Legendary
Page 16
Tella stared but did not touch. She might have been obsessed with the cards after that day when she’d first found her mother’s deck, and she might have allowed herself to look at the Aracle, but she’d never drawn cards from a Deck of Destiny to read her future. She’d kept that promise to her mother—and once had been detrimental enough.
“I think I’ll pass on the reading. I didn’t come here for cryptic words about the future.”
“But you do want the next clue?”
“I thought you just said the clues are meaningless.”
“No, I said the game isn’t really about the clues, but they’re still necessary to show people, like you, the correct path.”
“Maybe I’ll look up at the stars and follow Legend’s constellations instead.”
“The constellations help people play but they won’t lead anyone to winning, and I suspect you want to win.” Armando nudged the deck closer to Tella’s side of the table, scratching the glassy surface.
“Why do you care so much about my future?”
“I couldn’t care less, but Legend is very interested.”
“I’m guessing you say that to everyone who sits here.”
“True. But I actually mean it with you.” When Armando grinned this time it lit up his entire face. His lips parted in a perfect smile, his eyes turned a dazzling green, and for a moment Tella imagined that if he were just a little kinder Armando would have been heartbreakingly handsome. “Either play with me, or feel free to try your luck at another temple.”
As if on cue, bells rang twice, heralding two in the morning. Later than she’d realized. She’d have to move quickly to find another one of Legend’s players in a different temple. But there was a chance they’d want to read her future, just like Armando.
She reached for the metal deck.
The cards were cold enough to feel through the tips of her gloves. Once she finished cutting them Armando spread them out in front of her. A fan of silver and gold. It should have shone, but after a moment the gold turned black and the silver whorls tarnished as if warning her that her future would turn darker as well.
“Choose four. One at a time.”
“I know how this works.” Ignoring the obvious ones directly in front of her, Tella reached for a buried card on the far left, scratching the table once again as she slid it out and turned it over, revealing an all-too-familiar bloody smile.
The Prince of Hearts.
The air in Tella’s lungs went arctic. He was truly inescapable.
Armando chuckled, dry and mocking. “Unrequited love. It seems things with you and Dante won’t work out after all.”
It might have hurt if Tella harbored any delusions of the contrary. But she knew better than anyone else what the bloody prince represented. No matter what Tella claimed about love, the Prince of Hearts was the real reason she never let herself grow attached to any of the young men who showed interest. Tella knew how to capture a boy’s attention, but it was doomed never to last. Fate had already decided no one she loved would ever love her back.
This time Tella flipped over the closest card, the one so obvious it probably expected her to look it over.
Or not.
The Maiden Death.
Again.
“I’ve always liked this card.” Armando traced the pearls around the maiden’s face with cold precision. “Death stole her from her family to make her his immortal consort. Yet she refused him, so he encased her head in a cage of pearls to keep anyone else from having her. Even then she still defied him, every night sneaking off to warn the loved ones of those he was about to take.”
“I’m familiar with her history,” Tella said.
“Then why don’t you look more worried about losing someone you care for?”
“Because I’ve already lost her.”
“Perhaps you’re about to lose someone else,” Armando rasped. For a young man who claimed not to care about her future, he seemed to enjoy how dark it was.
Pretending to ignore him, Tella flipped over another card. She didn’t pay attention to where she took it from, imagining it would be the Aracle—following the same pattern she’d discovered as a child. But instead of a gold-lined mirror, the card before her revealed a sharp black crown tipped with gleaming black opals, and broken into five ragged pieces.
The Shattered Crown.
Suddenly Armando no longer looked entertained. His mouth opened and shut like a puppet who’d not been fed any words.
“Is this one not terrible enough for you?” Tella asked.
Although, truthfully, this card didn’t bother Tella nearly as much as the others. The Shattered Crown represented an impossible choice between two equally difficult paths. But Tella didn’t believe in impossible choices. In her experience one path was always clearly worse than another. Yet Tella still hesitated before flipping over a fourth card; the Shattered Crown was new, and while a masochistic part of Tella was curious as to what other surprises fate might have in store, she was tired of Fates toying with her future.
“I need to see another card,” said Armando.
“Why?” Tella asked. “I’ve just shown you three dreadful ones, isn’t that enough?”
“I thought you were familiar with fortune-telling. Every story has four parts—the beginning, the middle, the almost-ending, and the true ending. Your future is not complete until you flip over the fourth and reveal the true ending.”
“I still don’t understand why Legend cares about any of this.”
“Maybe you need to ask yourself that question, not me?” Armando’s eyes dropped to the upturned cards, which told a story of broken hearts, lost loved ones, and impossible choices. Tella didn’t see how any of it connected to Caraval, unless, like Jacks, Legend also found pleasure in the pain of others.
She closed her eyes this time, hoping for a favorable Fate like Mistress Luck, or Her Majesty’s Gown, which signified bold changes and extraordinary gifts.
The card’s smooth metal surfaces didn’t spark with magic like the Aracle she kept hidden away. But she did feel something as her fingers danced atop them. Most of the cards were cool to the touch, but a few were icier than others and some were warmer. Then there was one that burned with so much heat Tella was tempted to lift her hand. She flipped it over instead.
