Finale

by Stephanie Garber

  He didn’t love her. He was afraid of falling in love with her, because love was his one weakness. If Legend loved her, he’d lose his immortality and become human. But he wouldn’t have to worry about it if she was immortal, because immortals couldn’t love each other.

  Immortals felt obsession, fixation, lust, possession. And Legend was clearly experiencing those things. Tella sensed it with each press of his fingers, as he continued to toy with the ribbons of her bodice and brush hot touches against her skin.

  She jolted back, eyes opening as she ripped free from his arms.

  Legend blazed brighter, the bronze light around him making everything glow. He usually looked human, but for an instant he looked painfully immortal as his perfect lips pulled into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

  “Last night, I found out what your weakness is.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “What were you told?”

  “That if you come across a human who makes you feel love, then you become mortal, and if the feeling lasts too long, then the change becomes permanent. Which makes me think that you don’t want to change me to keep me alive, you only want to change me to keep yourself alive.”

  “No.” His answer was unyielding and immediate. “That’s not why I want to do this. I want you to be immortal so that you won’t die.”

  “But I don’t want your immortality, Legend. I want your love.”

  He took a step back. She didn’t even think he realized he was doing it. “I can’t give you that.”

  “Yes, you can. You just refuse to choose love over immortality.”

  The light in his eyes went out and the world became a little darker. “Even if that was true, could you blame me?”

  “No,” Tella said honestly. “But I don’t want to be like you. That’s why I can’t let you make me immortal.”

  His eyes met hers again. The light was still gone but they shimmered in a way that reminded her of all the magical things he could offer. “You’ll feel differently if you let me change you.”

  “But I don’t want to feel differently. I want to feel love in its every form. I used to be so scared of it, but now I think love is another type of magic. It makes everything brighter, it makes people who have it stronger, it breaks rules that aren’t supposed to exist, it’s infinitely valuable. I can’t imagine my life without it. And if you felt any love in your heart, you would understand.”

  Tella met his darkened eyes.

  A flicker of pain fell over his face. But whether it was real or to convince her to go along with what he wanted, Tella couldn’t tell. “You’ll die, Donatella.”

  “I already have.”

  “But you won’t come back this time.”

  “Most people don’t, but that’s not why you’re offering me this. This makes things easier for you. You don’t want to love me and lose your immortality.”

  His mouth parted and closed and parted again, and for a brief moment before he spoke he looked entirely lost. “It’s not that I don’t want to love you, Tella. I can’t love you.” His voice was flat and empty and utterly sincere. It didn’t just sound as if he was saying this because he was an immortal, but because he truly believed that he was incapable of the feeling. If that was true, if he really thought himself heartless, then maybe he hadn’t actually been tempted to love her. Maybe he just wanted to possess her. I want to keep you.

  “You’re not thinking this through.” Legend reached for her hand.

  A week ago, her heart would have soared because he wanted to touch her. But she forced herself to take another step back. She wasn’t tempted by immortality, but she was tempted by him. She couldn’t touch him again if she was going to do this. “I don’t need to think about it. Sometimes you just know. And I know that I can’t imagine spending an eternity with someone who will never love me.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Tella, wait—”

  She pressed forward. She didn’t even let herself look back. The archway she’d walked through to meet him was gone. A flowering wall had taken its place. The velvety petals felt real against her skin. But she knew it was just an illusion. Almost as soon as she touched them, Legend parted the flowers and hedgy branches to let her through.

  The leafy passageway before her was dimmer than she remembered. The fireflies had gone, and a chill had crept into their place. Bumps crawled over the back of her neck. The chill should have felt good after her heated conversation, but the wind sweeping through was fetid and wrong, a dream gone awry.

  When she strained to hear, there was no more distant party laughter; any footsteps she picked up were harsh, fleeting.

  Something was wrong.

  “Tella—” Legend grabbed her hand, appearing by her side.

  “Please, just let me go.”

  “This isn’t about us—” He cut off. His grip on her tightened. He winced, face paling as the glow around him faded.

  “What’s wrong?” Tella asked.

  More frantic footsteps echoed in the distance, followed by a series of muffled cries. Leaves poured off the walls of the maze, decaying as they fell to the ground.

  “Get out of here,” Legend said. “Go to the tower and lock yourself in your room.”

  “I’m not locking myself in a tower!”

  “Then run away. If you ever do anything for me, do this—I think the Fates are here.”

  Then his lips were on hers. Severe. Quick. Hot. And gone far too soon.

  Tella stumbled forward as he let her go. The maze around them was just a series of skeletal branches and rotting leaves. Tella could see right through them.

  “Are the Fates doing this?”

  “Tella, just go!” Legend roared.

  The foul scent in the air grew stronger and sweeter, thick and charnel-sweet, like death, as two shadowy figures appeared on the other side of the hedge.

  The blood in Tella’s veins froze.

  The pale woman wore a jeweled eye patch, and the man had a great gash slicing along his throat as if his head had been severed and put back on his neck. The Murdered King and the Undead Queen.

  Her knees buckled and her throat went dry.

