Finale (Caraval #3)(69)

“Nothing will change his mind!” Tella shouted, drawing the wretched Fate’s attention her way.

The Priestess’s lips thinned. “You don’t have a strong sense of self-preservation, do you?”

“I’m stronger than most people think,” Tella said.

She thought she saw a fraction of Legend’s missing smile return.

And before the Fate could ask another question, the earth began to shake. The ruins rattled. The steps split, the cursed fountain cracked in half, wine spilling all over the ground, as the remains of the ruined mansion collapsed in a thunderous cloud of dust and debris.

The dust was so thick Tella couldn’t see Legend or the Priestess, but she thought she heard the Fate’s footsteps running away as Tella searched for a safe place to hide until the earthquake ceased.

All she could see was dust. But she didn’t choke on it, and though the world around her was collapsing, she realized that nothing had actually touched her.

“Legend?” she called tentatively, although she was fairly certain the Priestess was now gone. “Tell me you’re doing this.”

The dust vanished, the shaking stopped, and the ruins returned to as they had been. The only cracks that remained were the ones that had been there before. An illusion.

Legend appeared next. But unlike the ruins, he looked much different than before. Damp hair clung to his brow, and his bronze skin looked gray as he stumbled toward Tella.

Legend never stumbled.

Her arms went around him instinctively, and either he was truly weakened or they’d reached a temporary truce, because he didn’t push her away. He leaned heavily against her, making it impossible for her to move. He had drained himself using too much magic.

Legend was private about many things, including anything involving his powers. But she knew his magic was at its peak during Caraval because it was fueled by all the emotions of everyone in attendance. He’d probably been stronger at the palace for similar reasons.

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble to scare her,” Tella said.

Legend’s fingers found her hair and combed through her curls, an idle gesture that he probably didn’t even realize he was doing. “I didn’t want her asking questions you might refuse to answer.”

“I’m not that stubborn,” Tella huffed.

“Yes, you are,” he murmured, “but I like that about you.” Legend’s hand left her curls and wrapped around the vulnerable back of her neck—definitely an intentional gesture. He stroked her skin with fingers that made her think he wasn’t as weak as he seemed and then he tilted her head back until she was looking up at him.

His color was already returning to his handsome face, making him look a little untouchable, even as he continued to touch her.

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. For a weak moment she hoped this wasn’t a temporary truce, and that he’d finally seen through her speech from last night.

He released her neck and pulled away. “We should go.”

“But I’ve just gotten here.”

The Prince of Hearts appeared at the top of the steps. He leaned against a crumbling rail, an elegant mess of wrinkled clothing, lazy movements, and golden hair, which hung over eyes that appeared as if he’d been watching them for a while.

Ice coated Tella’s skin. But it was different from the chill she felt whenever Jacks looked at her, because his eyes had moved next to her, latching on to Legend, who Jacks, along with the rest of the empire, had only known as Dante—a young man who was supposed to be dead, a young man who’d just used a frightening amount of power, a young man who didn’t curse at Jacks, or try to protect Tella as he had with the Priestess.

She swiftly turned to see Legend. His broad shoulders were stiff, his expression was fixed. He stood still as a statue beside her, the same way he had the night of the Fated Ball when Jacks had used his powers to briefly stop everyone’s hearts from beating.

“Jacks! Stop this!” Tella demanded.

But the Prince of Hearts didn’t even acknowledge her. His blue eyes had taken on a ravenous look, and in that moment Tella could see what he was thinking. Unlike the other Fates, Jacks was at only half power; he wanted the rest of his powers back, and Legend was the one with the ability to restore him.

“Stay away from him!” Tella begged. Legend was already weakened from using so much magic; she didn’t want to think what a power exchange with Jacks would do to him right now.

But the Prince of Hearts continued to ignore her; his rabid gaze stayed on Legend’s frozen form. “You know, I wondered if you were Legend during Caraval, and then again when I saw you in her dream. But then you died.”

“He’s not Legend,” Tella lied.

Jacks finally tilted his head her way, but none of the mischief that had been in his eyes last night was there. He looked more like the cruel boy she’d first met in the carriage who’d threatened to push her out just to see if she survived. “If he’s not Legend, then who created the illusion I just saw, and how is he alive? The reports I heard said the new heir had been killed.”

“Those were rumors,” Tella said. “I started them to keep the Fates away.”

Jacks laughed but his eyes remained cold. “For once I hope you’re lying, my love. And if you’re not, then I’m so sorry.”