Legendary

“And what do people say?” Tella asked.

“Just that he murdered his last fiancée. But they also say he’s very handsome,” she tacked on, as if that made up for murder. “Lots of the other servants say they’d still marry him.”

Tella wanted to say they were fools. She wanted to brush back her hair and scare the girl with the blood still staining her ears and her neck. But Scarlett was missing. Rather than frightening servants, Tella needed to use her waning energy to find her sister.

She tossed the freckled girl a coin, but even that simple act felt weaker than it should have. The coin barely flipped in the air.

When Tella reached the carriage house, bells tolled three in the morning. Time was moving too fast and she was moving too slow. Her floating carriage seemed to be taking longer than necessary as well, gliding sluggishly across the starlit sky.

Legend’s blue constellations were still everywhere, except for above Idyllwild Castle, as if warning her not to go there.

On the night of the Fated Ball the castle looked like something stolen from a young girl’s fantasy. But after Tella left her carriage and reached the stony stronghold, she wondered if the castle’s gleaming white sandstone exterior had been a costume, an illusion put on by Legend. Tonight the stones looked as dark as kept secrets, lit by dim red-orange torches that appeared to be losing their battle against the night.

She halted to catch her breath at the edge of the bridge, grateful she’d brought along Dante’s gloves. Not that she saw any threats. In fact, if anything, the castle was too still.

Aside from the wind knotting her hair and ruffling the layers of her wild topaz skirts, everything was steeped in quiet. The sort of silence usually reserved for tombs, cursed ruins, and other places abandoned by the living. Tella suppressed a shudder but it managed to turn into a chill. She wasn’t afraid of danger, though she preferred it in the form of swaggering young men. For the second time that night she found herself wishing that Dante had followed her.

Not that she needed him.

But maybe Tella wanted him there just a little. She took a heavy step forward and felt an uncomfortable stab of lackluster victory that he’d finally decided to leave her alone. She’d known he’d only been following her as part of his role, and even if his interest had been real, she had no doubts he’d give up on her eventually. Everyone gave up on her, except for Scarlett—who couldn’t seem to stop caring about Tella.

Tella supposed it was another thing the sisters had in common—never knowing when to walk away. Maybe if Tella had a better sense of when to abandon an ill-fated pursuit she’d have turned around just then, or she’d have questioned if the freckled servant really had told the truth when she’d claimed Scarlett never returned from the castle—a castle that now looked emptier than a broken doll’s eyes.

The bridge leading to it was even narrower than Tella remembered, taller, too, towering above black waters that weren’t quite so still as the first night she’d visited. But Tella remembered what Dante had told her and refused to think about Death this time, unwilling to give him additional power.

Her steps were more unsteady than usual and her breathing was on the labored side, but she was not going to fall, or jump, or do anything else that would land her in the treacherous waters beneath. She was going to reach the end, knock on the door, and retrieve her sister. If Scarlett was there.

Tella finished crossing the bridge. For a slow heartbeat she swore she heard phantom footsteps, but there was not a guard or ghoul in sight.

Fisting her hands, she focused her strength and knocked against the heavy iron doors.

“Hello!” she started out cheerfully.

Nothing.

“Is anyone here?” she called a little sharper.

More waves crashed below.

“This is Donatella Dragna, the heir’s fiancée!”

Her breath went short as her unanswered knocks turned aggressive.

“Careful, or you might hurt yourself doing that.”

Tella slowly turned around, half expecting Jacks to be there, gracefully biting into an apple.

Instead, there were three others.

25

They prowled toward Tella like wraiths, clad in thin, dull silver cloaks that looked as if they’d lost their shine long ago. One was tall. One was curvy. One was fidgety. And they all smelled of too much old perfume, flowering and nauseating.

It was wrong for an unforgiving night like this.

Though impractical, their capes made it difficult for Tella to steal more than a glimpse of their faces, which were either incredibly still or covered in masks.

The trio slithered closer.

Despite the cold, sweat pooled inside of Tella’s gloves as her suspicions about the masks were confirmed. The three were disguised as Fates: the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens.

Tella recognized the Undead Queen’s jeweled patch and painted blue lips. Her Handmaidens were equally unmistakable; both had lips sewn shut with crimson thread. In Decks of Destiny their cards represented power and undying loyalty. But in that icy moment Tella saw their combined appearance as three very bad omens. No one wore masks unless they were celebrating something, or committing a crime.

“You’re a little early for the costumes,” Tella said. “Didn’t anyone tell you, Elantine’s Eve isn’t until the night after tomorrow. Or are you pretending to celebrate early because you’re all too ugly to show your faces?”

“By the end of tonight the only unsightly one will be you,” said the imposter Undead Queen. “Unless you give us what we want.”

Tella turned away and knocked another aggressive rap on the door.

“That won’t do you any good,” said the Undead Queen. “He isn’t here.”

As she spoke, all three figures glided closer, replacing the cool night air with their stench. The freckled maid must have sent Tella on a false course, so that these three could rob her, and Tella had been foolish enough to fall for it. She might have been able to run away, despite her failing heart, but they were blocking her from the bridge. Her only clear escape, unless she wished to jump into the waters below.

She swore she heard the voice of Death, urging her to take the leap, but Tella wasn’t about to listen. The inky moat looked deep and smooth but upon second glance Tella saw the rocks, poking out like nasty surprises.

She pulled out her coin purse. “If you’re here to beg for money because your perfume stinks and your gaudy cloaks are long out of fashion, then here.” Tella tossed the purse onto the small patch of land to her left. Since she imagined this was what they were after, she hoped at least one of them might fetch after it like a dog and give her a chance to escape. But dogs were clearly smarter creatures than these three. Instead of chasing for the purse they each took another step toward her.

The scent of their overripe perfume grew, sharpening to the scent of decayed flowers and twisted obsession. Tella gagged. But they didn’t even notice.

“We don’t want your filthy coins,” said the Undead Queen. “We want to return to our full glory. We want the cards your mother stole, the cards you plan to give to Legend so that he can destroy us and take what remains of our once magnificent powers.”

“God’s teeth.” Whoever these women were, they were taking the game too far. “You’re all madder than poisoned fish!”

The odd insult seemed to stun them for a moment, but it wasn’t long enough for Tella to escape. She still could have made a run for the bridge, but it was more likely she’d fall off one of the sides than make it to the other end before they caught her.