Legendary

Cocky son of a witch.

Tella should have pulled away, but up close the bridge was even narrower than it appeared from afar and without any rails—exactly like the balcony she’d leaped from during Caraval. The fall that had killed her.

Her fingers dug deeper into Dante’s arm. She hoped he’d think of it as part of the little games they played. That he wouldn’t detect any lingering terror as she asked him a question, in need of a distraction before her legs ceased working, or her lungs stopped breathing. “So what does Legend want with me now?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“But you can say that he tasked you to follow me?”

“I didn’t say that, only that he might have. Maybe you were right in the carriage, and I want to spend the evening with you. Maybe I think you were lying to your sister about our kisses in the forest, and I plan to prove it.”

Dante gave her a smile so dissolute and devastating, Tella swore it made the bridge a little weak. But she couldn’t let it make her weak. Too much was at stake tonight, and she’d already kissed him once.

“Even if I chose to believe you, I’d have to remind you that I have a fiancé and I’m not inclined to cheat.”

Dante’s glorious smile vanished the instant she said “fiancé.”

Tella grinned and patted him on his arm, about to finally pull away when they reached the top of the bridge.

Holy saints. Her breath caught, trapped like a bird inside of her throat. The bridge had narrowed and she swore they were higher up than she had ever been in her life, with no rails or net or anything but merciless waters to capture her if she slipped and fell. She fought to take another step, but everything she saw made her faint, light-headed, dizzy.

And was it just her, or did the torches around Idyllwild Castle now reek of sulfur, as if Death himself had decided to stoke their flames, another reminder he was always watching, waiting to take her back?

“Don’t think about it,” Dante warned.

“I’m not going to jump,” Tella said.

“That’s not what I was saying.” His lips moved to her ear. “I’ve died more times than I can remember. Every time, I used to fear I wouldn’t come back, until I learned that it’s the fear that feeds him. It’s the same way hopes and dreams give Legend so much power during Caraval.”

“I’m not afraid of death.” But even as she said the words, Tella looked down and, to her horror, found her arm clinging much tighter to Dante’s.

He pet her arm once, mocking and indulgent.

But Tella wasn’t about to let him win whatever competition they were playing.

“I’m just not fond of cages,” she said, “and this places looks like one giant dungeon.”

He laughed, quietly. Different from the rich sound he’d made in the carriage. Tella wasn’t sure why, but she sensed she’d find out the reason for his subtle amusement as soon as they entered the party.

12

Tella thought she knew what to expect inside of Idyllwild Castle.

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.