Half the candles dangling from the ceiling blew out, leaving the banquet table in shadows. Only Armando and the stage remained aglow.
“Oh, good!” Elantine clapped. “The entertainment is about to begin.” “Thank you for having us, Your Majesty.” Armando bowed low,
surprisingly humble. “Since your coronation it has been Legend’s greatest wish to bring his Caraval performers to Valenda. We are deeply grateful you accepted his offer. To honor Your Majesty tonight, we have put together a very special performance to show what life was like when rulers were not so wise and gracious. We hope you all enjoy it.”
The curtains parted.
The play looked like a parody of a parody.
The stage was set to resemble an ancient throne room, but all of the colors were too bright and lurid—everything was painted in shades of flashy lime, electric violet, flirty fuchsia, cosmic blue, and pulsing yellow— as if a child had colored in the backdrop, the costumes, and the throne, which Armando sat upon. Jovan, dressed as the Undead Queen in a jeweled eye patch and a long, fitted black gown, lounged against his arm.
Tella shuddered, memories from the bridge outside Idyllwild Castle rushing back.
Jovan’s lips twisted, uncharacteristically cruel—just like the real Fate— as she surveyed the court assembled onstage.
Tella steered her gaze away. She recognized several of the other actors: some of them were dressed like nobles, but many were costumed to look
like more Fates. Tella spied the Pregnant Maid, Her Handmaidens, and the Poisoner mixed among the small crowd.
She did not spy Dante. And she was frustrated with herself for even looking for him.
On the stage, Jovan the Undead Queen sighed dramatically. “I’m so very bored.”
“Maybe I can help with that.” Caspar sauntered into the scene wearing a red velvet tailcoat that matched the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and the edge of one eye. Apparently he was playing the role of the Prince of Hearts.
Tella dared a look at Jacks, to see how he would react to finding himself depicted onstage. His expression remained neutral, bordering on disinterest, but Tella felt the arm he’d wrapped around her shoulder turn arctic as Caspar waved a hand, beckoning two young performers onto the stage.
Tella didn’t recognize either of them. They were youths, a boy and a girl a little younger than Tella. Something about the way they were costumed was particularly disturbing. All the other performers were clearly dressed as characters. But this boy and girl appeared to be wearing their very best sets of clothing, neatly pressed and ever so slightly out of fashion when compared to the rest of the court, as if neither of them had reason to dress nicely very often, so there was little reason to update their wardrobe. It made both appear more real than the rest, as if Caspar had just plucked them off the street and promised them both bags of sweets if they followed him.
“What’s your name?” Caspar asked the girl. “Agathe.”
“What a lovely name, Agathe. And yours?” he asked the boy. “It’s Hugo.”
“Another excellent name.” Caspar’s tone turned from sweet to slippery. “In fact, I like both of your names so much I’m going to write them down to make sure I never forget them.”
Agathe and Hugo exchanged bemused glances, as if they sensed something was not as it should be, but then both of them nodded, clearly eager to please a Fate.
Caspar pulled two slips of paper from his pocket, the exact size and shape of cards. “Oh,” he moaned, “it seems I don’t have any ink. I suppose I’ll have to use my immortal blood instead.”
He took out a bejeweled dagger and pressed it to the tip of his finger. Blood welled, and Caspar made a show of using the blood to write on the card. As he finished, a puff of theatrical silver smoke appeared, enough to cover half the stage. When it cleared, Agathe was gone. In her place was a card.
Caspar picked it up, and flashed it toward Jovan and Armando.
“You turned her into a card!” Jovan cried. “Do it again! Do it again!” Hugo started to run, but Caspar’s bloody finger was already moving,
writing the boy’s name on his other blank card.
Another puff of smoke, and then Hugo was gone.
Caspar walked over to where the boy had been and picked up the card from the ground.
Jovan clapped. “How long will they stay this way?”
Caspar glided toward the throne. “You can keep them like this as long as you find them entertaining.” Caspar flicked out a long pink tongue and licked one of the cards before passing it on to Jovan. “I’ll make you an entire deck, so you can play a real game.”
Jacks’s arm felt suddenly heavier and icier than before as it clung to Tella’s shoulder. “Was it like that?” she whispered. “Is that what you really did? You turned people into cards and played with them?”
Jacks answered against her ear. “I never licked a card like that.”
“But the rest…” Tella turned so she could see his face, to hunt for any remorse. She knew the Fates were evil—Jacks had cursed her to get what he wanted—but the idea of trapping someone, turning them into a powerless piece of paper, and playing with them for pleasure and entertainment felt like a whole new type of vile.
Jacks gave her a lazy grin and whispered, “What are you trying to find, Donatella? Are you searching for some good in me? You’ll never see it, because it doesn’t exist.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“Then why keep looking at me as if you’re searching for answers?”
She tilted her head toward the stage. “Is this what you’d planned to do with Legend’s true name? Trap him in a card?”
