Tella felt as if she’d slipped inside a bottle of poison. Like the rest of the tavern, everything on the other side of the tasseled curtain was green—from the glass-tiled floors to the long mirrored walls and the trio of clamshell chairs. Green as ripening hatred, raw jealousy, and Armando’s emerald eyes.
Tella sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him.
Even though he had never been truly engaged to her sister she would always think of him as the villain he played in the last game.
Tonight Armando’s deep green eyes were lined in black, making them look like freshly set gemstones. His sleek suit was ivory, except for the crimson cravat tied around his throat, and the black top hat on his head. The hat sat at an angle, with a satin band of red wrapped around it, and something about it made Tella imagine it wasn’t so much a tribute to Legend as a prop to make players wonder if Armando was perhaps the true master of the game.
Tella sat smoothly in the empty chair across from him, as if just the sight of Armando’s immaculate white suit didn’t make her want to push the pearl buttons on her gloves and shred his clothes to scraps. But if she did, he would not give her the next clue, and if anyone in this strange church possessed it, she imagined it was the devil across from her.
His mouth smiled, but the expression did not touch his eyes, as if they were just another part of his costume. Unlike most of Legend’s other performers, Armando made no attempts at saying anything charming. It
made it easy to dislike him, easy to believe he wasn’t acting, and that he
was the role he played. “How’s your sister?”
Tella bristled. “I told you, don’t ever mention her.”
“Or what, you’ll dig your claws into my cheek and scratch my face?” Armando’s gaze dropped to her gloves. “If you feel a need for revenge, go ahead, but I still think I did your sister a favor. No one wants to be the only one who doesn’t know a secret. And she’d have been far worse off if she’d discovered the truth after this week.”
“You could have been less nasty about it.”
“If you believe that, you still don’t know how this game works. All of Legend’s performers are given a role to play, a person that we are each meant to become during the game—that’s what really moves Caraval forward, not rhyming clues. So, yes, Miss Dragna, I did have to be nasty about it.” Armando’s eyes turned hard and sharp with every word, as if each one made him more of a villain.
If Tella could have placed a wager on it she’d have bet that he relished the role. He’d played a monster in the last game as well, and from his lack of apology Tella guessed he’d enjoyed that, too. Was that why he always played the role, or was there something more to it?
As Tella considered the question, she heard her nana Anna’s voice repeating part of a story she’d told many times. The witch also warned that wishes come with costs, and the more he performed, the more he would transform into whatever roles he played. If he acted the part of a villain, he’d become one in truth.
Tella had always remembered her nana saying Legend liked to play the villain, and that it had turned him into one. But that wasn’t the exact truth. Legend became the roles he played, which meant he only became a villain if he took on the role of one—as Armando had done.
Tella hadn’t considered it before. She hated Armando for what he’d put her sister through. To imagine him being Legend felt like giving him a compliment, and she didn’t want to give Armando anything unless it caused a significant amount of pain.
“Even you have a role in this performance.” Armando picked up a Deck of Destiny from the center of the table and began to shuffle. “You might
think yours is unscripted, but I can tell you the minute you stepped inside here you thought about hurting me, you’re probably still thinking about it right now. Legend is manipulating you, guiding you onto a path until the only remaining choice is the one he wants you to make.”
“And why would he do that?” Tella asked.
“Answer that and you’ve really won the game.” Armando sat his Deck of Destiny in the center of the table and motioned for Tella to cut. The cards were gold with silver whorls, and much thicker than usual, as if made from real bits of metal—difficult to destroy, like the futures they predicted.
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.”
