Finale: A Caraval Novel

THE BEGINNING

1

Donatella

The first time Legend appeared in Tella’s dreams, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of one of the stories people told about him. As Dante, he’d always dressed in shades as black as the rose tattooed on the back of his hand. But tonight, as Legend, he wore a seduction-red double-breasted tailcoat lined in gold, accented by a matching cravat, and his signature top hat.

Shiny locks of black hair peeked out from beneath the brim of the hat, sheltering coal-dark eyes that brightened when he looked at her. His eyes glittered more than the twilit waters surrounding their intimate boat. This was not the flat, cold look he’d given Tella two nights ago, right after he’d rescued her from a deck of cards and then callously abandoned her. Tonight he was smiling like a wicked prince, escaped from the stars, ready to spirit her up into the heavens.

Uninvited butterflies took flight in Tella’s stomach. He was still the most beautiful liar she’d ever seen. But Tella wasn’t about to let Legend bewitch her the same way he had during Caraval. She smacked the top hat right off of his pretty head, rocking the tiny vessel beneath them.

He captured the hat with ease, fingers moving so fast she’d have thought he’d anticipated her response if he weren’t sitting across from her, near enough for Tella to see a muscle tic along his smooth jawline. The two of them might have been in a dream, where the twinkling sky turned murky purple around the edges as if nightmares lurked close, but Legend was as sharp as precise pen strokes and as vibrant as a freshly cut wound.

I thought you’d be happier to see me, he said.

She gave him her most vicious glare. Her hurt from the last time she’d seen him was still too raw to hide. You walked away—you left me on those steps when I couldn’t even move. Jacks carried me back to the palace.

Legend’s lips slashed into a frown. So you’re not going to forgive me for that?

You haven’t said that you’re sorry.

If he had, she would have forgiven him. She wanted to forgive him. She wanted to believe Legend wasn’t all that different from Dante, and that she was more than just a game piece he wanted to play with. She wanted to believe he’d left her that night because he’d been scared. But rather than looking regretful for what he’d done, he appeared irritated that she was still angry with him.

The sky grew darker as writhing purple clouds bisected the crescent moon, severing it into two pieces that floated across the sky like a fractured smile.

I had somewhere I needed to be.

Her hopes sank at the coolness in his voice.

Around them the air turned sooty as fireworks burst above their heads, shattering into brilliant glimmers of pomegranate red, reminding her of the fiery display from two nights ago.

Tella glanced up to see the sparks dance into an outline of Elantine’s palace—Legend’s palace now. She actually admired the fact that Legend had convinced Valenda that he was the true heir to the throne of the Meridian Empire. But at the same time, the deception reminded her that Legend’s life was made of games on top of games. Tella didn’t even know if he desired the throne for its power, if he wanted the prestige, or if he merely wished to pull off the greatest performance the empire had ever seen. Maybe she would never know.

You didn’t have to be so cold and cruel about the way you left, she said.

Legend took a heavy breath and a sudden rush of hungry waves lapped against the boat. The vessel rocked down a narrow canal that fed them into a glowing ocean. I told you, Tella, I’m not the hero in your story.

But instead of leaving now, he was leaning closer. The night grew warmer as he looked into her eyes the way she’d wanted him to the last time they’d parted. He smelled of magic and heartbreak, and something about the combination made her think that despite what he claimed, he wanted to be her hero.

Or maybe he just wanted her to continue to want him.

Caraval might have been over, but here Tella was, inside of a dream with Legend, floating over waters of stardust and midnight while fireworks continued to fall from the sky as if the heavens wanted to crown him.

Tella tried to turn the fireworks off—this was her dream, after all—but Legend seemed to be the one in control of it. The more she fought against the dream, the more enchanted it became. The air grew sweeter and the colors grew brighter as mermaids with tropical teal braids and pearly pink tails leaped out of the water and waved at Legend before diving back in.

You are so full of yourself, she said. I never asked you to be my hero.

She and Legend had both made sacrifices two nights ago—she’d doomed herself to captivity inside of a Deck of Destiny, in part to keep him safe, and he’d freed the Fates to rescue her. His actions were the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. But Tella wanted more than to be romanced. She wanted the real him.

But she wasn’t even sure if a real Legend existed. And if he did, she doubted he let people close enough to see him.

