Finale (Caraval #3)(46)
A dry sob shook her chest as she tried to rise.
Legend wasn’t dead forever. This wasn’t like what had happened to her mother, who Tella would never see again. He would come back to life. But for now, he was gone.
She looked back at the wreckage that minutes ago had been the maze, but he didn’t emerge from the smoke.
Bedlam reigned where hours ago there had been magic and butterflies. She could hear the sound of people escaping, clumsy footsteps and heavy breathing, from those not used to running.
Tella struggled to her feet. She knew she needed to run away. Legend had asked her to flee with his last words. But what would happen to his body if she left? What if the Fates had figured out that he was Legend? What if they took his body, so that when he came back to life they could kill him over and over?
Tella ran back toward the melee.
“Leave the city!” she warned anyone she saw. “Get out of here!” She didn’t know if there were more than two Fates nearby, but if they’d come to kill Elantine’s heir, they weren’t afraid of discovery. And they’d likely take over the palace next. Unlike the grounds outside, it was still bright and glowing, untouched by violence. For now. When the Fates took over the palace and then the Empire, the fountains would probably be filled with blood.
A rigid hand latched on to Tella’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
She tensed, bracing for a fight, even as she recognized the voice; low and resonant with a lilting accent that was just the tiniest bit shaky: Julian.
It was difficult to see his face in the dark. But the alarming way his fingers dug into her shoulder gave away enough. He already knew what had happened.
“We need to go back into the maze to get his body,” she said.
“Tella.” Julian squeezed her shoulder. “My brother is dead.”
“But he’ll come back to life … right?” She tried to shake off Julian’s hand, or maybe she was just shaking.
“He’s immortal—he’ll come back.”
“Why don’t you sound more certain about that?”
“Because I’m trying to save your life right now. He made me swear that if anything like this happened to him, I would get you to safety.”
Julian released Tella’s shoulder, grabbed her arm, and pulled her in the opposite direction of the palace.
“Wait—wait—” Tella panted. “What about Scarlett?”
“She’s not here.” Julian tugged harder on Tella’s hand, forcing her through clouds of smoke. “When she didn’t show up to meet me at the maze, I went to find her … but she’s not at the palace.”
“Where is she?”
“With the count.”
“But—but—” Tella sputtered. “Scarlett told me she was calling the game off.”
“I wish she had,” Julian grunted, his words choppy as he urged her to sprint faster. “When I went in her rooms, I found a note from the count asking to see her again today.”
“Where does he live?” Tella asked.
“On the outskirts of the city—past the ruins south of the Temple District.”
“Then that’s where we go,” she said.
There was a pause, full of nothing but heavy breathing, where Julian might have argued that he was supposed to get Tella to safety and then he would look for Scarlett on his own. But it seemed his love for her sister outweighed the promise he’d made to Legend, or Julian knew there was no point in fighting with Tella. This was why Tella had always liked Julian. He never gave up on Scarlett.
They fled swiftly across the darkened city together, but they didn’t move faster than the rumors:
“Prince Dante is dead—crushed to death by his maze.”
“The former heir came back and murdered Prince Dante.”
“Prince Dante was killed by someone in the maze.”
“Invaders have taken over the city and beheaded Prince Dante.”
Some of the claims were closer to the truth than others, but all of them had one thing in common: Legend was dead.
Her steps faltered, but she didn’t stop. If anything, she ran harder. The Fates had won another round. But once Tella found her sister, and Legend came back to life, they’d all visit the Vanished Market. There they’d find a way to destroy the Fallen Star, and then they’d be able to stop the other Fates, as well.
There were holes in her slippers by the time she and Julian passed the edge of the city at dawn. It was a brilliantly bloody sunrise, as if someone had sliced opened the clouds and hazy streams of red had poured out instead of rain. On another morning it might have looked wrong, but on this particular day it felt appropriate that even the sky appeared violent.
A dusty stretch of dry, yellowing grassland rested between the city and the count’s estate. The sad bark of a dog was the only sound, save for the tired trudge of Tella’s and Julian’s footsteps.
Tella tried to catch her breath, now that their pace had slowed. She inhaled deeply, but the air tasted unclean, like the foulest parts of the city rather than a fresh slice of country. The stench grew stronger and the sad howling of the dog grew louder as they approached the count’s estate.
Tella hugged her arms to her chest, and Julian walked closer to her side.
The count’s residence looked like the beginning of a fairy tale, before the magic had arrived. The gardens were full of curious, well-tended flowers that appeared to have been planted with care. But the house itself was covered in chipping paint, the windows clean but full of cracks, and the crumbling chimneys appeared to be in severe need of repair. Even the long path they followed to the house was covered in fractures.