatred for the way their mother had left them.

Tella understood the feeling; she preferred never to talk about their father, and she avoided thinking of him as well.

But their mother wasn’t monstrous like their father.

“Crimson”—several knocks rattled the door to their small cabin—“are you in there?”

Scarlett’s expression immediately changed at the sound of Julian’s voice; worry lines softened to smile lines.

“We’ve reached Valenda,” Julian added. “I came to see if I could carry you and your sister’s trunks to the deck.”

“If he wants to haul my luggage, please let him in,” Tella said.

Scarlett didn’t need to be told twice.

The moment she opened the door Julian grinned like a pirate who’d just found his treasure. Tella swore his eyes genuinely smoldered as he looked her sister over.

Scarlett beamed back. So did the lace on her dress, deepening into a fiery shade of red as her skirt went from full to fitted.

Tella slurped her chocolate, loudly, interrupting the couple before their longing looks could shift into lustful kisses. “Julian, please help me out,” Tella said. “I’m trying to get Scarlett to partner with me during Caraval.”

Julian sobered instantly. His gaze flickered to Tella, suddenly sharp. It was as brief as a flash of lightning, but unmistakably clear. He did not want Scarlett to play the game. And Tella knew exactly why. She should have thought of it herself.

If Scarlett played, she’d learn the truth about Armando—that he’d performed the role of her fiancé in the last Caraval—and both Julian and Tella’s lies would be exposed. It would be far worse for Julian than it would be for Tella, but it would be the most painful of all for Scarlett.

“On second thought,” Tella said lightly, attempting to correct her mistake, “maybe I should play alone. You’ll probably slow me down.”

“Too bad. I want to play now.” Scarlett’s large hazel eyes returned to Julian, glittering in a way they never had back on Trisda. “I just remembered how fun the game could be.”

Tella smiled in agreement, but it felt so forced it was hard to hold on to.

Nigel had warned her that if she won the game it would come at a cost she’d later regret. Scarlett had tried to warn her about the game as well. But until this moment Tella hadn’t felt the force of either warning. It was one thing to be told about the risks of Caraval, but it was another to see them playing out. Even though the last game was over, her sister hadn’t fully escaped.

Tella didn’t want to end up like that, and she didn’t want to drag Scarlett through anything that might bring her more pain. But if Tella didn’t play and win the game, she might never see her mother again.





THE MERIDIAN

EMPIRE’S

CAPITAL CITY,

VALENDA





7

According to the myths, Valenda had once been the ancient city of Alcara, home of the Fates pictured inside every Deck of Destiny. They’d built the city with their magic. Magic so ancient and undiluted, even centuries after the Fates had vanished, remnants of their glowing enchantments remained, turning the hills of Valenda so bright that at night it could illuminate half the Meridian Empire.

Tella didn’t know if this entire myth was true, but she believed it as she took her first glimpse of Valenda’s twilight port.

A violet sunset cast everything in deep purple shadows and yet the world before her still glittered, from the tips of its primeval ruins, formed of crumbling columns and massive archways, to the concord waters lapping La Esmeralda. The rickety piers on her home isle of Trisda looked like brittle bones compared to the thick, living wharfs that stretched before her now, flanked with clippers and schooners waving billowing mermaid-green flags. Some were captained by women sailors, boldly dressed in slick leather skirts and boots that went up to their thighs.

Tella already loved it here.

Her imagination stretched as she craned her neck to look up.

She’d heard there were sky carriages that flew above the hilly city like birds, but it was different to view them in person. They moved through the darkening lavender sky with the grace of painted clouds, bobbing up and down in pops of orchid, topaz, magenta, lilac, corn silk, mint, and other shades Tella had yet to see. They didn’t actually fly so much as dangle from thick cords that crisscrossed Valenda’s various districts.

“Come on,” Scarlett urged, clutching Julian’s hand as they started down the crowded dock. “A special group of sky coaches will take us directly to the palace. We don’t want to miss them.”

