Finale (Caraval #3)(42)
The flickering pages were all over the city. Some cautioned people not to accept drinks from strangers. Others had the word Wanted above sketches that resembled Tella’s description of the Fallen Star. But they didn’t explicitly say that they were actually Fates. The partygoers on the street just strolled by them.
Scarlett wanted to shake everyone that walked past and make them read the notices. She knew the Fates fed off of fear, but everyone looked far too vulnerable.
Scarlett reached into her pocket, checking once again to make sure the Reverie Key was still there. At least she was protected—if she wanted to escape all she needed to do was shove the key in the closest lock. And yet she couldn’t shrug off her unease.
Even her dress seemed uncertain.
As she followed the map to the docks at the edge of the city, Scarlett’s gown turned a wary shade of brown, perfect for being overlooked. A few more steps over rickety wood and her nose tickled with the familiar scents of salt and fish and forever wet wood.
Trisda, the tiny isle where she’d spent most of her life, had always smelled like this. Rather than making her homesick, it made her want to flee, the same way Trisda had always made her want to flee. But Scarlett had decided after Caraval that she would not let fear rule her.
She counted the docks, following the map Nicolas had drawn for her until she came upon a long wharf covered with a black-and-gold carpet that led to a ship that looked like a floating palace. Its hull was carved with ornate images of mermaids and mermen holding tridents and seashells. The masts were decorated as well—giants with crowns of stars around their heads as they held out sumptuous purple sails.
It was almost offensive in its finery. This ship belonged to someone who thought extremely highly of himself. That wasn’t the impression she’d had of Nicolas. He’d seemed more down-to-earth. But everyone wore their disguises.
Scarlett stopped just as she stepped onto the dock. She’d felt nervous about meeting him before, but now she felt a lick of fear that warned her to turn around. She didn’t owe Nicolas anything.
Most people did not take rejection well. And it seemed especially unwise to reject Nicolas on his boat, which he could easily toss her over the side of—or sail away with her still on board.
She turned around. Scarlett wanted to be brave, but she didn’t want to be foolish.
“Scarlett? Are you Scarlett Dragna?” The voice didn’t sound like Nicolas.
Run. Hide. Scream. Her feelings turned bright warning red. She started to run.
But it was already too late.
A black bag went over her head.
“Let me go!” Scarlett tried to rip the bag off as she screamed. But her hands were yanked behind her and roughly tied together.
“Be careful with her,” a new voice commanded. “He wants his daughter undamaged.”
24
Donatella
Tella didn’t know what pure anticipation smelled like until she reached Legend’s Midnight Maze. The scent of red cloves and growing leaves permeated everything.
She had expected simple leafy green hedges, but she should have known better than to attach the word simple to anything involving Legend. Each living wall was formed of different rare flowers. Burning orange starfire lilies. Deep purple twilight thistles. Brilliant gold creeping faisies. Champagne delights. Scorching red feverbells. All of which grew and stretched with every person that stepped inside.
During her first Caraval, Tella had learned emotions were one of the things that fueled magic, making her wonder if Legend became stronger the more people enjoyed his party, and as a result, the glamour and illusion of the party also grew.
Not that Tella had seen Legend. But she’d heard a few whispers about how magnificent His Handsomeness looked tonight. Apparently, the nickname hadn’t just been part of her dream. But Tella still felt a possessive urge to snap at anyone who uttered it.
Her nerves over what Legend might ask and how she would respond attacked, knotting her up as she slipped deeper into the maze. The fireflies had arrived, making everyone she passed appear a little enchanted as their laughter and flirtations tripped over her head.
Contrary to what the name implied, the Midnight Maze did not begin at midnight. It started around sundown when the horizon was a battle of colors, as if the clouds were trying to break free from the sky. They were probably attempting to reach the maze, which was full of even more colors.
Tella wouldn’t have been surprised if some of it was Legend’s doing. With so many enthusiastic emotions swirling around the maze, his magic should have been growing stronger. Perhaps that was another reason why he’d wanted to go through with hosting the maze—he needed it to fuel his powers before the Fates finished waking up.
“Oh, look!” a nearby partygoer exclaimed. “That door just sprung up in the middle of the hedge. Let’s see if it takes us to the center of the maze.”
Tella heard a rustle of dancing skirts and a muttered “Gentlemen first.”
Then the giggling pack of people in front of her was gone, vanished through a door bursting with celestial blue dragonsnaps that disappeared along with them. Only a hovering parade of fireflies and a patch of near-silence remained. All Tella could hear was the flutter of wings, soft as dreamy lullabies and delicate as butterflies.
Her skin tickled with fluttering that she only usually felt in her stomach as she looked down to see her dress coming to life with the beat of a hundred wings. Tella laughed and butterflies burst free from a skirt that had been inanimate only moments ago.