Caraval (Caraval, #1)(43)

Barely older than Scarlett, and obviously newlywed, the young man held his young bride’s hand with the care of a man not used to holding such an important thing.

“’Scuse me, miss.” He spoke with a foreign accent that took a bit of concentration to discern. “We’s were wonderin’, are you really Donatella’s sister?”

Aiko nodded encouragingly. “She is, and she’d be delighted to answer your questions.”

The couple brightened. “Oh, thank you, miss. Yesternight when we made it to ’er room everything was picked clean. We’s were jus’ hopin’ for some bit o’ a clue.”

The mention of Tella’s scavenged room set something ablaze inside of Scarlett, yet the couple looked so sincere. They didn’t seem to be mercenaries who would sell things to the highest bidder. Their threadbare clothes were in worse shape than Scarlett’s blackened dress, yet their clasped hands and hopeful expressions reminded her of what the game was meant to be. Or what she’d thought it was meant to be. Joy. Magic. Wonder.

“I wish I could tell you where my sister was, but I haven’t seen her since I—” Scarlett hesitated as their faces fell, and she remembered how Aiko had said people at Caraval didn’t expect or want the truth: They come here for an adventure. You might as well give them one.

“Actually, my sister asked me to meet her—near a fountain with a mermaid.” The lie sounded ridiculous to Scarlett’s ears, but the couple lapped it up like a bowl of sweetened cream, their faces alighting at the prospect of a clue.

“Oh, I think I know dat statue,” said the young woman. “Is it da one with a ’ottom all covered in ’earls?”

Scarlett wasn’t sure exactly what the woman was trying to say, but she sent them off with a nod and wished them the best of luck.

“See?” said Aiko. “Look how happy you just made them.”

“But I lied to them,” said Scarlett.

“You’re missing the point of the game,” said Aiko. “They didn’t travel here for truth, they came for an adventure, and you just sent them on one. Maybe they won’t find anything, but perchance they will; the game sometimes has a way of rewarding people just for trying. Either way that couple is happier than you. I’ve been watching, and you’ve been sitting here as sour as rotten milk for the past hour.”

“You would be too if your sister was missing.”

“Oh, poor you. Here you are on a magical isle and all you can think of is what you don’t have.”

“But it’s my—”

“Your sister, I know,” said Aiko. “I also know you’ll find her at the end when all of this is over and you’ll wish you’d not spent your evenings sitting in this stinking tavern feeling sorry for yourself.”

It was the exact sort of thing Tella would have said. A masochistic part of Scarlett felt she owed her sister some sort of tithe made of misery, but maybe it was the opposite. Knowing Tella, she would have been more disappointed in Scarlett for not enjoying Legend’s isle.

“I’m not going to sit here all night,” Scarlett said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Is that someone late, or are you just very early?” Aiko raised two painted brows. “I hate to inform you of this, but I don’t think whoever it is you’re waiting for is going to be showing up.”

Scarlett’s eyes darted to the door for the hundredth time that evening, still hoping to see Julian walk through. She had been so sure he would come, but if there was a respectable time to wait for someone, she’d surpassed it.

Scarlett pushed up from her chair.

“Does this mean you’ve decided not to sit around anymore?” Aiko rose elegantly from her own seat, clutching her notebook close, as the back door to the tavern swung open once more.

A pair of giggling young women stepped in, followed by the last person Scarlett wanted to see. He stormed inside like a foul wind made of messy black clothes and mud-caked boots, more disheveled than he’d been the last time she’d seen him—Dante’s dark pants were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them, and his tailcoat was gone.

Scarlett remembered how Julian had said Dante wanted Legend’s wish to fix something that had happened during an earlier Caraval. Right now Dante looked more desperate than ever to win it.

Scarlett prayed his eyes would pass over her. After their last encounter she wasn’t ready for another confrontation with him; waiting for Julian had already sliced her nerves to ribbons and turned her dress black. But even as Scarlett hoped Dante wouldn’t notice her, her eyes continued to fall on him. On the sleeves he’d bunched up around his forearms, and the tattoos they exposed.

Specifically, a black tattoo shaped like a heart.





19

Follow the boy with a heart made of black.

Nigel’s words rushed back to Scarlett right as Dante’s eyes fell on her. The look he gave her was pure loathing. But rather than frightening Scarlett, it ignited something inside her; she imagined this was the game’s way of testing her resolve to play without Julian’s help.

When Dante disappeared out the tavern’s back door, Scarlett dashed outside after him. She didn’t realize how toasty it had been in the tavern until she escaped into the brittle evening. Crisp, like the first bite of a chilled apple, smelling just as sweet, with hints of burnt sugar weaving through the charcoal night air. Around her, the people on the street were as thick as a murder of crows.