He’d placed his top hat back on his head and he truly did look handsome, almost achingly so. But he also appeared far more like the idea of Legend than a genuine person, or the Dante she’d known and fallen in love with.

Tella’s heart constricted. She’d never wanted to fall in love with anyone. And in that moment she hated him, for making her feel so many things for him.

A final firework burst into the sky, turning the entire dreamscape the most brilliant shade of blue she’d ever seen. It looked like the color of wishes come true and fantasies made real. And as the fireworks fell, they played music so sweet, sirens would have been jealous.

He was trying to dazzle her. But dazzle was a lot like romance—fantastic while it lasted, but it never lasted long enough. And Tella still wanted more. She didn’t want to become another nameless girl in the many stories told about Legend, a girl who fell for everything he said, just because he leaned across a boat and looked at her with stars dancing in his eyes.

I didn’t come here to fight with you. Legend’s hand lifted, as if he might reach for her, but then his long fingers dipped over the low side of the boat and idly played with the midnight waters. I wanted to see if you received my note, and ask if you wanted the prize for winning Caraval.

She pretended to think as she recalled every word of the letter by heart. He’d given her hope he still cared by wishing her happy birthday and offering her the prize. He said he’d be waiting for her to come and collect it. But one thing he’d not said was that he was sorry for any of the ways he’d hurt her.

I read the message, Tella said, but I’m not interested in the prize. I’m done with games.

He laughed, low and painfully familiar.

What’s so funny?

That you’re pretending our games are over.

2

Donatella

Legend looked like a freshly woken storm. His hair was mussed by the wind, his straight shoulders were dusted in snow, and the buttons of his coat were made of ice as he strolled closer, through a chilling-blue forest made of frost.

Tella wore a cloak of cobalt fur, which she wrapped tighter around her shoulders. You look as if you’re trying to trick me.

A sly grin twisted his mouth. The night before, he’d seemed like an illusion, but tonight he felt more like Dante, dressed in familiar shades of black. But while Dante was usually warm, Tella couldn’t help but imagine the dream’s frigid temperature reflected Legend’s true mood.

I only want to know if you wish to collect your prize for winning Caraval.

Tella might have spent half of her waking day wondering what the prize was, but she forced herself to tamp down her curiosity. When Scarlett had won Caraval, she had received a wish. Tella could have used a wish, but she had a feeling Legend had even more in store for her. So she would have said yes … if she hadn’t sensed how very much Legend wanted that answer.

3

Donatella

Every night Legend visited her dreams like a villain from a storybook. Night after night after night after night. Without fail, for nearly two months, he always showed up, and he always disappeared after receiving the same answer to his question.

Tonight they were in an otherworldly version of the saloon inside the Church of Legend. Countless portraits of artists’ imaginings of Legend looked down on them as a spectral piano player tapped a quiet tune, while ghost-thin patrons clad in colorful top hats danced around.

Tella sat in a clamshell-shaped chair the color of rainforest mist, while Legend lounged across from her on a tufted chaise as green as the sugar cubes he kept rolling between his deft fingers.

After that first night in the boat, he hadn’t worn the top hat or the red tailcoat, confirming her suspicions that the items were part of his costume rather than his person. He’d gone back to dressing in crisp black—and he was still quick to laugh and to smile, like Dante.

But unlike Dante, who had always found excuses to put his hands on her, Legend never, ever touched Tella in dreams. If they rode a hot-air balloon, it was so large that there was no danger of her accidentally bumping into him. If they strolled through a garden of waterfalls, he stayed along the edge of the path where their arms weren’t at risk of brushing. Tella didn’t know if their touching would put an end to their shared dreams, or if keeping his hands to himself was just another one of the many ways he maintained control, but it frustrated her endlessly. Tella wanted to be the one in control.

She took a sip of her sparkling green cordial. It tasted too much like black licorice for her, but she liked the way Legend’s eyes went to her lips whenever she drank. He might have avoided touching her, however, it never stopped him from looking.

But tonight his eyes were red around the edges, even more than they’d been the last few nights. The Days of Mourning for Empress Elantine were ending in two days, which meant the countdown to Legend’s official coronation was about to begin. Twelve days from now he’d be crowned emperor. She wondered if the preparations were taking a toll. Sometimes he spoke of palace business, and how frustrating the royal council was, but tonight he was being quiet. And asking about it felt like awarding him points in the game they were playing, because this was definitely a game, and giving Legend the impression she still cared was against the rules. Just as touching was.

