Legendary (Caraval #2)(69)

Tella considered telling her sister that their mother had left to protect them from a cursed Deck of Destiny containing all the Fates, but when she thought it all at once, it sounded ludicrous. And, if Tella told Scarlett about the cards, she’d also have to confess that their mother was a criminal who had stolen the cards in the first place, and she doubted that would help her case, either.

“I’m sorry we view this so differently,” Tella said.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again.” Scarlett sagged against the closest bedpost. “Looking at this situation—at the fact that you’ve teamed up with a violent heir to find her—screams to me that it won’t end well.”

“I know you don’t like this,” Tella said, “but if it’s Jacks you’re worried about, trust me when I tell you that this business between us will end as soon as the game is over.”

“Are you sure about that?” Scarlett said. “When he was in here, he didn’t look as if he wanted to let you go anytime soon.”

“He’s a good performer.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“That’s why I’m asking you to trust me.” Tella squeezed her sister’s hand. “I trusted you when you told me you weren’t working for Legend. I promise, three days from now, neither you nor I will ever have to see Jacks again.”

“A lot can change in three days,” Scarlett said.

But she didn’t argue after that, making Tella wonder if perhaps her sister had a secret of her own after all.





WHAT SHOULD

HAVE BEEN

NIGHT FOUR

OF CARAVAL





29

Tella could not stop weaving flowers into her hair. She knew there were far too many; her head looked like a garden, full of blue plumerias. And she continued to add more.

After Scarlett had left, a bouquet of plumerias had arrived at her door without a note. Tella imagined they were a gift from Jacks, since they matched the billowing ball gown he’d sent for that evening. Tella had started to toss the flowers out the window, but something about their perfume was familiar in a way that made her ache at the idea of parting with the blue bouquet. She’d put one in her hair, then another, and another, losing herself in their sweet scent and concentrating on the tiny act of weaving them into her curls rather than the fact that she was having dinner with the empress of the Meridian Empire.

Just the thought unbalanced her.

Since her father was a governor, Tella had been taught all the proper manners for banqueting with nobles, but she’d never been very good at following them. And she knew nothing about dining with royalty.

She took another plumeria from the thinned bouquet.

A chuckle floated from the doorway to her bedroom.

Tella spun away from her vanity to spy Jacks, leaning against the frame.

She’d expected that for once he’d make an attempt to look regal. But like the night of the Fated Ball, Jacks didn’t even have a coat. He wore a loose shirt the color of spilled brandy, with ripped shoulders that made it look as if he’d torn off some sort of ornamentation, hanging untucked over burnt auburn trousers that were shoved into unpolished leather boots. Casual was too fancy of a word to describe him, yet magic still pulsed around him in a glow of burning copper.

In one ungloved hand he held a fresh apple, as white and bright as a virgin’s sheets. “Good evening, Donatella.”

“You know it’s not polite to sneak into a young lady’s room.”

“I think we left politeness behind a while ago. But”—Jacks shoved away from the doorframe in one lithe movement and offered her his arm—“I promise to be on my best behavior tonight.”

“That doesn’t say much.” Tella smoothed her full skirts as she stood up from her perch. The gown she wore felt heavier than any of the others Jacks had sent. One half of it was unadorned pearl-blue silk, the other was an ornate combination of jeweled swirls, twilight-blue velvet flowers, and glacier-blue lace embellishments, which spilled down her skirt in a haphazard combination that reminded Tella of a knocked-over jewelry box.

“Don’t worry,” Jacks said. “I’m sure El will adore you.”

“Did you just refer to the empress as El?”

“‘Elantine’ is such a mouthful.”

“You call me Donatella.”

“I like the way it tastes.” Jacks’s teeth broke the skin of his apple slowly, revealing deep red flesh as he took a wide bite.

Tella forced herself to accept his arm, knowing that any signs of discomfort and displeasure only seemed to give him delight. But to her surprise he behaved like a gentleman as they traveled up the steps of Elantine’s golden tower to meet the empress on the topmost floor.

Jacks held Tella’s arm lightly enough that she could have pulled away at any time, more focused on his apple than on her, until after a few flights of stairs. He dropped her arm and turned to face her, abruptly.

His sharp teeth bit into his lips instead of his piece of fruit, while his quicksilver eyes danced over her hair. Tella had lost several flowers on the stairs. It was probably for the best. Yet Jacks began to frown as he took her in.

“What is it?” Tella asked.

“The empress needs to believe we’re in love.” He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words. “My situation with El is complicated. If I could kill her, I would, but there are protections on her that prevent me. And though she’s old, she’s not close to dying. She is, however, close to passing on her throne to me. But that won’t happen until I’ve found someone she believes is suitable to share it with me.”