Caraval (Caraval, #1)(69)

This was wrong too. When she’d kissed Julian, it had felt right. Two people choosing to give tiny vulnerable parts of themselves to each other. That’s what Scarlett wanted. That’s what she deserved. No one else had the right to decide this for her. Yes, her father had always treated her like a possession, but she was not a thing to be bought or sold.

Before, Scarlett had always felt as if she didn’t have choices, but now she was starting to realize that she did. She just needed to be bold enough to make the difficult ones.

Another pop. The count had moved on to the buttons of his shirt, and he was looking at Scarlett as if he were getting ready to take off her damp gown as well and complete this transaction.

“It’s chilly in here, don’t you think?” Scarlett grabbed the fireplace poker and stoked the logs, watching the fire skip over the metal until it turned shades of brilliant orange-red—the color of bravery.

“I think you’ve stoked it enough.” The count placed a firm palm on her shoulder.

Scarlett spun around and aimed the red-hot poker at his face. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sweetheart.” He appeared only mildly surprised, and not nearly as frightened as she would have liked. “We can take things slowly, if you want, but you should put that down before you injure yourself.”

“I can manage not to hurt myself.” Scarlett inched the fireplace rod closer, stopping right below his bright-green eye. “But you might not be so lucky. Don’t move or breathe a word unless you want a scar on your cheek that matches Julian’s.”

The count’s breathing hitched, yet his voice was unnervingly even as he said, “I don’t think you realize what you’re doing, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not yours, and I’m very aware of my actions. Now get on the bed.” Scarlett motioned with the poker, but already its red tip was losing color. She had thought she’d tie him to the bed, but there was no way it would work. The minute she set down her weapon, he would be upon her. And despite her threats, Scarlett didn’t know if she could bring herself to use it.

“I know you’re frightened,” the count said calmly. “But if you stop whatever it is you’re doing, I’ll forget this ever happened and no harm will be done.”

Harm.

The elixir of protection.

The vial she’d bought in the tent at the Castillo had slipped her mind. But it was still in the pocket of her enchanted gown. She just needed to get to the wardrobe.

“Back up all the way against the bedposts.” Scarlett backed away as he did as he was told. Then she bolted for the wardrobe. The count leaped up the moment she turned, but Scarlett was already opening the wooden doors.

With a loud tumble, Julian fell out. His skin was gray and bleeding. Scarlett’s heart cracked.

“What is he doing here?” The count froze long enough for her to reach inside and grab the elixir. She could do nothing for Julian unless she took care of d’Arcy first.

Scarlett ripped the top off the bottle and splashed its contents all over the count. The spray smelled of daisies and urine.

The count choked and sputtered. “What is this?” He dropped to his knees as he tried to grab Scarlett, but he looked like an infant attempting to catch a bird. The elixir worked fast, dimming his reflexes to a clumsy crawl.

“You’re making a mistake.” He continued wilting to the floor as Scarlett rushed to Julian’s side.

“This is exactly what Legend wants,” the count slurred, lips going numb like the rest of his body. “Your father told me the history … of your grandmother and Legend. I have no idea who he is.” The count cut a drooping eye to Julian. “But you’re playing right into Legend’s hands. He brought you to this isle to destroy our marriage, to ruin your life.”

“Well, then it seems he’s failed,” Scarlett said. “From where I’m standing, it looks as if Legend has done me a favor.”

Julian’s eyes fluttered open as Scarlett helped him up from the floor, and her ex-fiancé finished crumpling to the ground.

“Don’t be too sure about any of that,” the count mumbled. “Legend doesn’t do anyone favors.”





31

Can you walk?” Scarlett asked.

“Aren’t I doing that now?” Julian’s voice was playful. But there was nothing humorous about the wound that went from his jaw to his eye. Her arms were wrapped around him, keeping him steady.

“Crimson, don’t worry about me, we should get you to your sister.”

“You need stitches first.” Her eyes returned to the ragged gash on his cheek. It would scar, and while it did not make him any less handsome, it did make her ill to remember how fragile he’d appeared when he’d tumbled out of the wardrobe.

“You’re overreacting,” Julian said. “It’s not half bad. Your father barely scraped me. I doubt he enjoys it unless his victims remain conscious.”

“But you were passed out in the closet.”

“I’ve recovered. I’m a quick healer.” Julian pulled away from her, as if to prove it, when they reached the bottom floor. Light snuck in through the cracks around the doors, illuminating candles growing inside sconces, preparing for another treacherous night. On the floor, a small group of dedicated participants slept huddled together. Waiting for evening to fall and the doors to unlock.