Finale (Caraval #3)(22)
“At least he stabbed her instead of burning her to death with his powers,” Jacks said. “Fire’s the most painful way to die.”
“That’s not helping,” Tella muttered.
“Well, I’m not really the comforting sort.” Jacks’s cool arms slipped beneath Tella’s back as he picked her up from the ground.
“Put me down,” Tella said. Jacks was a Fate, and the last thing she wanted was help from someone like him.
Jacks huffed a sigh. “If I leave you here, you’ll die like your mother when Gavriel comes back to life. Or another Fate will just find you.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” Jacks flashed his dimples, narrow lips parting into a sharp smile that turned him into the beautifully cunning Prince of Hearts that she’d been fascinated with as a child. “I just prefer torturing you myself.”
“Too late,” Tella mumbled, and she probably should have tried to fight him more.
Jacks hadn’t bothered her for the last sixty-odd days, and supposedly she was his true love—the one person immune to his fatal kiss—but he was still a Fate. A murderous one. He’d been heir to the throne before Legend, and according to rumors he’d killed seventeen people to take that place. He’d even threatened to kill Tella. He was viperous and fatal. Yet Tella couldn’t muster the appropriate fear. She couldn’t feel anything other than numb.
Her mother’s death didn’t even make sense. Gavriel hadn’t hurt her until after she’d wounded him. He might not have killed her if she hadn’t stabbed him. Why would she risk it, when he would only come back to life?
“Who is Gavriel?” Tella choked out. “Which Fate is he?”
Jacks’s cold fingers tensed against her back. “I’m only telling you this because I like him even less than I like you. Gavriel is the Fallen Star.”
The same Fate who, according to Legend’s witch, had created all the Fates. A venomous surge of rage briefly broke through Tella’s shock. If Legend really did want to kill the Fallen Star to defeat the other Fates, he’d have to get in line.
“I’ll find a way to destroy him,” Tella vowed.
“Not in this condition,” Jacks muttered as he carried her up a set of steps.
She didn’t want to see the sky as she and Jacks finally emerged outside. It should have been black. But it was still impossibly blue, rippling with threads of indigo. Tella usually loved it when the sun stayed out so late, when it was night and the world remained light, but now it just felt wrong. The day should have ended. The sun should have fled and turned the world dark the moment her mother had died.
Tella’s throat went tight. She closed her eyes, attempting to shut out the light, but that only made it worse. Every time her eyes closed, all she could see was the Fallen Star as he drove a knife into her mother.
A sob began to build inside her. She was only dimly aware of her surroundings as Jacks carried her down a brick street. She didn’t know where he lived now that he was no longer heir to the Meridian Empire and had been kicked out of Idyllwild Castle. She’d assumed he resided in the Spice Quarter, inside a crooked building with a coven of thieves, or in an underground tomb with a den of gangsters.
But it didn’t smell as if he was taking her to the Spice Quarter. There were no pungent cigars. No streams of spilled liquor or urine stained the ground. Jacks had brought her to the clean pathways of University Circle, a world of leather-bound books, pressed robes, and pristine hedges, where ambitious scholars grew like weeds.
His pace turned leisurely as he approached a four-story house made of clay-red bricks and onyx columns. Tella might have asked what they were doing here, or if this was where he lived. But all she could do was let her tears fall.
It couldn’t even be called crying. Crying gave the impression of participation, action. But Tella was done acting. She could barely keep breathing.
“I’d try to say something comforting, but last time you didn’t appreciate it,” Jacks murmured. But despite his words, he held her closer to his cool chest as he reached a pair of polished doors.
Maybe he really did plan to torture her. Or maybe he knew that even though her paralysis was almost gone, Tella wouldn’t have moved if he’d left her. Maybe he knew she’d have lain on the steps leading up to his house even after the sun finally fell and the night turned cold enough to make her numb once again. Because now that she had all her feeling back, it hurt. Everywhere. Her emotions were bruised and bleeding. And for a moment she hoped that they’d bleed out. Then maybe it wouldn’t feel so impossibly painful, or so hard to breathe and think and feel anything but agony.
The door before them swung open. They stepped inside and the wretched blue sky was replaced by a ceiling covered in gold chandeliers that dangled lights over walls papered with black and red symbols from playing cards. It was a den of gambling, full of dealers who smiled like tigers and players eager as cubs.
People were laughing and clapping and rolling dice on tables with whoops and hollers, and all of it had never sounded so wrong. It was a blur of gaming chips, and fizzing drinks, discarded cravats and clacking wheels of misfortune and chance. When someone won, confetti made of diamonds and hearts and clubs and spades rained down on everyone. The room was alive in a way her mother was not.
If anyone thought it odd that Jacks was carrying a hysterical girl, no one remarked on it. Or maybe Tella just didn’t notice. The drawn windows might have managed to block out the sun, but all the noise and chaos of Jacks’s gaming parlor only intensified the piercing emptiness inside of her.