You look tired, she said instead. And your hair needs to be cut; it’s half hanging over your eyes.

His mouth twitched at the corner, and his voice turned taunting. If it looks so bad, why do you keep staring?

Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean you’re not pretty.

If you really hated me, you wouldn’t find me attractive at all.

I never said I had good taste. She downed the last of her cordial.

His eyes returned to her lips as he continued to roll his absinthe sugar cubes around his long fingers. The tattoos on his fingers were gone, but the black rose remained on the back of his hand. Whenever she saw it, she wanted to ask why he’d left it, if he’d gotten rid of his other tattoos, like the beautiful wings on his back, and if that was why he no longer smelled of ink. She was also curious if he still wore the brand from the Temple of the Stars, signifying that he owed them a life debt. The debt he’d taken on for her.

But if she’d asked that, it would have unquestionably counted as caring.

Fortunately, admiring wasn’t against their unspoken rules. If it had been, they’d both have lost this game a long time ago. Tella usually tried to be a little more discreet, but he never was. Legend was unabashed in the way he looked at her.

Although tonight he seemed distracted. He hadn’t made any comments about her gown—he controlled the location, but she chose what she wore. This evening her flowing dress was a whimsical blue, with shoulder straps made of flower petals, a bodice made of ribbons, and a skirt of fluttering butterflies that Tella liked to think made her look as if she were a forest queen.

Legend didn’t even notice when one of her butterflies landed on his shoulder. His eyes kept flitting to the ghostly piano player. And was it Tella’s imagination, or did the tavern appear duller than her other dreams had been?

She would have sworn the chaise he lounged on had been a bright, lurid green, but it had blurred to pale sea glass. She wanted to ask if something was wrong, but again, that would have given the impression of caring.

Aren’t you going to ask me your question tonight?

His gaze snapped back to her. You know, someday I might stop asking and decide not to give you the prize.

That would be lovely. She sighed, and several butterflies took flight from her skirt. I’d finally get a good night’s sleep.

His deep voice dipped lower. You would miss me if I stopped visiting.

Then you think too highly of yourself.

He stopped toying with his sugar cubes and looked away, once again preoccupied by the musician on the stage. His tune had ventured into the wrong key, turning his song discordant and unlovely. Around the room the ghostly dancers responded by stumbling over one another’s feet. Then a raucous crash made them freeze.

The piano player folded atop his instrument, like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Tella’s heart beat wildly. Legend was always frustratingly in control of her dreams. But she didn’t sense this was his doing. The magic in the air didn’t smell like his. Magic always held a sweet scent, but this was far too sweet, almost rotted.

When she turned back around, Legend was no longer sitting, but standing right in front of her. Tella, he said, his voice harsher than usual, you need to wake yourself—

His last words turned to smoke and then he turned to ash as the rest of the dream went up in poisonous green flames.

When Tella awoke, the taste of fire coated her tongue and a dead butterfly rested in her palm.

4

Donatella

The next night, Legend did not visit her dreams.

5

Donatella

The intoxicating scents of honeycomb castles, cinnamon bark pies, carmelite clusters, and peach shine floated through Tella’s cracked window when she woke, filling the tiny apartment bedroom with sugar and dreams. But all she could taste was her nightmare. It coated her tongue in fire and ash, just as it had the day before.

Something was wrong with Legend. Tella hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. When the last dream they shared had gone up in flames, she’d thought it could be another one of his games. But last night when she’d searched for him in her dreams, all she’d found was smoke and cinders.

Tella sat up, threw off her thin sheets, and dressed quickly. It was against the rules to do anything that gave the impression of caring, but if she just went to the palace to spy, without actually talking to him, he would never know. And if he really was in trouble, she didn’t much care about breaking the rules.

Tella, what are you getting dressed up so quickly for?

She jumped, heart leaping into her throat at the sight of her mother stepping into her room. But it was only Scarlett. Save for the silver streak in Scarlett’s dark brown hair, she looked almost exactly like their mother, Paloma. Same tallish height, same large hazel eyes, and same olive skin, just a tiny shade darker than Tella’s.

Tella glanced over Scarlett’s shoulder into the next room. Sure enough, their mother was still trapped in an enchanted slumber, still as a doll atop the sun-bleached quilt of their dull brass bed.

