Everything Scarlett had done since arriving at Caraval involved risk. Some of those things had not ended well, but others had pleasantly surprised her—like the intimate moment she’d shared with Julian. He’d never have given her such a precious gift if she hadn’t first made a mistake by losing two days of her life.
Maybe taking a chance right now was exactly what she needed to do. If not for her own sake, she needed to do it for Tella. Julian had been her ally since she’d arrived, and Scarlett might need his help more than ever, with her father on the island now.
Oh, saints, her father! Scarlett hadn’t even told Julian he was there. She definitely had to find him now and warn him.
Anxiously, Scarlett opened the door. The wretched scent of her father’s perfume still lingered, but the only person in the hall was the vile man with the bowler hat who’d stolen her earrings. He paid no attention as she darted past him and onto the stairs. She didn’t know where Julian had gone, but she hoped he hadn’t left—
Scarlett froze at the next landing.
Julian, as confident as if he really was the master of Caraval, strode out of Dante’s room, opened Tella’s cracked door, and stepped inside.
What is he doing?
Julian hated Dante. And why Tella’s demolished room? What was—
Above her, the inn creaked with the weight of multiple footsteps. Three sets. As they drew closer to the stairwell above, she could hear the words of one man echoing down in her direction.
The first half of his sentence she couldn’t make out, but she recognized her father’s voice and caught what he said next. “You saw her walk by just now?”
A tremor worked its way through Scarlett’s body.
“Less than a minute ago. Now, where’s my coins?” It must have been the miserable man with the bowler hat speaking.
Suddenly she was back on Trisda, curling into stairwell shadows, afraid to move lest she get caught. But she had to move. Any moment her father would be down the stairs. Scarlett couldn’t afford to be afraid, or debate what she should do. Her boots barely tapped the floor as she scurried down the path Julian had taken into Tella’s room. She tried to latch the door, but the lock was broken.
The room was empty.
No sign of Julian anywhere.
But he’d definitely come in here.
Scarlett told herself there was a reasonable explanation. And then she remembered.
The dying garden she’d found in Castillo Maldito. Neglected and abandoned. The garden had been carefully cultivated as a place people would not linger—much like Tella’s room. Scarlett imagined Julian entering, pushing aside bits of wreckage, finding a floorboard with the symbol of Caraval, and then pressing his finger against it until another board slid open, leading him into a hidden tunnel.
A tunnel she needed to find.
Outside, the sound of footsteps grew louder, a harsh chorus to her frantic search. Dropping to her hands and knees, she scanned for an entrance. Splinters dug into her fingers as she crawled across the floor. Somehow the battered space still managed to smell like Tella. Sharp molasses and wild dreams. Scarlett moved with more urgency; she had to find her sister before their father caught either one of them.
Inside the fireplace, all the bricks were covered with soot, but her eyes latched on to a lighter smudge, as if someone had just pressed his thumb to it. Underneath, the symbol etched into the firebox wall was dirty, hard to see, but the tip of Scarlett’s finger tingled as she touched the same spot. For a panicked second nothing happened. Then, slowly, the fireplace shifted, bricks grinding apart to reveal a set of rich mahogany stairs. The sconces lining them burned with glowing orange coals, revealing a well-worn path down the center, as if someone traveled them often. Scarlett imagined Julian taking these steps every time he’d snuck away or disappeared.
It still doesn’t mean he’s Legend.
But Scarlett was having a harder time believing that now. If he wasn’t Legend, why else did he have so many secrets? Even if he wasn’t seducing Tella whenever he was away from Scarlett, Julian was definitely hiding something.
A damp chill wrapped around Scarlett’s exposed calves as she started down. Even though she was very much awake, her dress remained thin as a nightgown and fell barely past her knees. Two flights of smooth stairs led to three diverging pathways. On the right a trail of petal-pink sand. In the middle, one of polished glowing stones creating dim puddles of light. To her left, brick.
