Finale (Caraval #3)(23)

Jacks’s arms tightened around her as he wove through the crowd. Multiple people approached him. “Can’t you see my hands are full?” he drawled, or simply just ignored them.

A few steps later and they were on the stairs. The carpets went from plush to threadbare the higher they climbed. Jacks had redecorated the ground floor for his guests, but left the upper levels unchanged. Not that Tella saw much of them. Her eyes mostly stayed on the ground and Jacks’s scuffed boots until he carried her through another door.

It looked like a study. There was an empty fireplace with a decorative amber rug marred by several scorch marks in front of it, a worn whiskey-brown leather couch, and a scratched desk with a lone plant underneath a glass dome. Jacks continued to cradle her as he sat slowly on the deep couch.

Tella could have pulled away. It was wrong to let him touch her—he was the same type of creature that had killed her mother in front of her. And yet she feared that Jacks’s deadly arms were the only things still holding her together. She didn’t want his comfort, but she desperately needed comfort.

Jacks’s shirt had quickly dampened against Tella’s cheek, but rather than push her away, he held her closer. He rubbed circles around her back, while his other cold hand wove through her curls, carefully untangling them with gentle fingers.

“Why are you helping me?” Tella finally managed. Unlike Legend, who either hid his feelings or pretended to have them when he didn’t, Jacks never pretended to care. When he had an agenda, he just made threats to get what he wanted.

“You’re not fun when you’re this pathetic. I can’t torment you if you’re already miserable.” His hand left her hair to press against her cheek and brush several tears away. The touch was as soft as the last kiss her mother had pressed to that very same cheek, and Tella lost what she’d been able to keep together.

No longer were tears just falling from her eyes. She was crying harder than she ever had in her life, sobbing with so much force she felt as if she might break. It was too much emotion to hold on to and too much to release.

“It was all for nothing,” Tella moaned. “Everything I did to save her only worked to destroy her. I should have never tried to change the future I’d seen in the Aracle. The first time I saw her, the card only showed her in a prison. If I hadn’t tried to alter that future, she’d still be alive.”

“Or maybe you’d be dead too,” Jacks said. “You don’t know how things could have turned out differently.”

“But they could have been different.” Tella pictured all the other ways her mother’s story could have ended. If Tella had listened to her mother as a child and never played with her cursed Deck of Destiny, maybe her mother never would have left the girls on Trisda in the first place. Or if Legend had just taken the deck, like Tella had asked, and then destroyed it before any more of the Fates escaped, her mother would be alive now.

Tella had made so many mistakes. If only she could go back and make one right. If she could just rechart her path so it led somewhere else.

That was it.

A spark of hope lit up inside her.

Tella could travel back in time and re-create the entire day. Now that all the Fates were awake, there was a way to do it. Then at least one good thing could come from their return.

Tella looked up at Jacks, seeing him for the first time since he’d carried her away. His untamed locks of golden hair made him look more like a lost boy than a murderous Fate; his unearthly eyes were the silver-blue of young girls’ dreams; and his lips were so sharp she imagined he could cut with a kiss. She couldn’t trust him, but to do this, she would need him.

“In Decks of Destiny, there was a Fate that could move through space and time—the Assassin. What if he could help undo this?”

“I know you’re grieving,” Jacks said, “but that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Traveling through time is always a mistake.”

“So is trusting you. But here I am, and you haven’t hurt me yet.”

“Yet is the key word in that sentence.” He ran a cool finger under her chin. “Stay long enough and I guarantee that will change.”

Tella sat up straight. “Tell me where the Assassin is and I’ll leave right now.”

“Even if I knew where he was I wouldn’t tell you, Donatella. Contacting the Assassin is not a good idea, and not just because of his nickname. Before the Fates were trapped in the deck, the Fallen Star, the Undead Queen, and the Murdered King all used the Assassin to travel through space and time, and all the different timelines made him insane. He’s not always aware of when he is, and he’ll disappear for long stretches. People who’ve convinced him to take them back in time don’t always return. As I said, worst idea.”

“Nothing could be worse than this! Please, Jacks.” Tella grabbed his damp shirt with her fists, pulling his cruel face even closer. “Help me find him. I’m begging you. It hurts so much. Too much. Everything is painful. Each time I close my eyes I see him murdering her. Every time it’s quiet I hear the awful click-clack of that wheel. And I can’t shut it off!”

Jacks’s hand went still against her back. “What if I could take away the pain and the sadness?”

“How?” she asked.

“It’s one of my abilities.” He wiped another trail of tears from her cheeks.