“No, it’s not,” Governor Dragna cut her off. “But we’ve never been a proper family, and you’re not going to complain, unless you want to watch your friend continue to bleed.” The governor stroked the unmarred side of Julian’s face.
Julian didn’t flinch, yet he no longer wore the placid expression he bore in the tunnels. Everything about him had intensified. He caught Scarlett’s eyes, a silent fire burning in his. He was trying to tell her something, though she had no clue what it was. All Scarlett could feel was the nearness of Count d’Arcy; she imagined his hands eager to claim her body, as her father’s hands were eager to inflict more pain upon Julian.
“Call it an early wedding present that I’m not mutilating him further right now,” said Governor Dragna. “But if you say another word aside from yes, my generosity ends.”
“No,” Scarlett said. “You will not touch him again, because I will not do another thing unless you release him this moment.”
Scarlett turned to the count. He did not appear as if he was enjoying this. Wrinkles marred his perfect forehead. But he did nothing to stop the governor, and just the sight of him, standing there in his crimson cravat and silver boots, made her ill to her core.
Tella had been right. You think your marriage is going to save you, but what if the count is as bad as Father, or worse?
Scarlett didn’t know if Count d’Arcy was actually worse than her father, but in that moment he felt just as vile. He no longer held her hand softly as he had in the haberdashery; his grip was firm, assured. The count had more strength than he let on. He had the power to stop this if he desired.
“If you let this happen”—Scarlett paused to meet the count’s eye, searching for a trace of the young man she’d exchanged so many letters with—“if you use the threat of his punishment to control me, I will never obey or respect you. But if you let him go, if you show some of the humanity I read in your letters, I will be the perfect wife you paid for.” She recalled Julian’s words in the tunnel and added, “Do you really want a bride who will only sleep with you because another man will be tortured if she doesn’t?”
The count’s face flushed. Scarlett’s heart beat faster with every darkening shade on his visage. Frustration. Embarrassment. Wounded pride.
“Let him go,” the count grit out. “Or our deal is over.”
“But—”
“I won’t argue this.” The count’s elegant voice turned rough. “I just want this done.”
Governor Dragna did not look pleased to part with a toy he’d barely played with. Yet to Scarlett’s surprise, he released Julian without further argument, shoving him toward the door. “You heard him. Leave.”
“Crimson, don’t do this for me.” Julian shot a pleading look toward Scarlett. “You can’t give yourself to him. I don’t care about what happens to me.”
“But I care,” Scarlett said, and though she wanted to look at Julian’s beautiful face one last time, to show him how she thought he was the furthest thing from a scoundrel or a liar, she didn’t dare meet his eyes. “Now, please, leave, before you make this harder.”
30
The crooked halls of La Serpiente felt shorter than Scarlett remembered. Already she and Count d’Arcy were on the fourth floor, right outside her door.
There were so many ways her plan could go wrong.
The count held her glass key, but he looked down at her before placing it in the lock. “Scarlett, I want you to know, this wasn’t how I intended things to be between us. What happened in those tunnels, that wasn’t me.” His eye met hers, far gentler than the way he’d looked at her in the hat shop. For a moment she could almost see something beneath his over-polished appearance, as if it was just another type of coat he wore for show, and in reality, he was as trapped as she was. “This marriage is very important to me. The thought of losing you made me go a little mad. By the time we were in the tunnels I wasn’t thinking clearly. But things will be different once we’re married. I’ll make you happy, I promise.”
With his free hand the count brushed the silver lock of hair from her face, and for a dreadful moment Scarlett feared he was going to lean down and kiss her. It took every ounce of strength she’d gained this last week not to run, or cringe.
“I believe you,” Scarlett said. Though no words could have been further from the truth. She knew what happened in the tunnels could drive people to madness, twist their fear to make them do things—or allow things—they might not normally. But even if he kept her safe from this point on and never lifted a finger against her, no universe existed where Count Nicolas d’Arcy would ever make Scarlett happy. Not when the only person she wanted to be with was Julian.
Fear clutched her insides as the count opened the door to her room.
Again, she thought of all the ways her plan could go wrong.
She could have misread Julian.
Julian could have misread her.
Her father could come back and listen on the other side of the door—she’d heard of such deplorable things happening.
Her palms grew sweaty as she followed the count into the heated chamber. The massive bed, which had looked so inviting the first time she’d seen it, now looked like a silent threat. Its four wooden posts made her think of a cage. She imagined the count drawing the curtains and trapping her inside. She glanced at the wardrobe, hoping Julian would appear from the hidden door on the other side, or possibly burst out from inside. It was large enough to hold a person. But the doors were shut, and they remained that way.
It was only Scarlett and the count and the bed.
Now that it was just the two of them, the count moved differently. His overbred sophistication was completely gone, replaced with clinical precision, as if this were a business matter he needed to wrap up.
He took off his gloves first, dropping them on the floor. Then he began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, creating tiny pops that made Scarlett want to retch. She couldn’t do this.
Watching her father hurt Julian, Scarlett had finally understood what Julian had been trying to tell her in the tunnels earlier. She had grown up thinking her father’s abuse had been her fault—the result of what happened when she made a mistake. But now she could clearly see: Her father was responsible. Nobody deserved his punishments.
