Legendary (Caraval #2)(25)
She’d been to Caraval before; finding Tella had been the entire purpose of the last game. But while that sounded exciting, in truth Tella had been forced to spend most of her time sitting like a trapped princess in a tower, waiting to be found. She’d snuck out on occasion. But slipping into the back doors of Caraval’s gaming rooms and spying on her sister from the shadows was not nearly the same as being one of the real players and entering Legend’s decadent world with the intent of getting swept away.
Tella had no intentions of being swept away now. It was past midnight, and she needed to find her friend before he left. But, with every step she took inside the castle, Tella had to fight the urge to forget why she was there and just enjoy the game.
The air tasted like wonder. Like candied butterfly wings caught in sugared spiderwebs, and drunken peaches coated in luck.
Again, she wondered if Elantine’s heir wasn’t so bad. Perhaps only the rumors about him were terrible, started by people jealous of his position. His ball looked like a celebration she would have put together. Though Tella had no idea if that actually said something about her or her host.
She continued to grip her luckless coin, hoping her friend was still at the party. But even as Tella searched for him, she couldn’t help noticing every surface of the celebration was a riot of indulgent activity.
From the grand ballroom’s arched entrance it looked as if another Fate had come to life in bursts of furry and feathered colors. The Menagerie—a card that represented the start of a new story or adventure.
Women and men with bodies covered in feathers and heads crowned with tiny curved horns dangled from the ceiling, twirling and spinning around thick sheets of gold or magenta silk that hung like massive party ribbons. Below them, performers in costumes made of fur, more feathers, and paint slathered over skin prowled and crawled as if they were wild chimeras escaped from another world. Tella saw performers dressed to look like tigers with dragon wings, horses with forked tails, snakes with lion manes, and wolves with ram horns, who growled and nipped and sometimes licked at the heels of guests. There were a few low balconies where shirtless men with wings as large as angels’ and fallen stars pushed grinning couples back and forth on giant swings hanging from canopies of thorns and flowers.
Tella heard Dante snort by her side.
She might have spent a little too long eyeing the beautiful men who looked like fallen stars and angels, futilely hoping one might be the friend she sought. The rest of her just wanted to take it all in. She’d dreamed of parties like this. She knew she didn’t have time to waste. But her eyes strained to see every glistening inch as her fingers longed to touch, and her mouth strained to take a bite, not just of the food, but of the party itself. Of the dragon wings, and the careless laughs, the way people tossed their heads and cast around glances that ranged between shy and ravenous. It all looked so innocent and wicked at once, and Tella longed to experience every tempting piece of it.
At the top of the ballroom stairs she tilted her head to look up at Dante, who could have been her shadow with all the sharp points of his inky tattoos peeking out from his shadow-dark suit. “Why aren’t you dressed like a leopard with butterfly wings, or a unicorn?”
A sliver of a grin. “Not even Legend could make me dress like a unicorn.”
“But unicorns are magical, and then all the ladies would want to pet you.”
This time Dante’s snort sounded more like a laugh he was trying to hold back.
Tella couldn’t help smiling; she might not have liked him, but she enjoyed that he found her funny. She also appreciated that he seemed uninterested in all the ladies who looked his way and appeared as if they really would be willing to pet him, even though he wasn’t dressed like a unicorn.
“Greetings!” Jovan, one of Legend’s friendliest performers, dropped in front of Tella and Dante like a marionette. Thick ribbons were attached to her dark brown arms and legs, keeping her feet just off the ground as they happily kicked, ringing the silver bells on her shoes.
Jovan was the first face people saw when they entered Caraval, but she really did so much more than welcome players into the game. She was often a walking clue card disguised as a friendly face, pointing guests in the direction they needed to go. Her amiable disposition was an invaluable skill, also used to reassure those in danger of going mad that it was really only a game.
Unlike most of the other performers, Jovan was not costumed like a chimera. She was dressed like Jester Mad—another Fate from the Deck of Destiny.
A patchwork mask concealed half of Jovan’s face with bright rainbow colors that matched the right side of her cape. The garment’s other side was entirely black, exactly like the hood that cloaked the left half of her face. A mercurial Fate, Jester Mad symbolized happiness destined not to last.
“Welcome, welcome to Caraval, the grandest show by land or by sea. Inside you may come face-to-face with a Fate, or steal bits of destiny—”
“It’s all right,” Tella cut in. She genuinely liked Jovan. During the last game she’d helped Tella sneak out from her tower room more than once. But Tella didn’t need to hear Jovan’s speech right now. As enticing as Caraval was, there was little point in playing the game if Tella’s bargain with her friend fell through; he was her only solid link to her mother, and saving her was more important than anything. “I’ve already heard it. You can skip it and hand us the first clue.”