Legendary (Caraval #2)(94)
Tella leaned in toward him for one spectacular heartbeat, tasting his lips a final time. Then she forced herself to let go. She’d never be able to do what she needed if she fell any farther.
Her eyes opened reluctantly.
She wanted him to look different. She wanted his gaze to be cold and distant. She wanted him to look at her as if he’d really been the one to win this game. She wanted his lips to curve cruelly as he tried to steal the deck of cards from her grip. But he didn’t even look at them. He only stared at her. One hand was still on her waist. It was hotter than it should have been on such a cold night.
“You won the game,” he said. He lifted his other hand, as if reaching for her face.
She caught a glimpse of the black rose inked upon his skin. She might have laughed at how obvious that image had made his identity all along. But then his arm twisted and Tella caught a glimpse of the underside of his wrist, just beneath the scar he’d earned in the last Caraval.
She grabbed it. He winced, but he didn’t fight her as she pushed up the cuff of his sleeve.
She gasped so sharply it hurt. “God’s blood.”
On the underside of his wrist, marring one of his lovely tattoos, was a violent star-shaped brand, exactly like the one on Theron’s face.
She told herself he had only done it for the cards, not for her. This was about the Fates’s power, she reminded herself. But it still felt wrong that he’d let himself be branded in such a permanent way.
“What did you promise them?” Tella asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I did it for you and I’d do it again.” Dante rotated his wrist until somehow he was holding her hand. He still hadn’t even looked at the cards. He dark eyes stayed fixed on her as if she were his prize.
And, damn her, she believed him.
It was so very wrong.
If he was Legend, he wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to still gaze at her as if she’d just shattered his world with a kiss. He was supposed to laugh at her for being foolish enough to fall for him. He wasn’t supposed to lean in closer, as if he’d fallen for her, too. He was supposed to rip the cards from her hands and abandon her on the moonstone steps. He was supposed to break her heart.
She wasn’t supposed to break his.
Finally Tella’s heart stopped racing. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take more away from him than she already had. Jacks would have to find another source of power to free her mother and the Fates.
“You need to leave. Immediately.” Tella ripped her hand from his. “I used Jacks’s luckless coin right before you arrived. He’s on his way here now. When he arrives he’s going to steal your powers and free all the Fates.”
Dante’s eyes finally dropped to the cards clutched in Tella’s hands. She still wasn’t entirely ready to think of him as Legend. Legends were supposed to be better than the truth. Perfect, idealized dreams and crystalline hopes that were too flawless to exist in reality. And she might have described him that way just then, if the naked expression that crossed his face didn’t cut deeper than disappointment. “You want to give the cards to Jacks?”
“I’m sorry,” Tella said. She clasped the deck tighter, but Dante made no move to take it, though a muscle jumped in his jaw and his knuckles turned white as if everything in him fought against the urge.
“This is about your mother, isn’t it?” he asked.
“I thought I could let her go, but she’s my mother. I have so many questions for her, and despite everything she’s done, I can’t stop lov ing her.” Tella’s voice cracked. “I can’t allow you to destroy her along with the Fates.”
His expression split, as if it had been ripped in half, a two-sided mask formed of regret and determination. “If I could free your mother, I would. But the only way to release someone from a card without breaking the curse is to take their place.”
“I’m not asking you to free her,” Tella said. “I’m asking you to go before Jacks gets here.” She shoved against Dante’s chest, but he was indomitable. He wouldn’t move. Her panic increased and she shoved him again. But he wouldn’t fight back and he wouldn’t flee. He wasn’t afraid. He was something far worse. He was hopeful that she would choose him. He didn’t leave and he didn’t take the cards because he wanted her to give them to him.
And maybe he imagined that if Jacks arrived he could beat him in a battle. Either way, Tella still lost her mother or she lost Dante.
Unless she saved them both.
The idea felt fragile at first, but like all thoughts it grew stronger the more consideration she gave to it. All this time, she kept thinking Jacks was the only one who could free her mother. But Tella could take her mother’s place. Caspar had mentioned how it was done during the play. All she needed to do was write her name on the card in blood. She still had the blood Dante and Julian had used to heal her pulsing through her veins; if her mortal blood wasn’t enough, that blood should do the trick.
It hadn’t felt like an option before. Tella feared being trapped more than anything. But perhaps love was an otherworldly entity like Death. And since Tella had now opened herself up to the possibility of Love, it would not stop coming after her, and it felt far more powerful than Death.
She’d underestimated Love in the past. She’d imagined the romantic sort to be a stronger type of lust—but this moment had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with caring more about saving Dante and her mother than saving herself. It made her fearless in a way she’d never been.