Tella’s limbs were shaking and her eyes were bleary by the time she neared the boardinghouse. Slipping between worlds had left her feeling like a damp sheet of paper that had been wrung out by rough hands.
Tella didn’t know how much time had passed while she’d been away. From all the rumpled festival streamers and the number of sweets melted in the streets, she’d wager she’d been gone for hours. Children who’d been running around with sun-shaped pinwheels earlier were now asleep in the arms of tired parents, young ladies who’d been wearing simple gowns had changed into sleeker sheaths, and a new round of merchants had taken over the streets. Celebrations were dying and starting up again, coming back to life for the endless night of festival sunshine.
Tella was beyond late to meet Scarlett.
Her steps slowed as she entered the aging boardinghouse. She didn’t want to see Scarlett’s disappointment. She felt terrible that she’d let her down and failed to keep her promise. But Tella didn’t regret following Legend—it was good for her to finally see him when he had no idea she was watching. She probably should have tracked him down in real life weeks ago, but she’d liked the dreams too much. He was so close to perfect in the dreams. And maybe that had been the point. In dreams, Legend was someone she wanted— someone she cared and worried about—but in real life, he was someone that no one should trust.
Tella eased the door open and slowly stepped into a room heated with trapped sunshine.
“Scar,” she tried, hesitant.
“Donatella … is that you?” The question was barely a whisper, so soft it
felt closer to a thought, and yet the voice was unmistakable, familiar—even though Tella had only heard it once in the past seven years.
She ran into her mother’s room and immediately crashed to a halt at the sight of her mother sitting up in the bed.
The world stopped. The outside noises from the festival vanished. The shabby apartment faded.
Kisses on eyelids. Locked jewelry boxes. Giddy whispers. Exotic perfume bottles. Stories at night. Grins in daylight. Enchanted laughter. Lullabies. Cups of violet tea. Secretive smiles. Drawers full of letters. Unspoken good- byes. Fluttering curtains. The scent of plumerias.
A hundred misplaced memories resurfaced, and every single one appeared bloodless and insubstantial compared to the miraculous reality of Tella’s mother.
Paloma looked like a slightly older version of Scarlett, although her smile lacked Scarlett’s gentleness. When Paloma’s lips curved they were just as they had been in the Wanted poster Tella had seen for Paradise the Lost. It was the same enchanting and enigmatic smile that Tella remembered practicing when she was a little girl.
“Why am I not surprised that you look as if you just came out of a fight?” Paloma’s smile wavered but her voice was the sweetest sound that Tella had ever heard.
“It was only with a rosebush.” She flung herself toward the bed and pulled her mother into a hug. She didn’t smell the same way Tella remembered—the sweet scent of magic cleaved to Paloma—but Tella didn’t care. She pressed her head into her shoulder as she clung tightly to her mother’s softness, perhaps a little too ferocious.
Her mother returned the embrace, but only for a moment. Then she was sagging against the quilted headboard, breathing raggedly as her eyelids began to droop.
“I’m sorry.” Tella pulled back right away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “You could never hurt me with a hug. I’m just—” Her brow wrinkled
beneath stray strands of dark mahogany hair, as if she were searching for a runaway thought. “I think I just need to eat, my little love. Can you fetch me some food?”
“I’ll ring for one of the maids.”
“I—I—think—” Paloma’s eyes fluttered all the way shut. “Mother!”
“I’m fine.” Her eyes cracked open again. “I just feel so weak and hungry.”
“I’ll be right back with something to eat,” Tella promised.
She hated to leave her mother, but she didn’t want to make her wait for a maid to plod up and down the stairs. It was fortunate she didn’t wait, because as Tella raced to the kitchen, there didn’t appear to be any maids at all. They must have all taken off for the Sun Festival.
The cooking galley was abandoned. No one stopped Tella as she grabbed a tray and began piling food on top of it. She pilfered the best-looking fruits from a mound of plump peaches and sun-bright apricots. Then she took a hunk of hard cheese and half a loaf of sage bread. She munched on the food as she grabbed it, her appetite returning with excitement. Her mother was finally awake, and she was going to be fine as soon as she ate.
Tella thought about brewing some tea, but she didn’t want to wait for the water to boil. She searched for a bottle of wine instead. They never served alcohol here, but she was certain they had some. Tella located a bottle of burgundy in a cupboard and then she grabbed a couple of chocolate hand-pies for dessert.
She was proud of her feast as she carefully marched it up the steps.
She remembered closing the door behind her, but it seemed she’d left it cracked. Tella pushed it the rest of the way open with her elbow, losing a runaway peach in the process. It hit the ground with a dull thud as Tella stepped inside.
The room was colder than it had been when she left, and quiet. Too quiet. The only sound came from a fly buzzing toward the stolen feast in her hands.
“I’m back!” Tella tried not to be nervous at the lack of her mother’s response. Being anxious was her sister’s role. But Tella couldn’t stop her sense of growing unease.
An apricot fell onto the floor as Tella quickened her pace.
And then the entire tray threatened to fall from her trembling hands. The bed was vacant.
The room was empty.
“Paloma?” Tella called. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word Mother. It hurt too much to cry out the way she had as a child and to hear no response. She’d vowed never to do it again. But it ached just as much to call her mother’s formal name with no reply.
Her throat tighter than before, Tella tried yelling both her mother’s names. “Paloma! Paradise!”
Absolutely nothing.
Tella thrust the tray onto the bed and ran into the other bedroom and then
into the bathing room. Both were empty.
Her mother was gone.
Tella’s legs forgot how to work. They stumbled clumsily back into the bedroom before her knees completely quit, forcing her arms to find a nearby bedpost for support.