Torches covered in white flames lit the open mouths of all her options. Each route contained multiple sets of boot prints in a variety of sizes. She imagined any tunnel could hide her from her father, but only one could lead to Julian—and possibly to Tella, if Julian really was Legend.
The tunnels could also lead to madness, Scarlett thought. But she would rather face that possibility than her father.
Closing her eyes, Scarlett listened. To her left, trapped wind beat against walls. To her right, water rushed. Then, down the middle, larger, heavier steps beat forward. Julian!
Quickly, she followed, relying on the steady press of his footfalls to guide her. They seemed to grow louder as the temperature of the path became colder.
Until the footsteps stopped.
Vanished.
Wet chills licked the back of her neck. Scarlett spun, afraid someone was behind her, but it was only the silent corridor, full of stones that were rapidly losing their glow. Scarlett started running faster, but her foot caught on something. Tripping forward, she reached out to steady herself against a damp wall, only to lose her balance once more as she caught sight of the object she’d stumbled upon.
A human hand.
Bile rose in her throat. Acid and acrid.
Five tattooed fingers stretched out as if reaching for her.
Somehow she managed to hold back her scream, until she looked down the hall and saw Dante’s twisted dead body, and Julian standing over it.
23
Scarlett tried to convince herself what she was seeing wasn’t real. The tunnels were trying to drive her mad. She told herself the putrid smell was manufactured. The hand wasn’t Dante’s; it was someone else’s. But even if somehow a body had been stolen and tattoos had been carved into it as part of a game, there was no mistaking the rest of Dante, the pallor of his skin, or the angle of head, only barely attached to his bloody neck.
Julian’s head whipped around. “Crimson, it’s not what it looks—”
Scarlett started to run, but he was faster. Sprinting forward, he caught her in a heartbeat, banding one strong arm across her chest and another around her waist.
“Let me go!” She squirmed.
“Scarlett, stop! These tunnels intensify fear—don’t let yours control you. I swear, Dante and I were working together, and if you stop fighting me I can prove it.” Julian adjusted his grip, pinning her hands behind her. “I’ve been dead for the past day. You really think I killed him?”
If he was Legend, he could have had someone else murder him. “Why did you pretend you didn’t know Dante if you were working together?”
“Because we were afraid something like this would happen. We knew Legend would recognize Dante and Valentina from the last time they played, but I mostly watched, so Legend doesn’t know me. We thought it wise to keep our partnership a secret in case Legend figured out what Dante was really here to do.”
Julian cut two eyes farther down the corridor toward Dante’s dead body, but his face remained emotionless. Not the look of someone who’d just found a murdered friend. The same cold look he had worn at the funeral. Legend.
Scarlett smothered a whimper, and though each of her instincts battled against it she forced her body to go limp. Not to scream as she felt the press of Julian’s chest. Not to hit as he slowly released her wrists. The only thing she fought against was her growing fear, until Julian removed his arm from around her waist.
And then she—
Julian pressed her up against the wall, a few short feet after she attempt
ed to run. “You’re going to get both of us killed if you don’t stop this,” he growled.
Then he ripped open the buttons of his shirt. They skittered across the ground as he arched back and stepped away, just enough for the torchlight to reveal what Scarlett had thought was a scar above his heart. But it wasn’t. Fainter than year-old memories, a tattoo in white ink curled near the top of his ribs. A rose.
“It’s a different color, but I’m sure you’ve seen this on Dante,” said Julian.
“That doesn’t prove anything. I’ve seen roses all over Caraval.” Legend was obsessed with them. Further proof the dream sent by Aiko was right. A distant part of Scarlett warned it wasn’t wise to reveal her last card to the player holding all the cards. But Scarlett was done playing games. A few feet away lay the body of a dead man; this game had gone far enough. “You can stop lying to me. I saw you at the funeral. I know you’re really Legend!”