  Tella grabbed for Legend’s hand, to get him to flee with her. But a fresh hedge sprung up between them, cutting her off.

  “No!” She banged her fists against the hedge’s spindly, prickly, and entirely leafless branches. It was weaker than his earlier illusions, but it was enough to form a barrier between them.

  “Prince Dante,” the Murdered King said slowly. “I wonder if history will call you Dante the Dead or just forget you altogether after tonight.”

  “Tragic,” cooed the Undead Queen. “Your face would have looked marvelous on a coin.”

  Before Tella could catch another word, the prickly hedge before her moved. It pressed against her chest, forcing her to stumble back. Faster and faster it shoved against her, herding her farther away from Legend and the Fates.

  That bastard! Legend was using his magic to push her away and she was powerless to stop him—or the Fates who’d come for him.

  She wanted to turn around, to battle against the wall at her back, and return to Legend. But the magical wall was relentless and she hated to admit there was nothing she could do against the Fates except hope that he was stronger. She’d survived when the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens had tried to kill her. Legend would survive as well.

  He had to.

  Ahead of her the palace glowed, moon-bright against the black sky. The only spot on earth that didn’t seem to be in pandemonium. The rest of the grounds were still dark; all the lights of the party were now vanquished. But Tella could hear people scrambling to leave the maze as its branches began to crack and crumble. There were still a few occasional giggles and laughs; some people must have thought this was all part of the game.

  If it had been Caraval, Tella would have believed the same; she’d have imagined this was Legend’s plan. But she’d felt his fear when he’d kissed her and then forced her away.
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br />   Tella’s feet burned as her slippers crashed against the ground while the hedge continued to shove at her back. It scraped against the earth. She could sense the churning of dirt and hear the crush of its branches and—

  The ground beneath Tella shook. She told herself to keep running. But she couldn’t hear the hedge anymore. When she slowed she didn’t feel it at her back. And when she turned she did not see it.

  The hedge, the maze, the butterflies fluttering all over her skirt, everything that had been the party was gone. All that remained were thick spires of smoke, twisting upward.

  No! No! No! Tella didn’t know if she shouted the words, if she gasped them, or if she just thought them. She knew there was only one reason Legend’s magic would suddenly stop.

  He was dead.

  “No!” This time she definitely shouted the word. Then her legs gave out and she fell to her knees.

  THE MIDDLE

  25

  Donatella

  Tella could feel the black earth beneath her hands and knees, but she didn’t know if it was dry or damp or prickly with grass and twigs. And she didn’t know how long she’d stayed there, unable to move. All she knew was that she needed to get up. She needed to keep moving, she needed to keep running, as Legend had begged her to with his last words.

  A dry sob shook her chest as she tried to rise.

  Legend wasn’t dead forever. This wasn’t like what had happened to her mother, who Tella would never see again. He would come back to life. But for now, he was gone.

  She looked back at the wreckage that minutes ago had been the maze, but he didn’t emerge from the smoke.

  Bedlam reigned where hours ago there had been magic and butterflies. She could hear the sound of people escaping, clumsy footsteps and heavy breathing, from those not used to running.

  Tella struggled to her feet. She knew she needed to run away. Legend had asked her to flee with his last words. But what would happen to his body if she left? What if the Fates had figured out that he was Legend? What if they took his body, so that when he came back to life they could kill him over and over?

  Tella ran back toward the melee.

  “Leave the city!” she warned anyone she saw. “Get out of here!” She didn’t know if there were more than two Fates nearby, but if they’d come to kill Elantine’s heir, they weren’t afraid of discovery. And they’d likely take over the palace next. Unlike the grounds outside, it was still bright and glowing, untouched by violence. For now. When the Fates took over the palace and then the Empire, the fountains would probably be filled with blood.

  A rigid hand latched on to Tella’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  She tensed, bracing for a fight, even as she recognized the voice; low and resonant with a lilting accent that was just the tiniest bit shaky: Julian.

  It was difficult to see his face in the dark. But the alarming way his fingers dug into her shoulder gave away enough. He already knew what had happened.

  “We need to go back into the maze to get his body,” she said.

  “Tella.” Julian squeezed her shoulder. “My brother is dead.”

  “But he’ll come back to life … right?” She tried to shake off Julian’s hand, or maybe she was just shaking.

  “He’s immortal—he’ll come back.”

  “Why don’t you sound more certain about that?”

  “Because I’m trying to save your life right now. He made me swear that if anything like this happened to him, I would get you to safety.”

  Julian released Tella’s shoulder, grabbed her arm, and pulled her in the opposite direction of the palace.

  “Wait—wait—” Tella panted. “What about Scarlett?”

  “She’s not here.” Julian tugged harder on Tella’s hand, forcing her through clouds of smoke. “When she didn’t show up to meet me at the maze, I went to find her … but she’s not at the palace.”

  “Where is she?”

  “With the count.”

  “But—but—” Tella sputtered. “Scarlett told me she was calling the game off.”

  “I wish she had,” Julian grunted, his words choppy as he urged her to sprint faster. “When I went in her rooms, I found a note from the count asking to see her again today.”

