Caraval (Caraval, #1)(85)

Fresh tears ran down Scarlett’s cheeks. She could have held Tella until they dried up and she and her sister both turned to dust, a warning to any others who dared to get too swept away in the deception of Caraval.

*

The story could have ended there. In a storm of tears and muttered words. But just as the sun was about to rise, in the black instant before dawn, the darkest moment of the night, a dark brown hand gently rocked Scarlett’s shoulder.

Scarlett looked up to find Jovan. The candles and lanterns had almost turned to smoke, so Scarlett could barely see her, but she recognized the light lilt of her voice. “The game’s about to officially end. Soon the morning bells will toll, and people will start packing up. I thought you might want to collect your sister’s things.”

Scarlett craned her neck toward Tella’s rimless balcony—no, Legend’s rimless balcony. “Whatever is up there, I don’t want it.”

“Oh, but you may want these items,” said Jo.





THE DAY AFTER CARAVAL





39

When Scarlett arrived at Tella’s balcony room she imagined it was a ploy, another way to torment her. The possessions in the suite were all newly acquired. Dresses. Furs. Gloves. None of it truly felt like Tella. The only thing that felt like her sister was Scarlett’s memory of the periwinkle gown Tella had died in. The gown that had failed to bring her a happy ending.

Whatever Jo thought—

Scarlett paused at the sight of something. On Tella’s vanity sat a long rectangular box made of etched glass and silver edges with a clasp that made Scarlett’s heart trip a beat. It was a sun with a star inside and a teardrop inside of the star.

The symbol of Caraval.

Scarlett now hated that crest more than the color purple, but she distinctly knew that box, with its wretched emblem, had not been there before.

Slowly Scarlett raised the lid.

A slip of paper. Carefully, she unfolded the note. It was dated almost a year ago.



* * *





1st day of the Hot Season,


Year 56, Elantine Dynasty Dear Master Legend,

I believe you are a liar, a blackguard, and a villain, and I would very much like your help.

My father is a villain as well, though not the dashing sort like you. He’s the kind who likes to beat his daughters. I know this is not your problem, and since you probably have a heart made of black, perhaps you don’t care. But I’ve learned you did actually feel something when that woman threw herself from your balcony after you rejected her during Caraval a few years ago. I heard you were so upset, that was the real reason you stopped traveling.

Helping my sister and me won’t completely make up for whatever happened then, but it might help a little. I also think it would create a very interesting game, and I know how you like to play.

Yours truly,

Donatella Dragna



* * *





Scarlett reread the letter, again and again. Each time she believed it a little more and a little more, until at last she believed it without a doubt.

The game was not over yet. And it seemed Scarlett was right: this year’s Caraval really was about more than just Legend and her grandmother. In fact, it appeared her sister had made some sort of bargain with the master of Caraval himself.

“Jo!” she called. “Jovan!”

The girl appeared with a peculiar bounce to her step the second time her name was shouted.

“Take me to Master Legend,” Scarlett said.





40

What’s the meaning of this?” Scarlett demanded.

Across from her Legend sat in a tufted champagne chair looking out an oval window. There was no balcony, not in this room. Scarlett imagined these quarters were sick—if it were possible for a room to be ill. The large stretch of space was covered in dull shades of beige, with only two faded chairs.

Scarlett waved the letter in front of Legend, who’d yet to look away from the view. He peered down on all the people below, dragging trunks and carpetbags, as they began their exodus back into the “real” world.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” he said airily.

“What type of deal did you make with my sister?” Scarlett asked.

A sigh. “I didn’t make any deal.”

“Then why did you leave this letter?”

“I didn’t do that, either.” The master of Caraval finally looked away from the window, yet something about his placid expression was off-kilter—or rather missing.

“Think. Who would want you to have that letter?” he asked.

Again, Legend was her first thought.

“It was not me,” he repeated. “And here’s a hint, it shouldn’t be hard to figure out. Imagine who could have left it for you.”

“Donatella?” Scarlett breathed. She could have moved the box when she’d gone to fetch the rope. “But why?”

Ignoring her question, Legend handed Scarlett a short stack of letters. “I’m supposed to give you these, as well.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?” Scarlett said.

“Because that’s not my role.” Legend rose from his chair, moving so close to Scarlett he might have touched her. He was back in his velvet top hat and tailcoat. But he didn’t grin, or laugh, or do any of the mad things she’d begun to associate with him. He looked at her not as if he was trying see her, but as if he was trying to show her something about himself.