Legendary (Caraval #2)(46)
“Everyone does get a wish,” Dante said, “but each wish needs magic to help it along. And Legend wanted especially powerful magic. So he sought out the witch who’d cursed the Fates.”
“How did he find her?”
“In a land far away. If Legend wants something, he’ll go beyond the ends of this earth for it.” Dante’s tone was intentionally untrustworthy, as if telling a mythical story to a child, and yet the hand around her wrist grew hotter with each word. He kept speaking in the same devil-may-care tone, but the weight of what he’d said felt heavier than anything else he’d told her that night.
“When the witch that Legend visited banished the Fates, she took half of their magic, so that even if the Fates returned, they would not have the same power as before. It was this magic that she used for Legend’s wish. But she warned Legend that if the Fates ever managed to break her curse, they would kill to get their magic back. I think this was her way of ensuring the Fates never returned. The witch knew that in order to keep his powers forever, Legend would eventually have to destroy the Fates, or be destroyed.”
Dante stood close enough to whisper as he finished. He didn’t mention Jacks, but he didn’t need to. Tella couldn’t help adding what she already knew about the Fates to what Dante had just said. The pieces fit too well not to put them together.
She’d learned from Jacks that the Fates had all been imprisoned in a deck of cards. If there was any truth to what Dante said, half of the Fates’ powers had been taken as well, which possibly explained why Jacks wanted Legend. Maybe Jacks had escaped from the cards but he wasn’t at his full power, so he needed to take them back.
Jacks had made it sound as if the other Fates were still trapped. But Legend must have known that the Prince of Hearts was free. For Legend, that was probably enough to make him decide it was time to destroy all the Fates.
For centuries the Fates were locked away, but now they wish to come out and play.
If they regain their magic the world will never be the same, but you can help stop them by winning the game.
Tella shook her head. This was just what Scarlett had warned her would happen. She’d said Tella would be unable to tell the difference between the parts that were real and the parts that were merely a game.
Tella knew Jacks was real. But it was madness to start believing the game was real as well.
Tella slid her wrist from Dante’s grip. “Thank you for that interesting history.”
“Wait, before you—”
Dante cut off.
Tella tensed, afraid she’d started bleeding again, but Dante’s eyes weren’t on her. She looked over her shoulder, to where his gaze had abruptly gone. She thought she saw Jovan. Only instead of being dressed like Jester Mad, as she had been last night, she was cloaked in a robe. It whipped around her ankles as she scurried away.
Dante turned back to Tella, quickly reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a pair of black elbow-length gloves. “If you won’t accept my help, at least take these.” He pressed on one of the pearl buttons lining the gloves.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Five knife-sharp razors shot out from the fingertips.
“You’re giving me gloves with razor blades?”
Tella felt suddenly relieved Dante’s fingers were no longer on her rapidly heating skin, as Scarlett’s words rushed back: “Gloves are a symbolic gift … connected with asking for a girl’s hand in marriage … a young man’s way of saying he’ll take care of a girl, by giving her gloves to protect her hands.”
Tella’s skin burned even hotter as the razors glinted in the torchlight. Ten tiny promises of protection. But Tella knew Dante wanted to marry her about as much Jacks did. He’d probably just stolen the gloves on his way out of Minerva’s, from a girl who just happened to have the same size arms and fingers as Tella.
“What do you want in exchange for these?”
“Maybe I just want to make sure I see you again.” Dante pressed the pearls once more to retract the blades before folding the gloves into her hands.
Then the impossible bastard was striding away.
He went in the same direction as the cloaked figure who looked like Jovan. Tella was half tempted to follow, but that was probably what Dante wanted—to distract her from entering the Church of Legend and finding the next clue.
Tella turned back to the door, but the symbol of Caraval was gone, vanished like magic, which felt like further confirmation she was in the right place.
19
Tella’s religious experiences on Trisda might have been limited to desperate prayers and smuggling letters through the priest’s small confessional, but as she entered the Church of Legend, she could instantly tell this was not an ordinary place of worship.
“Welcome.” A dusky-skinned girl in a dainty top hat greeted Tella with a curtsy made of narrowed eyes and red ruffles. So many red ruffles. Tella knew Legend favored red, but this girl seemed desperate. Red ruffles wrapped around her platinum gown like a stripe on a cane of candy.
“Congratulations on finding our door, but now you must choose carefully if you wish to enter the church.”
The girl waved a ruffled arm and several brassy candelabras sparked to life, illuminating more than a dozen sets of stairs. All covered in thick ruby carpets, they writhed in every direction, up and down and side to side, like escaped blood veins before they disappeared into the black beyond. Some stairs appeared to be more worn than the others, but all of them shimmered with the same dull oak lighting, hinting at shine that had long since dimmed.