Paloma didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t open her eyes. She was less ashen than when she’d arrived. Her skin now had a glow, but her lips remained a disturbing shade of fairy-tale red.

Every day Tella spent at least an hour watching her carefully, hoping for a flutter of her eyelashes, or a movement that involved more than just her chest rising up and down as she breathed. Of course, as soon as Paloma woke, Jacks—the Fated Prince of Hearts—had warned that the rest of the immortal Fates, whom Legend had freed from a Deck of Destiny, would wake as well.

There were thirty-two Fates. Eight Fated places, eight Fated objects, and sixteen Fated immortals. Like most of the Meridian Empire, Tella had once believed the ancient beings were just myths, but as she had learned in her dealings with Jacks, they were more like wicked gods. And sometimes she selfishly didn’t care if they woke up as long as her mother woke up as well.

Paloma had been trapped in the cards with the Fates for seven years, and Tella hadn’t fought so hard to free her just to watch her sleep.

Tella, are you all right? Scarlett asked. And what are you all dressed up for? she repeated.

This was just the first gown I grabbed.

It also happened to be her newest one. She’d seen it in a shop window down the street and spent practically her entire weekly allowance. The dress was her favorite shade of periwinkle, with a heart-shaped neckline, a wide yellow sash, and a calf-length skirt made of hundreds of feathers. And maybe the feathers reminded Tella of a dream carousel Legend had created for her two months ago. But she told herself she’d bought the dress because it made her look as if she’d floated down from the clouds.

Tella gave Scarlett her most innocent smile. I’m just going out to the Sun Festival for a bit.

Scarlett’s mouth wrinkled, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but she was clearly distressed. Her enchanted gown had turned a wretched shade of purple—Scarlett’s least favorite color—and the dated style was even older than most of the furniture in their cramped suite. But, to her credit, Scarlett’s voice was kind as she said, Today is your day to watch Paloma.

I’ll be back before you need to leave, Tella said. I know how important this afternoon is for you. But I need to go out.

Tella wanted to leave it at that. Scarlett didn’t understand Tella’s relationship with Legend, which was admittedly complicated. Sometimes Legend felt like her enemy, sometimes he felt like her friend, sometimes he felt like someone she used to love, and every once in a while, he felt like someone she still loved. But to Scarlett, Legend was a game master, a liar, and a young man who played with people the way gamblers played with cards. Scarlett didn’t know that Legend visited Tella in dreams every night, she only knew that he showed up sometimes. And she believed that the version of him Tella kept meeting was not the genuine Legend because he only visited in dreams.

Tella didn’t believe Legend was still acting with her. But she knew there were things he wasn’t telling her. Although Legend did ask the same question each night, that question had started to feel like just an excuse to come and see her—a distraction to hide the real reason he only appeared in her dreams. Unfortunately, Tella still wasn’t sure if he visited because he truly cared for her, or because he was playing yet another game with her.

Scarlett would be upset to learn that he’d been showing up in her dreams every night. But Tella owed her sister the truth. Scarlett had been waiting weeks for this day; she needed to know why Tella was suddenly running out.

I have to go to the palace, Tella said in a rush. I think something has happened to Legend.

Scarlett’s dress turned an even darker shade of purple. Don’t you think we’d have heard rumors if anything happened to the next emperor?

I don’t know, I only know he didn’t visit me in my dream last night.

Scarlett pursed her lips. That doesn’t mean he’s in danger. He’s an immortal.

Something’s wrong, Tella insisted. "He’s never not shown up."

But I thought he only visited—

I might have lied, Tella interrupted. She didn’t have time for a lecture. I’m sorry, Scar, but I knew you’d be unhappy. Please, don’t try to stop me. I’m not objecting to your meeting with Nicolas today.

Nicolas has never hurt me, Scarlett said. Unlike Legend, he’s always been kind, and I’ve been waiting months to finally meet him.

I know, and I promise I’ll be back to watch Mother before you leave at two o’clock.

Just then the clock chimed eleven, giving Tella exactly three hours. She had to leave now.

Tella wrapped her arms around Scarlett and pulled her into a hug. Thank you for understanding.

I didn’t say I understood, Scarlett said, but she was hugging her sister back.

As soon as she pulled away, Tella picked up a pair of slippers that laced up to her ankles and then padded across the faded carpet into her mother’s room.