“He wants to destroy me,” Jacks said quietly. “I’m merely trying to defend myself.”
“So why do you now want more than his name?”
“Because I can have more.” The cold arm wrapped around Tella grew even tighter as Jacks said the word more.
“How?” Tella asked. “How do you plan to take more from Legend?” “My answer will only make you more unhappy.”
“I’d prefer knowledge to happiness in this situation.”
“I’m going to drink his blood, straight from his veins. That is how power is given and stolen. It won’t work if it’s bottled. I could borrow some of his magic that way, but it would not be mine to keep.”
He could do it, too. Tella remembered how he’d stopped the hearts of everyone in the ballroom after their kiss. It had only lasted a minute, but that was all he’d need.
Without another word Jacks turned back toward the stage and smiled as if entertained by the show, but Tella imagined her discomfort was his true source of pleasure.
He enjoyed tormenting her, just like the Prince of Hearts in the play enjoyed toying with the children he’d placed in the cards.
Legend was not walking a fine line with this play, he was crossing it.
She might have been reading too much into it, but Tella imagined the play wasn’t truly for Elantine, but for Tella—to convince her just how wicked the Fates were so that she’d help Legend destroy them rather than aid Jacks in regaining his powers.
Another idea occurred to her then. Earlier that day Jacks had told her there were only two ways to free someone from a card. A human must willingly take their place inside the card, or an immortal with great power must break the curse and free all of those imprisoned in cards.
Jacks said he’d free her mother, but Tella knew he would never take Paloma’s place. What if Jacks didn’t just want Legend in order to restore his own power? What if Jacks wanted Legend’s power so that he could break the curse on the cards and free all of the Fates? Maybe the real reason he
wanted the throne was so the Fates could reign once again exactly as they had before.
On the stage the play continued.
A pop told Tella more smoke had exploded. When she looked back at the stage all the nobles who’d been part of the court were gone, and in their place were more cards.
Tella watched in horror as Caspar picked them up and began to shuffle them for Armando the Murdered King and Jovan the Undead Queen.
“If you grow tired of these I can always make more,” said Caspar, “or we can easily switch one out by writing the name of another person on the card.”
“Could you imagine if we ruled like that?” Elantine began to laugh, a free unbridled sound that quickly turned into a throaty cough as the green curtain swung closed for intermission.
The empress reached for her water goblet, but knocked both her and Jacks’s glasses over, along with what remained of their wine.
Tella tried to pass Elantine her goblet, but the empress shook her head as if she didn’t trust Tella. “Jacks,” she croaked.
Jacks shot out of his chair and left the room to fetch more water.
Elantine coughed, a final crackling sound. Then her expression focused. She looked at Tella with clear, cunning eyes. When she spoke her voice was different as well; she was no longer the cooing empress who doted over Jacks. Her tone was sharp as a lion’s tooth.
“Lie to me,” Elantine said, “and I’ll have you tossed from this room before Jacks returns. Or tell me the truth and find yourself with a powerful ally. Now, answer quickly: What are you doing with that vicious young man who wants my throne?”
Tella’s throat went suddenly dry. Her first instinct was to believe this was a test from Jacks, but then her thoughts flashed back to when Elantine had asked how Jacks planned to kill her. She’d claimed to only be joking, but the question had not sounded as if it was merely meant for fun.
“You’re running out of time,” Elantine snapped.
“He’s holding my mother prisoner,” Tella confessed. It wasn’t that she trusted Elantine, but any woman who could rule an Empire by herself for
fifty years had to be shrewder than a fox, which hopefully meant she genuinely saw through Jacks. “Until my mother is free I won’t be free of Jacks either.”
Elantine flattened her mouth into a sharp line. Tella’s pulse ratcheted up.
But before the empress could respond, Jacks reentered the room and handed her a goblet of water.
“Thank you, my dear boy.” Elantine brought the water to her lips, but Tella would have sworn Elantine didn’t sip from it. She distracted Jacks by saying, “I was just telling your lovely bride to be that I want her to join us on Elantine’s Eve to watch the fireworks from the top of this tower.”
Tella didn’t remember much of what happened after that. Jacks and Elantine continued conversing, but Tella barely heard a word they said. She couldn’t stop thinking about the play, about the Fates she’d met outside Idyllwild Castle, and what she’d be dooming both Legend and the Empire to if she won the game and gave Legend over to Jacks.
* * *
Upon returning to her suite, Tella pulled out the Aracle.
The image was unclear until she imagined winning the game and handing over Legend to Jacks as she’d promised. Instantly the image sharpened to a scene with Tella and her sister and their mother, all happy and hugging. A picture too good to be true. Perhaps it was.
For years Tella had trusted the Aracle without question. But if the real Aracle was trapped inside this card, wouldn’t it show Tella whatever it needed to so that she would help it escape?
