Finale (Caraval #3)(62)

She thought about her mother, and the vision of when her mother had given Tella away. Tella would never know why her mother made the choices she had, but in that moment Tella believed that it wasn’t because she didn’t care, it was because she did care. She cared enough to do whatever needed to be done. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen to give up Tella instead of Scarlett. Scarlett would willingly sacrifice herself—destroy herself—if she felt it was the right thing. Tella was more like Paloma, willing to do whatever it took, even if it was the wrong thing, if it got her what she needed. Maybe Paloma sacrificed Tella because she knew it wouldn’t destroy her.

But Tella silently vowed that she would make sure her daughter wouldn’t have to make these sorts of choices at all. When this was over, Tella would find a way to make it all right, no matter what it took.



* * *



Tella clutched the red jasper box with one hand and Legend’s hand with the other. He hadn’t let go since he’d taken hold of it in the tent. His heavy fingers remained laced with hers, keeping her tucked close to his side as they wove back through the bustling market. He hadn’t tried to kiss her again, but occasionally, when she glanced at him, she saw a satisfied smile.

Tella wanted to peek inside the box, wanted to know which secret she’d promised so much for. But she didn’t want to remain longer than necessary. She imagined she’d spent an hour or two, but maybe it had been longer. Maybe she and Legend had lost three or four days instead of only one or two.

When they crossed through the archway that took them back to Valenda, the sky was midnight blue, making it impossible to tell the hour or how much time had passed.

Legend had private residences all over the city. Julian was supposedly waiting for them at the Narrow House in the Spice Quarter. Of all his performers, only Aiko, Nigel, Caspar, and Jovan knew about it.

Heading there should have felt safer than lingering on the ragged streets of Valenda; it hadn’t taken long for trash to collect now that the monarchy was in upheaval. Tella didn’t spy any Fates, but she detected their taint taking up residence where night revelers had once been.

The jasper box in her hand grew heavier. She had the urge to open it now, but they’d already reached the Narrow House, which was indeed a slender structure. At first glance it appeared barely wider than a doorway, and just as crooked as all the other homes in this part of the city. But the closer they drew, the wider it grew.

Tella watched as decorative arched windows appeared on either side of the door. Beneath them rested flower boxes, overflowing with white foxglove, which Tella would have sworn weren’t there moments ago.

The house would have looked curiously inviting if she had not glanced up to see the Maiden Death standing in the center of the second-story window, flashing a macabre smile from behind her cage of pearls.

Legend’s hand gripped Tella’s tighter.

In Decks of Destiny, the Maiden Death’s card predicted a loss of a loved one or a family member. And it was her card that had first predicted Tella would lose her mother.

The air around her crackled and a fraction of a second later a hooded figure materialized between Tella and Legend.

Tella froze. She couldn’t see this figure’s face, it was concealed by his cloak, but she didn’t need to. There was only one Fate with the ability to travel through space and time and materialize at will: the Assassin—who, according to Jacks, was also insane.

“The Maiden Death is here to see the two of you,” he said.





34





Donatella


The Narrow House was another one of Legend’s deceptions.

Tella had seen through the glamour outside and thought it had looked charming. But inside, it reminded Tella of the illusion Legend had created in the dungeon, when he’d turned her cell into a four-story study. The ceilings of the Narrow House stretched even higher, and the books on the surrounding shelves didn’t look as flawless as they had in his illusion. Some of the volumes were aged and cracked and fragile, as if they’d experienced several previous lives before finding homes on these shelves.

Legend had one arm protectively around Tella’s shoulders as they entered the vaulted room. He hadn’t even wanted Tella to enter the house, but the Assassin had been insistent and so had Tella—this was her fight as well as Legend’s.

The scene they’d stepped into could have been a painting called Hostages at a Tea Party. Legend’s most trusted performers were sitting stiffly in tufted red chairs that encircled a shiny ebony table, set with a pewter tea service that no one touched, except Nigel, Legend’s tattoo-covered fortune-teller. Julian and Jovan were there, as well as Aiko—Legend’s historiographer who captured the history of Caraval through pictures—and Caspar, who’d once pretended to be Tella’s fiancé.

Behind them, the Assassin and the Maiden Death hovered like grim hosts. A few of the other Fates Tella had seen sometimes glowed, but the Assassin, who kept his face concealed by his heavy hood, appeared to collect shadows.

The Maiden Death looked exactly like her card from Decks of Destiny. Her head was covered in curving bars of pearls that wrapped around like a cage, and her dress looked more like long tatters of gossamer fabric that had been tied together. She didn’t glow, either, but her frayed garment billowed around her, as if she kept a private wind on a leash.