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.”