This was wrong too. When she’d kissed Julian, it had felt right. Two people choosing to give tiny vulnerable parts of themselves to each other. That’s what Scarlett wanted. That’s what she deserved. No one else had the right to decide this for her. Yes, her father had always treated her like a possession, but she was not a thing to be bought or sold.
Before, Scarlett had always felt as if she didn’t have choices, but now she was starting to realize that she did. She just needed to be bold enough to make the difficult ones.
Another pop. The count had moved on to the buttons of his shirt, and he was looking at Scarlett as if he were getting ready to take off her damp gown as well and complete this transaction.
“It’s chilly in here, don’t you think?” Scarlett grabbed the fireplace poker and stoked the logs, watching the fire skip over the metal until it turned shades of brilliant orange-red—the color of bravery.
“I think you’ve stoked it enough.” The count placed a firm palm on her shoulder.
Scarlett spun around and aimed the red-hot poker at his face. “Don’t touch me.”
“Sweetheart.” He appeared only mildly surprised, and not nearly as frightened as she would have liked. “We can take things slowly, if you want, but you should put that down before you injure yourself.”
“I can manage not to hurt myself.” Scarlett inched the fireplace rod closer, stopping right below his bright-green eye. “But you might not be so lucky. Don’t move or breathe a word unless you want a scar on your cheek that matches Julian’s.”
The count’s breathing hitched, yet his voice was unnervingly even as he said, “I don’t think you realize what you’re doing, sweetheart.”
“Stop callin
g me that! I’m not yours, and I’m very aware of my actions. Now get on the bed.” Scarlett motioned with the poker, but already its red tip was losing color. She had thought she’d tie him to the bed, but there was no way it would work. The minute she set down her weapon, he would be upon her. And despite her threats, Scarlett didn’t know if she could bring herself to use it.
“I know you’re frightened,” the count said calmly. “But if you stop whatever it is you’re doing, I’ll forget this ever happened and no harm will be done.”
Harm.
The elixir of protection.
The vial she’d bought in the tent at the Castillo had slipped her mind. But it was still in the pocket of her enchanted gown. She just needed to get to the wardrobe.
“Back up all the way against the bedposts.” Scarlett backed away as he did as he was told. Then she bolted for the wardrobe. The count leaped up the moment she turned, but Scarlett was already opening the wooden doors.
With a loud tumble, Julian fell out. His skin was gray and bleeding. Scarlett’s heart cracked.
“What is he doing here?” The count froze long enough for her to reach inside and grab the elixir. She could do nothing for Julian unless she took care of d’Arcy first.
Scarlett ripped the top off the bottle and splashed its contents all over the count. The spray smelled of daisies and urine.
The count choked and sputtered. “What is this?” He dropped to his knees as he tried to grab Scarlett, but he looked like an infant attempting to catch a bird. The elixir worked fast, dimming his reflexes to a clumsy crawl.
“You’re making a mistake.” He continued wilting to the floor as Scarlett rushed to Julian’s side.
“This is exactly what Legend wants,” the count slurred, lips going numb like the rest of his body. “Your father told me the history … of your grandmother and Legend. I have no idea who he is.” The count cut a drooping eye to Julian. “But you’re playing right into Legend’s hands. He brought you to this isle to destroy our marriage, to ruin your life.”
“Well, then it seems he’s failed,” Scarlett said. “From where I’m standing, it looks as if Legend has done me a favor.”
Julian’s eyes fluttered open as Scarlett helped him up from the floor, and her ex-fiancé finished crumpling to the ground.
“Don’t be too sure about any of that,” the count mumbled. “Legend doesn’t do anyone favors.”
31
Can you walk?” Scarlett asked.
“Aren’t I doing that now?” Julian’s voice was playful. But there was nothing humorous about the wound that went from his jaw to his eye. Her arms were wrapped around him, keeping him steady.
“Crimson, don’t worry about me, we should get you to your sister.”
“You need stitches first.” Her eyes returned to the ragged gash on his cheek. It would scar, and while it did not make him any less handsome, it did make her ill to remember how fragile he’d appeared when he’d tumbled out of the wardrobe.
“You’re overreacting,” Julian said. “It’s not half bad. Your father barely scraped me. I doubt he enjoys it unless his victims remain conscious.”
“But you were passed out in the closet.”
“I’ve recovered. I’m a quick healer.” Julian pulled away from her, as if to prove it, when they reached the bottom floor. Light snuck in through the cracks around the doors, illuminating candles growing inside sconces, preparing for another treacherous night. On the floor, a small group of dedicated participants slept huddled together. Waiting for evening to fall and the doors to unlock.
“I still think we should find a way to bandage it up,” Scarlett whispered.
“It only needs a little alcohol.” Julian swaggered past the sleeping participants and into the tavern, though Scarlett swore he was still only half himself. His boots scraped the glass floor with an uneven gait as he went behind the bar and poured half a bottle of clear liquor over his cheek.
“See”—Julian winced, shaking his head, making drops of liquid fall to the floor—“not as bad as it looks.”