She pressed a kiss to Paloma’s cool forehead. Tella didn’t leave her mother very often. Since they’d moved out of the palace, she’d tried to stay by her mother’s side. Tella wanted to be there when her mother woke up. She wanted to be the first face her mother saw. She hadn’t forgotten the way Paloma had betrayed her to the Temple of the Stars, but rather than choosing to remain angry, she was choosing to believe there was an explanation, and she’d learn it when her mother woke from her enchanted sleep. I love you and I’ll be back very soon.

Tella considered getting herself arrested.

She didn’t want to get arrested, but it might have been the quickest route to the palace. Too many visitors, from all over the empire, had descended on Valenda for the Sun Festival. They overflowed the sky carriage lines and clogged the streets and sidewalks, forcing Tella to take a longer route to the palace, and to skirt the delta that led out toward the ocean.

The Sun Festival took place every year on the first day of the Hot Season. But this year was especially rowdy, since it also marked an end to the Days of Mourning and the countdown to Legend’s coronation, which would take place in ten days—though only Scarlett, Tella, and Legend’s performers knew him as Legend. The rest of the empire knew him as Dante Thiago Alejandro Marrero Santos.

Just thinking the name Dante still hurt a little.

Now, Dante felt more like a character from a story than Legend did. Yet the name always pricked her like a thorn, reminding her how she’d fallen in love with an illusion—and how foolish it would be to completely trust him again. But she still felt compelled to go after him, to ignore the festival and all the excitement buzzing through the streets.

Now that the Days of Mourning were over, the black flags that had haunted the city were finally gone. Dour frocks had been replaced with garments of sky-kissed blue, turmeric orange, and minty green. Color, color everywhere, accompanied by more delicious fragrances—candied citrine, tropical ice, lemon dust. But she didn’t dare stop at any temporary street stalls to buy any treats or imported fizzing ciders.

Tella’s steps quickened and—

She abruptly stopped next to a boarded-up carriage house. Several people rammed into her back, knocking her shoulder against a splintered wood door as she glimpsed a hand with a black rose tattoo. Legend’s tattoo.

The sweetness in the air turned bitter.

Tella couldn’t see the figure’s face as he wove through the crowd, but he had Legend’s broad shoulders, his dark hair, his bronze skin—and the sight of him made her stomach tumble, even as her hands clamped into fists.

He was supposed to be in danger!

She’d imagined he was sick or injured or in some mortal peril. But he looked … entirely fine. Maybe a little more than fine: tall and solid, and more real than he ever appeared in her dreams. He was definitely Legend. Yet, it still didn’t feel entirely real as she watched him confidently weave through the crowd. This scene felt more like another performance.

As the heir to the throne, Legend should not have been sneaking around dressed like a commoner, in ragged brown pants and a homespun shirt. He should have been riding through the crush on a regal black horse with a gold circlet on his head and a cadre of guards.

But there were no guards protecting him. In fact, it appeared as if Legend was going out of his way to avoid any royal patrols.

What was he up to? And why had he so dramatically disappeared from her dreams if nothing was wrong?

He didn’t slow his self-assured steps as he entered the crumbling ruins that edged the Satine District. They were full of decaying arches, overgrown grasses, and steps that looked as if they’d been built for giants instead of human beings, and Tella had to jog just to make sure she didn’t lose sight of her quarry. Because, of course, she was following him.

She kept close to large boulders and darted over the rocky grounds, careful not to be seen by guards as Legend climbed up, up, up.

The sweetness in the air should have grown thinner the farther she ventured from the vendors, but as she ascended, the sugar on her tongue became thicker and colder. When Tella’s knuckles brushed against a rusted iron gate that had fallen off its hinges, her skin turned blue with frost.

She could still see the sun blazing above the festival, but its heat didn’t penetrate this place. Gooseflesh prickled up her arms as she wondered anew what Legend was playing at.

She’d almost reached the top of the ruins. A giant broken crown of white granite columns grayed by decades of rainfall and neglect rested in front of her. But Tella could almost picture the decrepit structure as it had been centuries before. She saw pearl-white columns, taller than masts on ships, holding up curved panels of stained glass streaming iridescent rainbows over a grand arena.

But what she no longer saw was Legend. He’d disappeared, just like the warmth.

Tella’s breath slipped out in white streams as she listened for footsteps, or the low timbre of his voice. Perhaps he was meeting someone? But she didn’t catch any sounds other than the chattering of her own teeth, as she crept past the closest column