  “Where does he live?” Tella asked.

  “On the outskirts of the city—past the ruins south of the Temple District.”

  “Then that’s where we go,” she said.

  There was a pause, full of nothing but heavy breathing, where Julian might have argued that he was supposed to get Tella to safety and then he would look for Scarlett on his own. But it seemed his love for her sister outweighed the promise he’d made to Legend, or Julian knew there was no point in fighting with Tella. This was why Tella had always liked Julian. He never gave up on Scarlett.

  They fled swiftly across the darkened city together, but they didn’t move faster than the rumors:

  “Prince Dante is dead—crushed to death by his maze.”

  “The former heir came back and murdered Prince Dante.”

  “Prince Dante was killed by someone in the maze.”

  “Invaders have taken over the city and beheaded Prince Dante.”

  Some of the claims were closer to the truth than others, but all of them had one thing in common: Legend was dead.

  Her steps faltered, but she didn’t stop. If anything, she ran harder. The Fates had won another round. But once Tella found her sister, and Legend came back to life, they’d all visit the Vanished Market. There they’d find a way to destroy the Fallen Star, and then they’d be able to stop the other Fates, as well.

  There were holes in her slippers by the time she and Julian passed the edge of the city at dawn. It was a brilliantly bloody sunrise, as if someone had sliced opened the clouds and hazy streams of red had poured out instead of rain. On another morning it might have looked wrong, but on this particular day it felt appropriate that even the sky appeared violent.

  A dusty stretch of dry, yellowing grassland rested between the city and the count’s estate. The sad bark of a dog was the only sound, save for the tired trudge of Tella’s and Julian’s footsteps.

  Tella tried to catch her breath, now that their pace had slowed. She inhaled deeply, but the air tasted unclean, like the foulest parts of the city rather than a fresh slice of country. The stench grew stronger and the sad howling of the dog grew louder as they approached the count’s estate.

  Tella hugged her arms to her chest, and Julian walked closer to her side.

  The count’s residence looked like the beginning of a fairy tale, before the magic had arrived. The gardens were full of curious, well-tended flowers that appeared to have been planted with care. But the house itself was covered in chipping paint, the windows clean but full of cracks, and the crumbling chimneys appeared to be in severe need of repair. Even the long path they followed to the house was covered in fractures.

  “I thought the count’s residence was fancier,” Tella said. “Scarlett described it as being much nicer.”

  “I don’t think she saw it for what it really was the other day. I think she was too concerned about meeting the count. And it didn’t smell this bad.” Julian put a hand over his nose and mouth.

  Tella did the same, fresh nerves clawing at her stomach. The stench was so putrid she dry-heaved as they reached the front door. It was cracked open, oozing more of the wretched odor.

  The dog barked again, long and keening.

  Tella halted as the door creaked all the way open and an awful incessant buzzing joined the unseen dog’s anguished cries.

  She didn’t remember entering, but she would regret stepping inside for the rest of her life. No servants greeted them, or warned them away. There was only the endless howling of the dog, the buzzing of the flies, and Tella’s silent prayers.

  Do not let my sister be dead.

  Do not let my sister be dead.

  Because someone was certainly dead. The morbid stench grew worse as she and Julian fina
lly passed the entry and reached the open library.

  Tella swayed on her feet as she saw the count’s body. Or she thought it was the count’s body. He was in the second-floor library, sitting in a great chair behind his desk, and he looked as if the skin had been burned off his body.

  The dog beside him howled again and shook its sad face, trying to ward off the maggots and flies from feasting on the count’s remains.

  Tella tried to look away from the charred corpse; she’d seen enough death that week. She didn’t need to look it in the eyes again. She’d never seen a body flayed with fire—and she wished she wasn’t seeing it now. But she couldn’t turn away from the macabre scene before her. It shouldn’t have been possible. If the count had been burned alive, then other parts of his library should have caught fire. But it was as if someone had instructed the flames to only burn his skin.

  Tella staggered back a step as something Jacks had said returned to her.

  “At least he stabbed her instead of burning her to death with his powers.… Fire’s the most painful way to die.”

  “I think I know who did this,” Tella said. “I think the Fallen Star was here to find Scarlett.”

  Julian turned entirely gray. “Why would he want Crimson?”

  “Because of our mother. Before he killed her, the Fallen Star said that she’d forced him back inside the cursed Deck of Destiny; he must have been free once before, and our mother imprisoned him again. It probably wasn’t enough for him just to kill her—now he’s coming after her daughters.”

  Which would also explain why their apartment had been ransacked.

  Tella hoped she was wrong. She couldn’t lose her sister the same way she’d lost her mother. But she couldn’t imagine who else had done this, or why anyone else would do this. She’d never liked Nicolas, but the fact that he’d clearly been tortured to death made her think that he hadn’t given up her sister—or at least not easily.

  Scarlett might have managed to get away. All the servants seemed to have escaped so maybe they’d taken her sister with them. Or maybe she’d managed to hide and they just needed to find her.