Their ship had arrived late, so everyone was moving at a heightened pace. There were lots of Careful theres and Watch yourselfs. Tella’s short legs hurried to keep up as she clutched the tiny trunk in her hands, which held the Aracle along with most of her fortune.

“Pardon me.” A wisp of a boy dressed like a courier appeared at the end of the pier. “Are you Miss Donatella Dragna?”

“Yes,” Tella answered.

The courier beckoned her toward a group of barrels at the edge of another dock.

Tella wasn’t about to follow. She never fully believed her nana’s stories about how dangerous the streets of Valenda could be for a girl. But she did know how easily a person could disappear on a dock. All it would take was for someone to drag her onto a ship and shove her belowdecks while heads were turned the other way.

“I need to catch up to my sister,” Tella said.

“Please, miss, don’t run off. I won’t get paid if you leave.” The young courier showed her an envelope sealed with a circle of golden wax that formed an intricate combination of daggers and shattered swords. Tella recognized it instantly. Her friend.

How did he already know she was in Valenda?

As if answering her question, the luckless coin in Tella’s pocket pulsed like a heartbeat. He must have been using it to track her, further proof he was skilled at finding people.

Tella called toward Scarlett and Julian, telling them that she’d catch up later, and slipped onto the other dock with the courier.

Once hidden behind a cluster of heavy barrels, the messenger quickly passed Tella the communiqué and then darted away before Tella could break the seal.

Inside the envelope were two squares. First was a simple sheet covered in familiar writing.



* * *



Welcome to Valenda, Donatella—

My apologies for failing to greet you in person, but don’t worry, I won’t remain a stranger. I’m sure you’re as eager to find your mother as I am to learn Legend’s name.

Knowing you, I imagine you’ll be participating in Caraval, but just in case, I’ve included an invitation to the first night’s festivities.

Bring the coin I gave you to the ball before midnight. Keep it in your palm, and I’ll be sure to find you. Don’t be late—I will not linger.

Until then,

—A friend



* * *



Tella pulled out the other card, revealing a pearlescent page covered in ornate royal-blue ink.

Legend has chosen you to play a game

that may change your destiny.

In honor of Empress Elantine’s 75th birthday,

Caraval will visit the streets of Valenda

for six magical nights.

Your journey will begin at the Fated Ball

inside Idyllwild Castle.

The game officially begins at midnight,

on the 30th day of the Growing Season,

and ends at dawn on Elantine’s Day.

The thirtieth was the following day.

Far too soon for Tella to meet her friend.

Nigel had said the only way for her to uncover Legend’s name was to win Caraval. She needed another week to play—and win—the game. Surely her friend would give her one more week.

But what if he said no and refused to reunite her with her mother?

An unruly wave rocked the dock, but even after it stabilized Tella remained unsteady, as if fate had blinked and the future of her world had reshaped.

Quickly, she set the small trunk in her hands down on the dock. Behind the barrels, she was concealed from view. No one saw her open the trunk, though even if an entire boatload of people had been watching, it might not have stopped her. Tella needed to check the Aracle.

Her fingers usually tingled upon contact, but when she touched the paper rectangle they went numb; everything went numb as Tella saw a new image. Her mother was no longer trapped behind prison bars—she was blue-lipped, pale, and dead.

Tella gripped the card so tight it should have crumpled in her hand. But the magical little thing seemed to be indestructible. She sagged against the damp barrels.

Something new must have happened to alter her mother’s future. Tella had slept the past four days. The shift shouldn’t have been a result of her actions, unless it had something to do with the conversation she’d had with Nigel.

Julian had warned Tella that fortune-tellers like Nigel toyed with the future. Maybe he had sensed something in Tella’s destiny that put Legend at risk. Or perhaps Legend wanted to toy with Tella for trying to uncover his most closely guarded secret, and whatever Legend now planned had shifted her mother’s fate.

The thought should have frightened her. Legend was not a good person to have as an enemy. But for some twisted reason the idea only made Tella want to play his game more. Now, she just needed to convince her friend to give her another week so she could win Caraval, uncover Legend’s name, and save her mother’s life.

