Legendary (Caraval #2)(78)

“Our temple is fueled by ancient magic from the stars,” Theron said. “The vaults beneath are more secure than any in the world but occasionally fools think they can break in and steal from them.”

“Good thing we’re not planning on stealing anything,” said Tella.

Theron didn’t so much as crack a smile. “What exactly do you want here?”

“I have a question about—”

“If you’re here for the game, we do not possess any clues,” Theron cut in. “We are also not a tourist attraction like many of the other basilicas. To move beyond this hall and have your questions answered, you’ll have to prove your motives aren’t tainted and that you truly seek the stars.” He led Tella and Dante farther in to a lone ivory pedestal topped off by a hammered copper bowl, old and battered compared to everything else. “For our examination, we require one drop of blood.”

Dante side-eyed Tella.

But she didn’t need him to remind her how powerful a drop of blood could be. Dante and Julian had used blood to heal her after the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens had attacked her, but blood could also be used to steal things, like days.

“I only need a prick of one finger.” Theron held out his right hand, revealing a black-banded starburst-shaped opal ring, sharp enough to slice skin, and bitingly familiar.

It looked remarkably like her mother’s.

Elantine was right.

Tella’s eyes shot down to her hand. Both rings’ stones were raw and starburst shaped. But the color of Theron’s was different. His stone was black, with embers of pulsing blue and threads of green. Tella’s was fiery, glowing lavender surrounded by a center of burning cherry with a thin line of gold down the middle that made it look like a spark about to catch flame. But even before it had shifted colors after her mother’s disappearance, it had been much lighter than Theron’s.

“Your ring,” Tella asked, “is it just for pricking fingers, or does it represent something else?”

“You haven’t earned the answer to that question.”

“What if I have a similar ring?” Tella held out her hand.

Dante’s gaze narrowed and landed on Tella’s finger.

A crease formed between Theron’s kohl-lined eyes. “How did that come into your possession?”

“It was my mother’s.”

“Is she dead?”

“No.”

“She should not have given that to you.”

“Why not? What does it mean?”

“It means she owes a debt to us that has not been paid.”

Dante tensed beside Tella.

This wasn’t good news, but it was better than no information at all.

“The ring on your finger is a key,” Theron said. “If it truly belonged to your mother, she must have placed something in our vaults that can only be retrieved with the ring. However, the color of it signifies it’s been cursed.”

“How do I break the curse?”

“The only way is to fulfill her debt,” Theron answered flatly. “Until that payment is made, the key on your finger will not work to open her vault.”

“Tella—” Dante’s tone hinted at a warning.

But whatever it was, Tella didn’t want to hear it. Her mother had not only been here but something of hers was in the vaults. Maybe it was the Deck of Destiny Tella needed to find. Or maybe it was something else that would tell Tella more about who her mother had been.

“What does she owe?” Tella asked. “What did she place in your vaults?”

“I cannot answer those questions,” said Theron. “But the ring can. It has a memory, activated by blood. If it truly was your mother’s, your blood should bring forth a vision of what she promised us. All you need to do is prick your finger with one of its tips and drop the blood in the bowl.”

“Tella—” Dante growled. “I don’t think you should—”

But Tella was already pressing the tip of her finger to her mother’s old ring. Red pooled, rose-petal bright, before falling into the copper basin and turning white.

Tella held her breath as the milky drop of blood transformed into a fog that reflected the image of a woman standing in front of a bowl exactly like the one before Tella. But it wasn’t just any woman. It was Tella’s mother, Paloma. She was older than she’d looked in the picture Tella had seen in Elantine’s Most Wanted—she appeared to be around the same age as when she’d disappeared from Trisda. But she looked so much harsher than Tella remembered. There were no hints of her enigmatic smile, no sparkle in her dark eyes. This was a callous version of her mother that Tella was unfamiliar with.

In the vision, Paloma wasn’t dressed in a sheet like Tella, or if she was, it was concealed by the dark blue cloak she wore. She appeared to be speaking with someone, but whoever she spoke with was merely a shadow.

“Paradise the Lost,” said the shadow. Its voice sounded like smoke come life. Thick and heavy and stifling. “I thought you swore to never make another bargain with us.”

“Vows are made to broken,” Paloma said. “Apparently spells are, too, because the one you placed on my cards to conceal them grew weak.”

“That’s why we suggested putting them in our temple vaults, with the other items we’re holding for you.”