All Tella could hear was the fly buzzing around her abandoned food, as she tried to make sense of what could have happened. Her mother was weak. Confused. Maybe she’d gone to look for Tella and gotten lost? Tella just needed to find her and—
Her thoughts cut off at the sight of something atop the dresser by the bed.
A note.
Tella clumsily pushed away from the bed. Her fingers trembled as she picked the message up. The handwriting was rushed, shaking.
My loves,
I’m so sorry to leave you, but I knew that if I waited any longer, it would be too hard for me to go. Please forgive me, and do not look for me again. All I ever wanted was to protect you, but my presence will only put the two of you in more danger.
If I am awake, then the Fates are waking up as well, and all of Valenda is in peril. As long as you are in this city, you are not safe. You must get as far away from the Fates as possible. Leave Valenda immediately.
The Fates are as vicious as the stories say. They were created out of fear, and fear is part of what fuels their power, so they will try to inflict as much as possible. Fight against being afraid if you encounter them and be safe, my loves.
If I can, I will make my way back to you both. With more love than you can imagine,
Your mother
“No!” Tella ripped the sheets from the bed and pressed them to her eyes like a handkerchief. Her tears were angry and hot. They didn’t last, but they hurt. How could her mother do this? It wasn’t just that she’d left, but that she’d tricked Tella to do it. She hadn’t been hungry or weak. She’d wanted to get away—to leave again.
Tella crumpled the note in her fist, and instantly regretted it. If she didn’t
find her mother, this was all she’d have.
No. Tella couldn’t think like that. She’d conquered death. She would find her mother and bring her back. She didn’t care what the message said. Tella had decided long ago to never make decisions ruled by fear. Fear was a poison that people mistook as protection. Making choices to stay safe could be just as treacherous. Her father had hired horrible guards to keep himself, his money, and his estates safe. Her sister had almost married someone she’d never met to keep Tella safe. Tella didn’t care how safe she was—as long as she had her mother.
A voice in the back of Tella’s head warned this was a hazardous idea. Her mother had told her to leave the city to avoid the Fates. But Tella was partly responsible for the Fates being free.
And she had not sacrificed so much, and worked so hard, just to be left by her mother again.
 |
The sun still shined too bright, merchants still filled the sidewalks, and the roads were still coated in a carnival of half-eaten holiday treats when Tella stepped outside. But beneath the aroma of heated sugar and lost pieces of celebrations, Tella picked up another scent, far sweeter than inexpensive pleasures: magic.
Tella recognized the aroma from the dreams she’d shared with Legend. It had also clung to her mother when Tella had held her. The magical scent was faint, but it left enough of a trail for Tella to follow through the crowds.
“’Scuse me…” “Sorry, miss.”
More than one inebriated person stumbled into Tella as she followed the magical scented trail through the packed streets, until she found herself near University Circle at another set of Valenda’s ruins.
Tella didn’t actually spend much time in this part of the city. She didn’t know these ruins. They were far more intricate than the ancient arena she’d followed Legend into earlier. These passageways, arches, and arcades appeared to have been used for commerce. She really hoped they didn’t lead to more portals as she started climbing the steep trail that led to them.
She probably should have changed into fresh shoes. Her thin slippers were completely ruined from the snow and then darting through the hot city; it was easier to walk once she took them off.
The granite stairs were warm from the sun, and yet Tella felt a brush of
something cold running down her nape like spiders’ legs.
She hazarded a glance over her shoulder.
No one was behind her. No guards stood between the trees to her sides. In fact, there didn’t appear to be any guards at all.
But the slick sensation of being watched increased, along with the throbbing sensation of magic. Tella couldn’t just smell the magic now, she could feel it, stronger than when she’d followed Legend. It pulsed around her as if the steps had a beating heart.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Magic pounded beneath her bare feet as she continued to climb the ruins— except, suddenly, they no longer appeared so ruined.
Instead of crumbling arches, Tella saw pristine curves covered in brightly painted carvings of red chimeras reminiscent of the ones she’d spied at the Fated Ball. There were silver lambs with heads like wolves, blue horses with green-veined dragon wings, hawks with black ram horns. And—
Tella jolted back at the sight of Legend’s royal guards. Seven of them. All strewn across the top of the stairs like knocked-over toy soldiers.
She stubbed her heel on a rock as she stumbled back another step. Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to her that maybe the magic-scented trail she had been chasing didn’t belong to her mother. If all the Fates were awake, one of them might have done this.
But these guards didn’t look dead.
Maybe Tella was tricking herself, but they appeared to be sleeping.
She crept closer and cautiously pressed her finger to one guard’s neck. She thought she felt a pulse, when a rushed set of footfalls broke the quiet.
Did they belong to her mother, or a Fate?
Tella’s stomach tied into a knot. Before the Fates had been freed from the cards, the spell had begun to crack and ghostly versions of the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens had temporarily slipped out of the cards and almost killed her. But Tella had survived, and she’d rather face them all over again than risk losing her mother again.
Tella chased the footfalls down narrow stairs into a poorly lit labyrinth of cells with pearly white bars. They were almost pretty, but she hated cages; the sight of each one made her bare feet sprint faster.
Her bruising pace didn’t slow until the hallway opened into a brilliantly torch-lit cavern that reeked of sulfur and dank running water. It could have
easily been an elaborate set for a historical play, the prettiest of torture chambers, or a training room for an ancient circus.
Red tightropes crisscrossed above Tella’s head, with no net beneath. Painted circles that looked like wheels of death, all decorated with knives, spun around the edges. Beyond the wheels were pits of vibrant orange-tipped flames that burned like lakes of fire beneath narrow suspension bridges. In a corner, a granite carousel covered in decorative spikes whirled.
Cutting through the center of it all was a river of red. Tella’s mother stood on the other side of it. But she looked nothing like the weak woman Tella had left lying in a bed.