* * *

By the time Tella reached the carriage house, night had covered the city with its cloak. Outside the evening was chilled, but inside the carriage house the air was balmy, hazy with amber lantern light.

Tella walked past stall after stall of colorful coaches, all attached to thick cords that led to every part of the city. The line dedicated to the palace was at the very end. But Scarlett was nowhere in sight. She’d told her sister that she’d catch up later, yet Tella was still surprised Scarlett hadn’t waited for her.

The carriage hanging before Tella bobbed as a burly coachman opened an ivory door and directed her into a snug compartment covered in buttery cushions laced with thick royal-blue trim that matched the curtains lining the oval windows.

The only other passenger was a golden-haired young man Tella didn’t recognize.

Legend’s performers had taken two ships to Valenda, and Tella imagined there were performers working for Legend whom she’d never met. But she suspected this young man was not one of them. He was only a few years older than her, yet he looked as if he’d spent centuries practicing disinterest. Even his rumpled velvet tailcoat appeared bored as he lounged against the plush leather seats.

Intentionally looking away from Tella, he bit into an intensely white apple. “You can’t ride in here.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me clearly. You need to get out.” His drawl was as lazy as his cavalier posture, making Tella think that either he was completely careless, or this young man was so used to people hanging on his words, he didn’t even try to sound commanding.

Spoiled nobleman.

Tella had never met an aristocrat she liked. They’d often come to her father for illegal favors, offering him money, but never respect; they all seemed to think their trickle of royal blood made them superior to everyone else.

“If you don’t wish to ride with me, you can get out,” she said.

The young noble responded with a mild tilt of his golden head, followed by a slow curl of narrow lips as if he’d bitten into a mealy part of his apple.

Just leave the coach, warned a voice in her head. He’s more dangerous than he looks. But Tella wasn’t about to be bullied by a young man too lazy to brush the hair from his bloodshot eyes. She hated it when people used their wealth or title as an excuse to treat others poorly; it reminded her too much of her father. And the carriage was already ascending, flying higher into the night sky with every one of Tella’s rapid heartbeats.

“You must be one of Legend’s performers.” The young man might have laughed, but it sounded too cruel for Tella to be sure. He leaned across the intimate space, filling the carriage with the sharp scent of apples and irritation. “I wonder if you could help me with something I’ve been curious about,” he continued. “I’ve heard Legend’s performers never truly die. So maybe I’ll push you out to see if the rumors are true?”

Tella didn’t know if the young man’s threat was serious, but it was too tempting to hold back from saying, “Not if I shove you out first.”

This earned her a flash of dimples that might have been charming, yet somehow they managed to look unkind, like a winking gemstone in the hilt of a double-edged sword. Tella couldn’t decide if his features were too sharp to be attractive, or if he was just the sort of handsome that hurt to look at, the devastating type of lovely that would slit your throat while you were busy staring into its cold quicksilver eyes.

“Careful, pet. You might be one of the empress’s guests, but many in her court are not as forgiving as I am. And I’m not forgiving at all.”

Crunch. Sharp teeth took another bite of his white apple before he let it slip from his fingers and drop onto her slippers.

Tella kicked the apple back in his direction, and pretended she wasn’t concerned in the least that he’d act on his threat. She even went so far as to turn her head away from him and toward the window while their carriage continued to skate above the city. It must have worked; from the corner of her gaze she saw the young man close his eyes as they passed over Valenda’s renowned districts.

Some districts were more infamous than others, like the Spice Quarter, where rumors claimed deliciously illicit items could be found, or the Temple District, where various religions were practiced—supposedly there was even a Church of Legend.

It was too dark to distinctly see anything, but Tella continued to look until the carriage began its descent toward the palace and she could finally make out more than dim starry-eyed lights sparkling up at the sky.

All she could think was, The storybooks lied.