Julian’s dark expression froze. For a moment he looked stunned, then his features softened into subtle amusement. “I don’t know what funeral you think you saw, but I’ve only ever attended one funeral, for my sister Rosa: Dante’s fiancée. I’m not Legend. I’m here because I want to stop him from destroying anyone else the way he destroyed her.”
Rosa was his sister? Scarlett’s conviction wavered. But had she begun to believe him because she desperately wanted to, or because Julian really was telling the truth? She tried to see the color of his emotions, but there was nothing over his heart. Her connection to his feelings must have already faded.
“I saw pictures,” Scarlett said. “If she was your sister, why were you just standing there? I saw you wearing a top hat.”
“You think I’m Legend because you looked at pictures and saw me wearing a top hat?” Julian sounded as if he wanted to laugh.
“It wasn’t just the top hat!” Though that might have been most of it. But there were still other things he wasn’t telling her. “How did you know what to do when I was dying?”
“Because I heard people talk about it when I watched the game before. It’s not any secret, but most people aren’t willing to give up their life for someone else, even small pieces of it.” He gave Scarlett a pointed look. “I get that you have problems with trust,” Julian went on roughly. “After meeting your father, I don’t blame you. But I swear, I’m not Legend.”
“Then how did you get back to La Serpiente the other day after you’d been hurt? And why didn’t you meet me in the tavern when you were supposed to?”
Julian let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t know how this will prove that I’m not Legend, but I didn’t meet you at the tavern because the night before I’d been bashed in the head. I slept in, and when I got to the tavern you were already gone.” He smirked, but something about it was off. Too forced.
Even if Julian wasn’t Legend, he wasn’t being entirely honest. His hands were clenched, holding his secrets the way Scarlett so often clutched her fear, as if letting go would unravel him.
“If you’re really here to stop Legend, I can’t imagine you’d just sleep in one night. And it still doesn’t explain how you got back into La Serpiente that day.”
“Why are you so obsessed with that?” A frustrated shake of his head. “All right, fine. You want to know the truth?” Julian leaned in close, until his cool breath was on her neck, the cool scent of him all over her skin, and the tunnel seemed to be made of nothing but him.
“I didn’t sleep at all. I left you sitting in the tavern on purpose because after being with you in the room the day before I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to see you again.” His eyes dropped to her lips, and Scarlett shivered. In the dim tunnels it was too dark to make out their color, but when he looked back up she pictured two hungry pools of liquid amber fringed by dark lashes. It was the exact same way he’d stared at her before, when his back had been against the door and she’d been pressed against him.
“I started this game with a simple mission.” Julian paused, swallowed thickly, and when he spoke again his voice was rough and low, as if it was hard for him to get out the words. “I came here to find Legend and avenge my sister. My relationship with you was meant to end right after you got me into the game. So yes, I haven’t been completely honest about things, but, I swear, I am not Legend.”
Scarlett imagined he could have crumbled stone with the force of his words. Julian always seemed to be covering up how he truly felt, but his last six words had been stripped bare. His tone may not have been sweet, but Scarlett heard nothing but truth in it.
Taking an intentional step back, Julian slowly reached in his pocket and lifted out a note. “I found this in Dante’s room. I was down here to meet him, not kill him.”
* * *
J—
Valentina is still missing. I think Legend is onto us.
* * *
A flicker of a memory.
Valentina was Dante’s sister.
Scarlett shook as she recalled the last time she’d seen Dante alive. He’d been frantic with worry in the stairwell. Maybe if Scarlett hadn’t lost that day, she would have been able to help him find her. “I should have done something,” she muttered.
“There was nothing you could have done,” Julian said flatly. “Valentina was supposed to meet us here the night I got my head bashed, but she never showed up.”
Julian explained that the tunnels ran under everything. Maps were embedded at the mouth of each one, and they were mainly used for the Caraval performers, to easily get from one place to another. “And sometimes they’re used for murder,” Julian added wryly. His eyes were hooded, cheekbones sharper than usual, an expression made of shattered things.