The metal glowed violet as a lovely woman in an ash-lavender gown stared at Tella from behind the bars of a giant silver birdcage.
The Lady Prisoner.
A knot formed inside of Tella’s chest, and not just because this card reminded her of the vision that the Aracle had shown of her own mother. The Lady Prisoner held a double meaning: sometimes her picture promised love, but usually it meant sacrifice. In all the stories, she was said to be innocent of any crimes, but she let herself be caged in the place of someone she deeply loved.
Nigel’s words returned to Tella then. Be warned, winning the game will come at a cost you will later regret.
Tella glared at Armando. “I’ve chosen my cards. Give me the next clue.”
His mouth twisted into something unreadable.
“If you even try to tell me you can’t—”
“Keep your claws in your gloves.” Armando rose from his chair and crossed the small space to press his hand against one of the mirrors on the wall. It opened with a hiss, exposing a cool tunnel formed of earth and ancient spiderwebs.
Tella had heard there were secret passages hidden throughout all of Valenda. This must have been one of them.
“Follow this path until something urges you to stop, and there you’ll find the next clue. But remember, Miss Dragna, Caraval isn’t about the clues. Your sister didn’t win because she solved simple riddles. She won because of what she was willing to sacrifice for those riddles, and for what she was willing to sacrifice in order to find you.”
21
The world of the game and the world outside of it were beginning to blur into each other. Tella could feel the pieces of both fitting too neatly together.
Tella had entered Caraval believing her bargain with Jacks was genuine, and if she won the game and brought him Legend, she would be able to save her mother. After the ball, she’d also come to believe that Jacks was the true Prince of Hearts, a Fate who’d somehow escaped. But this was where she’d stopped believing.
To even be tempted by the idea that any part of the game was real could lead her into a dangerous mental spiral. Legend was not out to destroy the Fates, and the Fates weren’t out to destroy Legend.
But if Tella was right, and if it was all a game, would she really meet Legend if she won? Or would he be played by another actor?
Legend was always played by actors. Yet Tella had believed that it was different this time. Nigel had promised. If you win Caraval, the first face you see will be Legend’s.
Tella had felt the world shift when he’d said the words, felt the power in them, the same fortune-telling magic she felt whenever she touched the Aracle. She would meet Legend if she won the game. But if the real Legend appeared at the end, did that mean the rest of the game was real? Did it mean that Fates other than Jacks were trying to return, and if they did, would Legend be destroyed?
Tella was so lost in her questions she barely noticed how long she walked or where Armando’s serpentine tunnel led. Until she heard the voices echoing against the tunnel’s ancient stone walls.
Tella picked up speed, following the sounds until they guided her to a cobweb-covered door. It was not the first door she’d seen, but it was the first time she’d stopped. She recognized the voices on the other side.
Scarlett and Julian’s.
They were muffled by the dirty door, but unmistakable. Tella knew her sister’s voice better than her own, and Julian’s voice was something else altogether.
When Tella first met Julian back on Trisda, she hadn’t been attracted to him the way her sister Scarlett was. But she had enjoyed the sound of his voice. Velvety and sonorous, Julian had a voice meant for casting spells. But tonight he’d have broken them instead. He sounded like salt without the sea. Rough, alone, and lost.
The scent of soot and cobwebs snaked up Tella’s nose as she leaned closer to the door, imagining her sister’s room inside the palace would be found just beyond it.
“Thank you for letting me in,” Julian said. “I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”
“I always want to see you,” Scarlett said. “That’s why this hurts so badly.”
In the silence that followed, Tella pictured her sister on the other side of the door. It was now past three in the morning. Scarlett must have been standing in her nightgown, though knowing her, she’d probably grabbed a blanket to cover up. Tella could see her tugging it close, as her sensible head and her hurt at being lied to fought against her aching heart and her desire for Julian.
“My sister thinks I should give you another chance.”
“I agree with your sister.”
“Then give me a good reason to trust you again. I want to, but last time you lied to me after one day.” Scarlett’s shaking tone told Tella she was on the verge of tears.
Tella was intruding on a private moment. She needed to leave them alone, to start down the tunnel again.
“What about your sister—”
Tella stopped moving.
“—how many times has—”
“Don’t bring Tella into this.”
“I just want to know why this is different,” Julian said. “Why can you forgive her for lying about Caraval and Armando and all the other things she’s kept from you?”
“Because she’s my sister.” The fight returned to Scarlett’s voice. “You should understand that. Isn’t that the entire reason you lie so much for your brother, Legend?”
Tella’s entire world froze.
Legend was Julian’s brother.
How had Scarlett kept this a secret?
Because Tella had never asked.
Although it still felt like the sort of thing Scarlett should have shared. If it was true it would solve everything. Tella wouldn’t need any more clues to win the game. She would only need to convince Scarlett to coax Legend’s identity out of Julian.
