Caraval (Caraval, #1)(14)

Her frozen vocal chords cracked as she called, “Hello?”

Tick-tock.

Tock-tick.

Only gears and cogs answered back.

The shop was round, like a clock’s face. The floor was tiled in a mosaic of different styles of numbers, while various timepieces covered almost every surface. Some ran backward; others were full of exposed wheels and levers. On the back wall several moved like puzzles with their pieces drawing together as the hour approached. A heavy glass locked box in the center of the open room claimed that the pocket watch inside wound back time. Another day Scarlett would have been curious, but all she cared about was getting closer to the roaring circle of warmth coming from the fireplace.

She would have gladly melted into a puddle in front of it.

Julian pulled the grate away and stoked the logs with a nearby poker. “We should get out of our clothes.”

“I—” Scarlett stopped her protest when Julian crossed over to a rosewood grandfather clock. Two sets of boots rested at its feet and two hangers of garments were swinging from the pediments on each side.

“Looks like someone is watching out for you.” The mocking lilt had returned to Julian’s voice.

Scarlett tried to ignore it as she inched closer. Next to the clothes, on top of a gilded table covered in moon dials, a curvy vase of red roses sat next to a tray laden with fig bread, cinnamon tea, and a note.



* * *



For Scarlett Dragna, and her companion.

I’m so pleased you could make it.

—Legend



* * *





The message was written on the same gold-edged paper as the letter Scarlett had received on Trisda. She wondered if Legend went to such pains for all his guests. It was difficult for Scarlett to believe she was special, yet she couldn’t imagine the master of Caraval bestowed personalized greetings and bloodred roses upon every visitor.

Julian coughed. “Do you mind?” The sailor reached past Scarlett, pulled off a hunk of bread, and yanked down the set of clothes meant for him. Then he started undoing the belt holding up his pants. “You going to watch me undress, because I don’t mind.”

Immediately embarrassed, Scarlett looked away. He had no decency.

She needed to dress as well, but there was no place to do it safely concealed. It seemed impossible that the room had grown smaller since they’d arrived, yet she could now see how truly minuscule it was. Less than ten feet of space lay between her and the front door. “If you turn your back to me, we can both change.”

“We can both change facing each other too.” There was a smile in his voice now.

“That’s not what I meant,” Scarlett said.

Julian chuckled under his breath. But when Scarlett brought her head up, his back was to her. She tried not to stare. Every inch of it was muscled, just as his torso had been, but that wasn’t the only part that captivated her attention. A thick scar disfigured the space between his shoulder blades. Two more crossed his lower back. As if someone had stabbed him multiple times.

Scarlett swallowed a gasp and felt instantly guilty. She shouldn’t have been looking. Hastily she grabbed the clothes meant for her and focused on dressing. She tried not to imagine what could have happened to him. She wouldn’t want anyone seeing her scars.

Mostly her father just left bruises, but for years she’d dressed herself without the help of a maid so no one would see. She had imagined that experience would come in handy now, but the dress Legend left her would require no assistance; it was rather plain, disappointing. The opposite of how she’d imagined clothes from Caraval. There was no corset. The bodice fabric was an unappealing shade of beige, with a flat skirt. No petticoats or underskirts or bustles.

“Can I turn around now?” Julian asked. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

The firm way he’d gripped her waist while he’d sliced off her dress instantly came to mind, making her tingle from her breastbone down to her hips. “Thank you for that reminder.”

“I wasn’t talking about you. I barely even saw your—”

“Not making it better. But you can turn around,” she said. “I’m buttoning my boots.”

When Scarlett looked up, Julian was in front of her, and Legend definitely had not given him an unattractive set of clothes.

Scarlett’s eyes traveled from the midnight-blue cravat around his throat to the fitted burgundy waistcoat it tucked into. A deep-blue tailcoat emphasized strong shoulders and a narrow waist. The only item reminiscent of the sailor was the knife belt slung over the hips of his slender pants.

“You look—different,” Scarlett said. “It no longer appears as though you’ve just come from a brawl.”

Julian stood a little straighter, as if she’d complimented him, and Scarlett wasn’t sure she hadn’t. It didn’t seem fair that someone so infuriating could look so close to perfect. Although despite his crisp clothes, he still appeared far from gentlemanly—and it wasn’t just his unshaven face or the choppy waves of his brown hair. There was simply something wild about Julian that could not be tamed by Legend’s garments. The sharp planes of his face, the shrewd look in his brown eyes—they weren’t minimized because he now wore a cravat, or … a pocket watch?

“Did you steal that?” Scarlett asked.