Legendary (Caraval #2)(51)
“Choose four. One at a time.”
“I know how this works.” Ignoring the obvious ones directly in front of her, Tella reached for a buried card on the far left, scratching the table once again as she slid it out and turned it over, revealing an all-too-familiar bloody smile.
The Prince of Hearts.
The air in Tella’s lungs went arctic. He was truly inescapable.
Armando chuckled, dry and mocking. “Unrequited love. It seems things with you and Dante won’t work out after all.”
It might have hurt if Tella harbored any delusions of the contrary. But she knew better than anyone else what the bloody prince represented. No matter what Tella claimed about love, the Prince of Hearts was the real reason she never let herself grow attached to any of the young men who showed interest. Tella knew how to capture a boy’s attention, but it was doomed never to last. Fate had already decided no one she loved would ever love her back.
This time Tella flipped over the closest card, the one so obvious it probably expected her to look it over.
Or not.
The Maiden Death.
Again.
“I’ve always liked this card.” Armando traced the pearls around the maiden’s face with cold precision. “Death stole her from her family to make her his immortal consort. Yet she refused him, so he encased her head in a cage of pearls to keep anyone else from having her. Even then she still defied him, every night sneaking off to warn the loved ones of those he was about to take.”
“I’m familiar with her history,” Tella said.
“Then why don’t you look more worried about losing someone you care for?”
“Because I’ve already lost her.”
“Perhaps you’re about to lose someone else,” Armando rasped. For a young man who claimed not to care about her future, he seemed to enjoy how dark it was.
Pretending to ignore him, Tella flipped over another card. She didn’t pay attention to where she took it from, imagining it would be the Aracle—following the same pattern she’d discovered as a child. But instead of a gold-lined mirror, the card before her revealed a sharp black crown tipped with gleaming black opals, and broken into five ragged pieces.
The Shattered Crown.
Suddenly Armando no longer looked entertained. His mouth opened and shut like a puppet who’d not been fed any words.
“Is this one not terrible enough for you?” Tella asked.
Although, truthfully, this card didn’t bother Tella nearly as much as the others. The Shattered Crown represented an impossible choice between two equally difficult paths. But Tella didn’t believe in impossible choices. In her experience one path was always clearly worse than another. Yet Tella still hesitated before flipping over a fourth card; the Shattered Crown was new, and while a masochistic part of Tella was curious as to what other surprises fate might have in store, she was tired of Fates toying with her future.
“I need to see another card,” said Armando.
“Why?” Tella asked. “I’ve just shown you three dreadful ones, isn’t that enough?”
“I thought you were familiar with fortune-telling. Every story has four parts—the beginning, the middle, the almost-ending, and the true ending. Your future is not complete until you flip over the fourth and reveal the true ending.”
“I still don’t understand why Legend cares about any of this.”
“Maybe you need to ask yourself that question, not me?” Armando’s eyes dropped to the upturned cards, which told a story of broken hearts, lost loved ones, and impossible choices. Tella didn’t see how any of it connected to Caraval, unless, like Jacks, Legend also found pleasure in the pain of others.
She closed her eyes this time, hoping for a favorable Fate like Mistress Luck, or Her Majesty’s Gown, which signified bold changes and extraordinary gifts.
The card’s smooth metal surfaces didn’t spark with magic like the Aracle she kept hidden away. But she did feel something as her fingers danced atop them. Most of the cards were cool to the touch, but a few were icier than others and some were warmer. Then there was one that burned with so much heat Tella was tempted to lift her hand. She flipped it over instead.
The metal glowed violet as a lovely woman in an ash-lavender gown stared at Tella from behind the bars of a giant silver birdcage.
The Lady Prisoner.
A knot formed inside of Tella’s chest, and not just because this card reminded her of the vision that the Aracle had shown of her own mother. The Lady Prisoner held a double meaning: sometimes her picture promised love, but usually it meant sacrifice. In all the stories, she was said to be innocent of any crimes, but she let herself be caged in the place of someone she deeply loved.
Nigel’s words returned to Tella then. Be warned, winning the game will come at a cost you will later regret.
Tella glared at Armando. “I’ve chosen my cards. Give me the next clue.”
His mouth twisted into something unreadable.
“If you even try to tell me you can’t—”
“Keep your claws in your gloves.” Armando rose from his chair and crossed the small space to press his hand against one of the mirrors on the wall. It opened with a hiss, exposing a cool tunnel formed of earth and ancient spiderwebs.
Tella had heard there were secret passages hidden throughout all of Valenda. This must have been one of them.