Tella had never cared much for castles or palaces. Scarlett was the sister who’d fantasized about being whisked away by a rich nobleman or a young king to a secluded stone fortress. To Scarlett, castles were bastions of safety offering protection. Tella saw them as fancy prisons, perfect for watching, controlling, and punishing. They were larger versions of her father’s suffocating estate on Trisda, no better than a cage.

But as her coach continued its slow, downward drop, Tella wondered if she’d been too hasty with her judgments.

She’d always pictured castles to be things of gray stone and mold and musty corridors, but Elantine’s bejeweled palace set fire to the night like treasure snatched from a dragon’s lair.

She thought she heard the young nobleman snort, probably at some dazzled expression she’d made. But Tella didn’t care. In fact, she pitied him if he couldn’t appreciate the beauty.

Elantine’s palace sat atop Valenda’s highest hill. In the center of it, her famed golden tower burned beacon-bright in shades of copper and blazing coral. Regal and straight, until near the top where the structure arched like a crown, it was a mirror image of Tower Lost from Decks of Destiny. Tella held her breath. It was the tallest building she’d ever seen, and somehow it looked alive. It ruled like an ageless monarch, presiding over five arching jeweled wings, which stretched out from the tower like the points of a star. And Tella would get to live inside of this star for a week.

No longer feeling as exhausted, she practically bounced in her seat as the coach finally landed.

Across from her the lazing nobleman ignored her as she slipped out the door into the cavernous carriage house.

Tella wondered if she was the last to arrive. The only sound she heard was the heavy cranking of the notched wheels that moved the carriage lines. She didn’t see any of Legend’s performers or her sister. But in between the lines of rocking coaches there were a number of armor-clad, expressionless guards.

One guard shadowed Tella’s every move, the clink of his armor following her, as she left the carriages and entered the empress’s luscious grounds. Legend’s performers might have been Elantine’s guests, but as Tella passed timeworn stone gardens and elaborate topiaries, she had a sudden impression that the empress didn’t trust her visitors. It made Tella wonder why she’d invited them to stay in the palace and perform for her birthday.

Tella had heard that when she was younger Empress Elantine had had a wild streak. She’d snuck into the forbidding Spice Quarter and pretended to be a commoner so she could have all sorts of scandalous adventures and romantic trysts. Unfortunately, for most of Tella’s life, the empress had been known to be far less daring. Perhaps inviting Legend’s performers here was her way of being reckless once again. But Tella doubted it; someone who ruled as long as Elantine didn’t do so with thoughtless abandon.

Somehow the inside of the palace was even more magnificent than its jewel-bright exterior. Everything was impossibly large, as if the Fates had built it merely to show off their might, and then simply left it behind when they’d disappeared. Glittering lapis floors reflected Tella’s entrance as she passed blue quartz columns larger than oak trees and crystalline oil lamps as tall as people.

Up and down the massive marble staircase, servants flitted about like flurries of snowflakes, but again Tella saw no signs of her sister or any other performers.

“Welcome.” A woman dressed in a proud shade of blue stepped in front of Tella. “I’m head matron of the sapphire wing.”

“Donatella Dragna. I’m here with Legend’s performers, and I fear I’m a little late.”

“I’d actually say you’re very late,” the matron told her, but she spoke with a smile, which gave Tella a bit of relief as the woman looked down at the list in her hands, softly humming. Until slowly the pleasant sound faded and stopped.

Her smile disappeared next. “Could you repeat your name once more?”

“It’s Donatella Dragna.”

“I see a Scarlett Dragna.”

“That’s my sister.”

The woman looked up, eyes briefly darting to the guard who’d escorted Tella in. “Your sister might be a welcome guest, but I’m afraid I don’t have you written down. Are you certain you were invited?”





8

No. Tella hadn’t been invited to the palace, but if Scarlett was on the list, Tella should have been too. Legend was playing with her. He must have removed her from the guest list after Tella’s conversation with Nigel.

She took a deep breath, refusing to be nervous, but she imagined every servant in the wing could hear the pounding of her heart. It would be so easy for the guard who’d escorted her there to toss her out into the night. No one would even notice right away, given how often Tella intentionally disappeared, and that she’d already been separated from Scarlett along with everyone else she knew in Valenda.

