Legendary (Caraval #2)(16)
Quickly, she set the small trunk in her hands down on the dock. Behind the barrels, she was concealed from view. No one saw her open the trunk, though even if an entire boatload of people had been watching, it might not have stopped her. Tella needed to check the Aracle.
Her fingers usually tingled upon contact, but when she touched the paper rectangle they went numb; everything went numb as Tella saw a new image. Her mother was no longer trapped behind prison bars—she was blue-lipped, pale, and dead.
Tella gripped the card so tight it should have crumpled in her hand. But the magical little thing seemed to be indestructible. She sagged against the damp barrels.
Something new must have happened to alter her mother’s future. Tella had slept the past four days. The shift shouldn’t have been a result of her actions, unless it had something to do with the conversation she’d had with Nigel.
Julian had warned Tella that fortune-tellers like Nigel toyed with the future. Maybe he had sensed something in Tella’s destiny that put Legend at risk. Or perhaps Legend wanted to toy with Tella for trying to uncover his most closely guarded secret, and whatever Legend now planned had shifted her mother’s fate.
The thought should have frightened her. Legend was not a good person to have as an enemy. But for some twisted reason the idea only made Tella want to play his game more. Now, she just needed to convince her friend to give her another week so she could win Caraval, uncover Legend’s name, and save her mother’s life.
*
By the time Tella reached the carriage house, night had covered the city with its cloak. Outside the evening was chilled, but inside the carriage house the air was balmy, hazy with amber lantern light.
Tella walked past stall after stall of colorful coaches, all attached to thick cords that led to every part of the city. The line dedicated to the palace was at the very end. But Scarlett was nowhere in sight. She’d told her sister that she’d catch up later, yet Tella was still surprised Scarlett hadn’t waited for her.
The carriage hanging before Tella bobbed as a burly coachman opened an ivory door and directed her into a snug compartment covered in buttery cushions laced with thick royal-blue trim that matched the curtains lining the oval windows.
The only other passenger was a golden-haired young man Tella didn’t recognize.
Legend’s performers had taken two ships to Valenda, and Tella imagined there were performers working for Legend whom she’d never met. But she suspected this young man was not one of them. He was only a few years older than her, yet he looked as if he’d spent centuries practicing disinterest. Even his rumpled velvet tailcoat appeared bored as he lounged against the plush leather seats.
Intentionally looking away from Tella, he bit into an intensely white apple. “You can’t ride in here.”
“Pardon me?”
“You heard me clearly. You need to get out.” His drawl was as lazy as his cavalier posture, making Tella think that either he was completely careless, or this young man was so used to people hanging on his words, he didn’t even try to sound commanding.
Spoiled nobleman.
Tella had never met an aristocrat she liked. They’d often come to her father for illegal favors, offering him money, but never respect; they all seemed to think their trickle of royal blood made them superior to everyone else.
“If you don’t wish to ride with me, you can get out,” she said.
The young noble responded with a mild tilt of his golden head, followed by a slow curl of narrow lips as if he’d bitten into a mealy part of his apple.
Just leave the coach, warned a voice in her head. He’s more dangerous than he looks. But Tella wasn’t about to be bullied by a young man too lazy to brush the hair from his bloodshot eyes. She hated it when people used their wealth or title as an excuse to treat others poorly; it reminded her too much of her father. And the carriage was already ascending, flying higher into the night sky with every one of Tella’s rapid heartbeats.
“You must be one of Legend’s performers.” The young man might have laughed, but it sounded too cruel for Tella to be sure. He leaned across the intimate space, filling the carriage with the sharp scent of apples and irritation. “I wonder if you could help me with something I’ve been curious about,” he continued. “I’ve heard Legend’s performers never truly die. So maybe I’ll push you out to see if the rumors are true?”
Tella didn’t know if the young man’s threat was serious, but it was too tempting to hold back from saying, “Not if I shove you out first.”
This earned her a flash of dimples that might have been charming, yet somehow they managed to look unkind, like a winking gemstone in the hilt of a double-edged sword. Tella couldn’t decide if his features were too sharp to be attractive, or if he was just the sort of handsome that hurt to look at, the devastating type of lovely that would slit your throat while you were busy staring into its cold quicksilver eyes.
“Careful, pet. You might be one of the empress’s guests, but many in her court are not as forgiving as I am. And I’m not forgiving at all.”
Crunch. Sharp teeth took another bite of his white apple before he let it slip from his fingers and drop onto her slippers.
Tella kicked the apple back in his direction, and pretended she wasn’t concerned in the least that he’d act on his threat. She even went so far as to turn her head away from him and toward the window while their carriage continued to skate above the city. It must have worked; from the corner of her gaze she saw the young man close his eyes as they passed over Valenda’s renowned districts.