A line still went from near the corner of his eye to the edge of his jaw. It wasn’t as deep as Scarlett thought, yet she could not ignore the ill feeling she had.
Amid all that had happened she’d lost track of time, but she imagined the sun would set in about two hours, welcoming the final night of the game.
To win, Scarlett needed to find her sister before anyone else. And after what she’d just done to the count—not only had she knocked him out, she’d tied him to the bed before leaving—Scarlett could all too clearly imagine how furious her father would be when he woke, and the malicious punishments he would inflict on Tella if he found her before Scarlett. He wouldn’t just kill her; he’d torture her first.
“When I was in the room, I forgot to look at the roses,” Scarlett said.
Julian took a swig of the bottle before putting it away. “You’re the one who said they were all over Caraval.”
Meaning it would be impossible to figure out which roses were actually clues. There were probably hundreds of roses she’d never seen as well. The first clue she’d received said: And number five requires a leap of faith. But Scarlett had no idea how that connected to the flowers. Too many roses and not enough time.
“Crimson, don’t fall apart on me now.”
Scarlett looked up and Julian was in front of her, drawing her close before she could say the words “I’m not.” Though she imagined if Julian were to release her, she would. Fall to the floor. Then fall through it. Fall and fall—
He kissed her, parting her lips with his own until all she could taste or think about was him. He tasted like midnight and wind, and shades of rich brown and light blue. Colors that made her feel safe and guarded.
“It’s going to be all right,” Julian murmured, and he pressed his lips to her forehead.
Now she was tumbling for altogether different reasons. Sinking into a feeling of security that she’d never known before. As Julian’s lips stayed pressed to her temple, his arms wrapped around her as if he wanted to protect her—not possess her or control her. He wouldn’t let her crumble. He wouldn’t toss her from a balcony as Legend had done in her dream.
“Julian.” Scarlett looked up abruptly, as the words from the clue, leap of faith, suddenly ricocheted through her thoughts.
“What’s wrong?” Julian asked.
“I need to ask you something about your sister.”
Julian stiffened.
“I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important, but I think it might help us find Tella.”
“Go ahead,” he said, and despite the shuttered look on his face, his voice was soft. “Ask whatever you want.”
“I’ve heard about your sister’s death, but the accounts were conflicting. Could you tell me how she actually died?”
Julian took a deep breath. Obviously the subject made him uncomfortable, but he said, “After Legend rejected her, Rosa leaped from a balcony to her death.”
A balcony. Not a window, as Scarlett had overheard in her dream. No wonder Julian hadn’t appeared more excited at the sight of all the balconies at the beginning of the game. They were fifty cruel reminders of what he had lost. Legend truly was monstrous, and if Scarlett was correct, he’d set this game up for a twisted repeat of history with either Scarlett or her sister. A leap of faith indeed.
With a shudder, Scarlett worried that was what it would take—that she would have to jump off a balcony to save her sister.
She kept this suspicion to herself as she told Julian of her dream involving Legend and the balcony. “I think we need to search the balconies to find our last clue.”
Julian ripped a hand through his hair. “There are dozens of them, all with different entrances. I don’t see how that is a better plan.”
“Then we should start searching now.” Expecting an argument, Scarlett went on, “I know going out during daylight is against the rules, but I don’t think Legend really abides by rules. The innk
eeper said that if we didn’t make it in before daybreak after the first night we didn’t get to play, but she didn’t mention the rest of the nights.” Scarlett lowered her voice, just in case some of the people over in the hall were actually awake. “All the doors are locked so people think they can’t get out, but we can leave using the tunnels. If we go right now we can get a head start on the count and my father, and maybe we can win this game.”
“Now you’re finally thinking like a player.” Julian smiled, but it looked as flat as a line in a painting. She wondered if her fearless Julian now feared her father too, or if he dreaded the same thing Scarlett did, that to save her sister one of them would have to take a deadly leap.
32
Julian’s hand was the only thing that felt truly solid as they emerged from the tunnels and entered into a realm that appeared utterly different when lit by the late-afternoon sun.
The Caraval sky was a creamy blur of butter and vanilla swirls. It made Scarlett think the air around her should taste like sweetened milk and sugared dreams, but all she could taste was dust and haze.
“Where do you want to look first?” Julian asked.
The balconies surrounded the entire perimeter of the game. Scarlett craned her neck, searching for a glimpse of movement or anything odd on any of the nearest ones, but the blanket of mist obscured her view. On the ground, shops that looked colorful at night now appeared almost blurry. The elaborate fountains, dotting every other corner of the street, spilled no water. The world was stillness and quiet and milky fog. No colorful boats traveled canals and no other people walked on the cobbled paths.
Scarlett felt as if she’d stepped into a faded memory. As if the magical town had been abandoned long ago, and she was coming back to find nothing quite as she recalled.
“This doesn’t even look like the same place.” Scarlett walked a little closer to Julian. She’d feared that the moment they stepped outside someone would try to remove them from the game, but this strange, dull reality was almost as frightening. “I can’t see any of the balconies.”
Caraval Series, Book 1 Page 21