Scarlett wished she knew how to fix him, but it seemed as if he was almost as damaged as she was. “Are you still set on revenge?” she asked.
“Would you try to stop me if I was?” He cast his gaze down the hall toward Dante’s dead, twisted body.
Scarlett felt as if her answer should have been yes. She liked to believe there were always options besides violence. But Dante’s murder and Valentina’s disappearance took away any illusions that Caraval was merely a game.
Scarlett had thought her father was vicious, but Legend was just as much of a monster. It seemed her nana hadn’t lied when she’d said the more Legend played the role of a villain, the more he’d become one in reality.
Tentatively, Scarlett reached out and took Julian’s hand. His fingers were tense, cold. “I’m sorry about your—”
The echo of footsteps cut her off. Steady, determined, and close. She couldn’t hear any voices, but she swore she recognized the gait. Instinctively, she pulled her hand from Julian’s. “I think that’s my father!”
Julian’s head jerked toward the sound. In a flash his sorrow was gone. “Your father’s here?”
“Yes,” Scarlett said.
They both started running.
24
This way.” Julian tugged her toward a corridor lined in bricks and lit with glowing spiderwebs.
“No.” Scarlett urged him left. “I used a path with stones.” She didn’t recall the walls being speckled with radiant rocks as well, but she’d not really been paying attention to that.
Behind them the crush of boots was getting louder.
Julian scowled but followed her. His elbow brushed hers as the tunnel walls grew narrow and knobby stones dug into both their sides. “Why didn’t you tell me your father was here?”
“I was going to tell you, but—”
Julian’s hand clamped over Scarlett’s mouth, salt and dirt pressed against her lips as he whispered, “Shh—”
He grabbed one of the glowing stones dotting the wall, twisted it like a doorknob, and pulled her into a darkened nowhere. The walls hugging Scarlett’s back were like ice, moist and cold. She could feel them soaking through her thin dress while she tried to remember how to breathe.
Anise and lavender and something akin to rotted plums were replacing Julian’s cool scent, mo
ving like smoke under the odd door he’d just pulled her through.
“I’ll keep you safe,” Julian whispered. His body pressed close to hers, as if to shield her, while boot steps landed hard just outside their hiding spot, which seemed to be growing smaller. The frigid walls were digging into Scarlett, pushing her closer and closer to Julian. Her elbows hit his chest, forcing her to twine her arms around his waist as his taut body molded against hers.
Scarlett’s heart raced irregularly. The coarse stubble of Julian’s jaw grazed her cheek as his hands wove low around her hips. Through the insubstantial fabric of her dress she could feel every curve of his fingers. If her father opened the door and discovered her like this she would be dead.
Scarlett tried to push away, her breath coming out quick and fast. The ceiling now seemed to be sinking too, moving closer, dripping cold onto the top of her head.
“I think this room is trying to kill us,” Scarlett said. Outside she heard her father’s steps retreat, until the sound of them faded to nothing. She would have liked to stay hidden another minute or more, but her lungs were being squashed, sandwiched between Julian and the freezing wall. “Open the door!”
“I’m trying.” Julian grunted.
Scarlett sucked in a gasp. Her flimsy gown rose up above her knees as Julian’s knuckles roamed over her backside, his palms searching for their exit. “I can’t find it,” he ground out. “I think it’s on your side.”
“I can’t feel anything.” Except for you. Her fingers brushed places she knew she shouldn’t have been touching, while her hands tried to explore the wall. But the harder she fought, the more the room seemed to push back.
Like the ocean off the island.
The more Scarlett had kicked against it, the more frightened she had been, the more the waters had punished her.
Maybe that was it.
Julian said the tunnels heightened fear, but maybe they fed off of it as well.
“The room is connected to our emotions,” Scarlett said. “I think we need to relax.”
Caraval Series, Book 1 Page 17