Legendary (Caraval #2)(64)

“What’s so dangerous about my arms?” he murmured.

“For me, everything.” Tella slowly lifted one lid open.

Veins of early-morning fog crowned Dante’s dark head like a grim halo. How long had she been lying there?

And why did he look like an avenging angel?

His eyes were black, his jaw nothing but a chain of sharp lines as his mouth tilted into something like a snarl. This was not the same boy whose eyes had sparkled as he’d told her she should always wear flowers. He looked fierce enough to wrestle the rising sun, and yet Tella swore his brutal glaze went glassy as he looked down on her wrist and face.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

“The Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens. I’m starting to believe…” Tella began to slur, “it might not be just a game.…”

Her eyes shut again.

“Do not fall asleep on me.” Dante wrenched her fully from the water.

Drip. Drip. Drip. She sounded like a damp rag and felt even worse.

Dante pulled her closer. Nothing about him was soft. His chest felt like a block of marble and yet she could have closed her eyes, curled up against him, and gone to sleep forever.

“Don’t do that,” he scolded. “Don’t even think about giving up on me. You need to stay conscious until I get you somewhere safe.”

“Where is that?” Tella slit her aching eyes, head bouncing against him with every step he took away from the main path. When had he started walking?

They weren’t heading back to Idyllwild Castle, but it didn’t look as if they were going to the carriage house, either. She wondered deliriously if she was possibly picturing her future because it looked as if they were in some sort of graveyard. All Tella could see were grainy outlines of mossy tombstones topped with crumbling cherubs, or flanked by weeping statues wearing veils. The trees above seemed to be in mourning as well, all raining brittle twigs that crunched underneath Dante’s boots.

“Have you decided to bury me early?” she asked.

“You’re not going to die. We’ll find someone to get you healed.” Dante started down a set of aged stone steps edged by a massive sculpture of robed men with wings, all holding a coffin above their heads.

Tella might have snorted a laugh; it seemed everywhere she went death and doom were determined to follow.

“I lied to you in the dress shop,” Tella said. “You were right about Jacks.…” She forced her eyes open once again. Her head was spinning. The world was spinning. All she wanted was for it to stop. For everything to stop.

“I shouldn’t have kissed him,” she mumbled. “I don’t even know why I kissed him. I didn’t really care if he kicked me out of the palace for lying. I think I wanted to make you jealous.”

“It worked,” Dante said roughly.

Tella might have smiled if everything didn’t hurt so much.

Dante held her closer and smoothed back a piece of hair that had fallen across Tella’s face. Then his fingers returned, gently tracing the curve of her mouth as he said, “I’ve never wanted to be someone else until that moment I saw him kiss you on the dance floor.”

“You should have asked me to dance first.”

“I will, next time.” His lips swept a kiss across her forehead. “Don’t give up on me, Donatella. If you stay with me long enough to get you somewhere safe and warm, then I promise I won’t let go of you like I did that night. Together we’ll fix all of this.”

The sharpness left his face, and for a moment Dante looked so treacherously young. His dark eyes were more open than usual, rimmed in bits of starlight that made her want to stare into them forever. His hair fell like strands of lost ink in every direction, while his dangerous mouth remained parted, looking vulnerably close to spilling a wicked secret.

“You’re the most beautiful liar I’ve ever seen.” She tried to mumble more, but her mouth didn’t want to move any longer. Her muscles were so, so tired.

Dante held her hazardously closer as he reached a mausoleum and opened the gate. Tella told herself she’d only close her eyes for another moment. Dante was murmuring something else, and she wanted to hear it. It sounded as if it might have been important. But it was suddenly so much warmer in here, and hadn’t she wanted to know what it would feel like to fall asleep wrapped in his arms?





26

Tella wanted to fall back asleep the instant she woke up, if this stifling form of consciousness could actually be considered wakefulness. Her eyes would not open. Her lips would not move. But she could feel the pain, searing so sharply. Her entire world was formed of injured bones and sliced skin, punctuated by fragments of sounds and wayward words, as if her hearing couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to work.

There were two voices, male, both echoing. Tella’s groggy head conjured images of rocky walls hidden deep underground.

“What did…”

“I—”

“Save … her…”

“I know the risks … but Fates … She won’t heal.”

“I thought the Prince … was the only Fate free?”

“These Fates … stayed hidden for years … or the spell imprisoning the Fates is weakening.”

The other voice muttered a curse.