“My sister,” Tella said, “she’s staying here. I could share her room.”

“That would be unacceptable,” the matron answered, more stiffly than before.

“I don’t see why it matters,” Tella said. “If anything my sister would prefer it.”

“And who is your sister? Is she a royal monarch with a fifth of the world at her fingertips?”

Tella bit back from saying something that would only have her tossed out faster. “What about one of the other wings?” she asked sweetly. “There must be one empty room in such a large palace.”

“Even if there were rooms, you are not on the guest list, so you cannot stay.”

At her words the guard stalked closer, armor echoing across the exquisite foyer.

It took everything Tella had to keep from raising her voice. Instead she forced her lips to tremble and her eyes to turn watery. “Please, I have nowhere else to go,” she begged, hoping the woman had a heart somewhere beneath her starched dress. “Just find my sister and let me stay with her.”

The matron’s lips pinched, appraising Donatella in all her pathetic splendor. “I can’t let you stay here, but perhaps there’s a free cot or nest in the servants’ quarters.”

The guard shadowing her snickered.

Tella’s heart sank even further. A nest in the servants’ quarters?

“Excuse me.” The low voice rumbled directly behind her, a rough brush against the back of Tella’s neck.

Her stomach dipped and tied a knot.

Only one person’s voice did that to Tella.

Casually Dante came up to her side. A silhouette of sharp raven-wing black, from his perfect dark suit to the ink tattooing his hands. The only light came from the shimmer in his amused eyes. “Having a problem with your room?”

“Not at all.” Tella willed her cheeks not to flush with embarrassment, hoping he’d not overheard the conversation. “There’s just a tiny mix-up, but it’s been resolved.”

“What a relief. I thought I heard her say she was putting you in the servants’ quarters.”

“That’s only if there’s room,” the matron said.

Tella could have turned mortified-green and sunk into the lapis floor, but to her shock Dante, who usually enjoyed laughing at her, didn’t so much as tilt the corner of his mouth in diversion. Instead he turned the full force of his brutal gaze on the matron. “Do you know who this young lady is?”

“I beg your pardon,” said the matron, “who are you?”

“I oversee all of Legend’s performers.” Dante’s voice was full of more arrogance than usual. The type of tone that made it impossible for Tella to discern if he was speaking the truth or making up a lie. “You do not want to put her in the servants’ quarters.”

“Why is that?” asked the matron.

“She’s engaged to the heir to the throne of the Meridian Empire.”

The woman’s brows drew together warily. Tella’s might have done the same, but she instantly covered her surprise with the sort of haughty expression she imagined a royal heir’s fiancée might wear.

Of course, Tella didn’t even know who the current heir was. Elantine had no children, and her heirs were killed off faster than the news could travel to Tella’s former home on Trisda. But Tella didn’t care who her fake fiancé was, as long as it kept her from sleeping in a nest.

Unfortunately, the matron still looked skeptical. “I didn’t know His Highness had a new fiancée.”

“It’s a secret,” Dante responded flawlessly. “I believe he’s planning on announcing the engagement at his next party. So I’d recommend not saying anything. I’m sure you’ve heard what his temper is like.”

The woman went stiff. Then her eyes darted from Dante to Tella. Clearly she didn’t trust either of them, but her fear of the heir’s temper must have outweighed her good judgment.

“I’ll check again to see if there’s another room available,” she said. “We’re full for the celebration, but perhaps someone we expected hasn’t arrived.”

The moment she left, Dante turned back to Tella, leaning close so that no eavesdropping servants could hear. “Don’t rush to thank me.”

Tella supposed she did owe him a bit of gratitude. Yet the exchange coated her with the thick sensation that Dante was doing her the opposite of a favor. “I can’t figure out if you’ve just saved me or landed me in an even more unfortunate situation.”

“I found you a room, didn’t I?”

“You’ve also given me a bad-tempered fiancé.”

