Caraval (Caraval, #1)(8)

Scarlett’s warning instincts kicked in too late. She turned at the sound of new footsteps. Tella stood behind her, her short frame covered in a dark cloak that made it seem as if she was part of the night. “I’m sorry to do this, but you’re the one who taught me there’s nothing more important than taking care of a sister.”

Suddenly Julian clamped a cloth over Scarlett’s face. Frantically she tried to push it away. Her feet kicked up black clouds of sand, but whatever potent potion laced the fabric worked its magic fast. The world spun around Scarlett until she didn’t know if her eyes were open or closed.

She was falling

falling

falling.





5

Before Scarlett lost all consciousness, a gentle hand stroked her cheek. “It’s better this way, sister. There’s more to life than staying safe.…”

Her words ushered Scarlett into a world that only existed in the delicate land of lucid dreaming.

As a room made of all windows came into view, she heard her grandmother’s voice. A pockmarked moon winked through the glass, illuminating the figures inside with grainy blue light.

Younger versions of Scarlett and Tella, made of tiny hands and innocent dreams, curled together in bed while their grandmother tucked them in. Though the woman had spent more time with the girls after their mother had left, Scarlett could not recall another night she’d ever put them to bed; that was usually servants’ work.

“Will you tell us about Caraval?” asked tiny Scarlett.

“I want to hear about Master Legend,” chimed Tella. “Will you tell us the story of how he got his name?”

Across from the bed, Nana perched upon a tufted chair as if it were a throne. Coils of black pearls circled her slender neck, while more covered her arms, all the way from her wrists to her elbows, as if they were lavish gloves. Her starched lavender gown was creaseless, adding more emphasis to the wrinkles etching her once-beautiful face.

“Legend came from the Santos family of performers,” she began. “They were playwrights and actors, who all suffered from an unfortunate lack of talent. The only reason they had any success was because they were as beautiful as angels. And one son, Legend, was rumored to be the most handsome of all.”

“But I thought Legend wasn’t his real name,” said Scarlett.

“I can’t tell you his original name,” said Nana. “But, I can say, like all great—and terrible—stories, his started with love. Love for the elegant Annalise. With golden hair and words made of sugar. She bewitched him as he’d done to so many girls before her: with compliments and kisses and promises he should have known better than to believe.

“Legend wasn’t wealthy then. He mostly lived on charm and stolen hearts, and Annalise claimed it was enough for her, but that her father, a wealthy merchant, would never allow her to wed a pauper.”

“So did they get married?” Tella asked.

“You’ll find out if you keep listening,” Nana tsked.

Behind her a cloud drifted over the moon, covering all but two tiny points of light, which hovered behind her silver hair like devils’ horns.

“Legend had a plan,” she continued. “Elantine was about to be crowned empress of the Meridian Empire, and if he could perform at her coronation, Legend believed it would bring him the fame and money he needed to marry Annalise. Only Legend was shamefully turned away, because of his lack of talent.”

“I would have let him inside,” said Tella.

“So would I,” Scarlett agreed.

Nana frowned. “If you two don’t stop interrupting, I’m not going to finish the story.”

Scarlett and Tella puckered their lips into miniature pink hearts.

“Legend didn’t have any magic then,” Nana went on, “but he believed in the tales his father had told him. He’d heard every person gets one impossible wish—just one—if the person wants something more than anything, and they can find a bit of magic to help them along. So Legend went in search of a woman who had studied enchantments.”

“She means a witch,” Scarlett whispered.

Nana paused, and tiny Tella and little Scarlett’s eyes grew as wide as saucers while the glass room transformed into the wooden walls of a triangular cabin. Nana’s story was coming to life before their eyes. Yellow wax candles hung from the ceiling upside down, pouring creamy smoke in the wrong direction.

In the center of it all, a woman with hair as red as fury sat across from a boy made of lean lines, his head shaded by a dark top hat. Legend. Though Scarlett couldn’t clearly see his face, she recognized his symbolic hat.

“The woman asked what he wanted most,” Nana went on, “and Legend told her he wished to lead the greatest troupe of players the world had ever seen, so that he could win his true love, Annalise. But the woman warned he could not have both things. He must pick only one.

“Legend was as prideful as he was handsome, and he believed she was wrong. He told himself if he were famous it would allow him to marry Annalise. So he wished for that. He said he wanted his performances to be legendary. Magical.”

A breeze cut through the room, blowing out every candle but the one illuminating Legend. Scarlett could not clearly see his face, but she would have sworn something about him changed, as if he’d suddenly acquired an extra shadow.