But Julian was a liar and he worked for Legend. Tella wasn’t sure anything he said could be trusted. This could also be part of the game. A trick. A distraction, to keep Tella from finding the clues that would lead her to the real Legend.
Unless it was one of the clues?
Armando had told her that if she followed the tunnel she’d find the next clue.
Tella listened carefully to whatever Julian might say next.
“Crimson,” he pleaded, “please, I’m trying everything I can to keep you.”
“Maybe that’s our problem,” Scarlett said. “I don’t want you trying to ‘keep me.’ I want to know who you really are.”
Whatever Julian responded was too low for Tella to clearly make out. And then she heard him leave.
Tella probably should have waited longer before opening the door and bursting into Scarlett’s room, but once she entered it would be no secret she’d been eavesdropping.
Tella turned the knob.
The minute she stepped through the doorway she found herself in a fireplace, which thankfully was not lit. Tella brushed ash from her dress as she stepped out into the suite.
Scarlett’s room was as cool as tears. At a glance it looked like the inside of a music box—quilted walls of sapphire-blue satin surrounded a circular chamber full of delicate crystal tables with scalloped edges and chairs with stained-glass feet. Even the slender canopy bed looked like an ephemeral thing formed of sparkling quartz and dreams. It was a room for an enchanted princess. But in this particular story Scarlett looked more disenchanted. Her face was pale, framed by limp dark hair. Even her surprise looked dull as she noticed her sister.
The only thing that did not look dim was her dress. Tella had expected her sister to be in a nightgown, but either Scarlett had just come from a secret ball, or she was still wearing Legend’s magical gown and the dress was determined to do its part to keep Scarlett and Julian together. Her bodice was strapless red silk that flowed into a crimson skirt so full it covered a quarter of the room.
Tella doubted her sister had attended a ball. The dress must have been Legend’s enchanted gown, which left Tella even more perplexed. The last time she’d seen Scarlett, Scarlett had told her she didn’t trust Legend or anyone who worked for him, and yet she still wore his dress.
Tella didn’t want to be suspicious of her sister, but the sight of her in the gown was enough to make Tella wonder if Scarlett was in on the game. Perhaps to repay Tella for tricking Scarlett the last time around.
Tella’s mouth hardened.
Then she saw a tear glide down Scarlett’s cheek. Followed by another.
Unlike Tella, Scarlett didn’t know how to fake tears, or Tella would have certainly seen her do it before.
Another tear fell. And another, leaving streaks on Scarlett’s cheeks.
No. Her sister wasn’t acting. Tella was being paranoid. Just as her sister had warned, Tella was no longer clearly able to see what was real and what was merely part of the game.
Frustrated at herself and the game for making her doubt Scarlett, Tella cast about the rounded room for something compassionate to say, since Scarlett appeared genuinely miserable, and Tella had obviously been listening in as Scarlett had argued with the cause of her pain. But all that came out was “Is Julian really Legend’s brother?”
Scarlett fell back against the bed in a pile of crumbling red silk. “Julian told me they were brothers at the end of Caraval, but I’m starting to think he would say anything to keep me.”
“At least you know he cares about you.”
“But does he really?” More tears streamed down Scarlett’s face. “When you truly care about someone, aren’t you supposed to be honest, even if it means you might lose that person?”
“I don’t think it’s usually that simple. I love you more than anyone in the world, but I’ve lied to you, a lot,” Tella said cheerfully, hoping to make her sister smile.
Scarlett’s frown wobbled, as if she wanted to laugh but then it fell as if she couldn’t remember how. “I can’t tell if you really think I should forgive him, or if you’re trying to make me feel better.”
“Of course I’m trying to make you feel better. As far as whether to forgive him, that depends on whether Legend is actually his brother.” Tella said it half joking, but she was also serious, and for a moment she hated herself for taking advantage of her sister. But if Tella didn’t win the game and find Legend, if she died again, Scarlett would be beyond inconsolable. Tella was the sister who would destroy the world if anything happened to Scarlett, but Scarlett’s world would be destroyed if anything happened to Tella.
“I’ve already tried asking Julian, but he won’t tell me who Legend is.” Scarlett slumped against the bedpost. “He’s made it seem as if it’s physically impossible for him to betray the secret, yet it wasn’t difficult for him to give me the impression Legend was his brother.” She wiped furiously at her damp eyes with the backs of her hands. “It makes me wonder if it was all a lie. I’m almost more inclined to believe Julian is Legend, but he didn’t want to tell me so he claimed Legend was his brother.” Scarlett sniffled against her pillow, deflating further.
Tella considered what her sister said as she watched the skirt of Scarlett’s gown shorten and grow slimmer, turning into more of a nightdress, while its color softened to pale pink. It was a marvel. Tella had been a little envious of the dress during the last Caraval. The gown behaved as if it had thoughts and feelings of its own, shifting fabric, cut, and color of its own caprice. Its magic was exceptional even by Caraval standards, and Legend had given it to Scarlett. Tella had heard performers whisper about it during the last game, wondering why he’d given her such a singular gift. Suddenly it made more sense if Julian was actually Legend, as Scarlett had just suggested.
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