One corner of his full mouth lifted. “Would you rather have pretended to be my fiancée? I considered saying that, but I didn’t think that would be the best choice since—what was it you said to your sister?” He tapped a finger against his smooth chin. “Ah yes, when we kissed it was terrible, one of the worst, definitely not something you would wish to repeat.”

Tella felt the color drain from her face. God’s blood! Dante was absolutely shameless. “You were spying!”

“I didn’t need to. You were loud.”

Tella should have said she hadn’t meant it—he had to have known she hadn’t meant it—but the last thing she wanted was to boost Dante’s pride. “So this is revenge?”

He leaned even closer. Tella couldn’t discern if the humor had left his gaze or if it had just shifted into something deeper and darker and a little more dangerous. His warm fingers intentionally skimmed the length of her collarbone. Her breathing hitched. Yet she didn’t pull away, even as his eyes became nearly level with hers, coming so close she could feel the sweep of his lashes.

“Let’s just say we’re even now.” His lips moved to the corner of her mouth.

Then, right before making contact, he pulled away. “I wouldn’t wish to repeat something so unpleasant for you.”

Without another word, Dante strutted off, his wide shoulders shaking, as if he were laughing.

Tella burned. After what Dante had just done, they were far from even.

The matron returned several rapid heartbeats later, with a smile tighter than fresh stitches. “It seems we have an available suite in Elantine’s golden tower.”

Tella swallowed a gasp. Maybe Dante had done her a favor after all.

Next to the city’s numerous ruins, Elantine’s golden tower was the oldest structure in the Empire. Rumored to have walls made of pure gold and all sorts of secret passages for monarchs to sneak out of, many believed it wasn’t just a replica of Tower Lost from the Decks of Destiny but that it was the actual tower, with dormant magic hidden inside it.

“Guests are not normally allowed in the tower,” the matron said as she led Tella from the sapphire wing into a glass courtyard, where fancifully dressed clusters of people meandered under opalescent arches and crystal trees with silver leaves. Unfamiliar with palace culture, having grown up on an unrespected conquered isle, Tella wondered if they were part of Elantine’s court, or if these were some other guests that the matron had mentioned.

“You’re not to have any visitors,” the matron continued. “Not even your fiancé is welcome inside your room.”

Tella might have said she’d never dream of letting a boy enter her room, but it was probably best not to pile too many lies on top of each other or they might all come tumbling down.

At the end of the courtyard there was only one set of doors to the golden tower, so grandiose and heavy it took three sentries to pull each one open.

Tella didn’t realize the guard from the carriage house still followed her until he was stopped as Tella and the matron were both let through. Either word of Tella’s engagement had traveled swiftly through the palace, or this head matron was as important as she thought herself. Tella hoped for the latter, knowing as soon as the real heir discovered her ruse, she’d certainly be exposed and kicked out of the palace—or worse. Until then she’d decided to enjoy the charade.

Contrary to the stories, the inside of the tower wasn’t golden; it was old. Even the air smelled archaic, full of forgotten stories and bygone words. On the lower level there were aged stone pillars formed of chipped columns, and decorative capitals carved to look like two-faced women, all lit by crackling black torches that smelled of incense and spells.

From there, the matron shepherded her up floor after creaking floor, each one as old as the first. The door they finally stopped in front of looked so aged, one touch and Tella imagined it might fall off the hinges.

No wonder guests never stayed in here.

“A guard will be posted outside your door at all times.” The matron rang the bell around her neck, summoning a sentry in striking white metal armor. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you as the heir’s fiancée!”

“For some reason, I don’t believe that’s true,” Tella said.

The matron’s smile returned, spreading slowly, like a stain. “At least you’re sharper than you look. But if you really are engaged to the heir, then it’s not Her Majesty’s guards you should fear.”

“I actually don’t believe in fearing anything.” Tella shut the door, leaving the woman in the hall before she could say another pointed word, or Tella could blurt out more things she shouldn’t.

It wasn’t smart to upset servants. Of course,