Legendary

Before reading Elantine’s letter, Tella had been content to give up on the game, to leave her disloyal mother and her cursed deck of cards exactly where they were. As long as Tella never opened the vault, the Fates would not go free, and Legend could not destroy her mother. It seemed like a reasonable compromise. But now, after this message from Elantine, that choice felt like giving up. It felt like settling for the almost-ending Armando had talked about.

Tella knew it was foolish to imagine a better version of her mother than the one she’d seen inside the Temple of the Stars. And yet Elantine’s letter made Tella hope that there was more to her mother’s story, just as Dante had suggested.

“Delivery,” called a wispy voice from the other side of her door.

Tella hid Elantine’s note in her bed as an overeager servant popped inside the suite.

The intruder carried a massive plum box topped with a purple bow the size of a melon. It must have been Tella’s Elantine’s Eve costume from Minerva’s.

“I assume you’ll need help dressing for tonight.” The maid lifted the box’s lid. “Oh, this is the prettiest one I’ve seen! You’ll be sure to draw every eye.”

A sheen of silver sparkles floated over the room as the maid pulled a smoky silver-blue gown from the box. The seamstress might have fought Tella about her choice to go as the Lost Heir, but she’d done a sublime job with the dress, even if it did remind Tella a little too much of Jacks’s eyes.

It was backless, covered by only a gossamer cape the color of melted silver. After helping her put the gown on, the maid pinned the thin cape to the delicate beaded straps at Tella’s shoulders, which fed into a sheer smoky-blue bodice. It would have been indecent if not for the glittering silver-dipped leaves clinging to her chest and trailing over her torso, as if she’d been tossed in the winds by a magical storm. Her flowing skirt was a combination of midnight blue and liquid metal, shimmering in unearthly waves every time she moved, making it look as if she might disappear with one quick twirl.

“It’s magnificent,” the girl said. “Are you ready for the—” Her sentence cut off as she lifted the candled crown with its grim black veil from the bottom of the box. “You’re going as Elantine’s Lost Heir? Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I’m sure it’s none of your business.” Tella snatched the crown.

“I was just trying to be helpful,” the girl apologized with a quick curtsy. “Forgive me again, but I’ve heard rumors about your fiancé, and after what happened earlier, I thought you might like a warning.”

Tella tried to refrain from asking more. The last time she’d spoken with a cheeky maid it had not ended well, but this maid seemed genuinely nervous, and Tella might have recognized her voice from her first night in the palace. She sounded like the servant who’d reminded her of a bunny and felt sorry for Tella. “What happened earlier?” Tella asked.

“You really haven’t heard? The whole palace is bubbling about it. They’re saying the real Lost Heir, Elantine’s missing child, has reappeared. Of course, no one has confirmed it.” The maid hushed her voice. “The empress fell ill right after the rumors started.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Tella asked.

“I’m not privy to that sort of information,” said the maid. “But it sounds serious.”

“It’s all probably part of Caraval,” Tella said. If the empress actually had a missing child, it seemed like a great coincidence that the child would just happen to appear during Caraval.

But what if the empress was genuinely sick? The thought made Tella more uncomfortable than she would have expected. In her letter Elantine talked about Tella’s mother as if she’d known her. She’d called her a treasure. Tella wanted to know why, but she wouldn’t if anything happened to the empress.

“Thank you for the assistance,” Tella said to the maid. “You’re free to leave.”

Tella was dressed. All she needed to do was crown herself.

Unfortunately the waxy circle of candles forming the Lost Heir’s crown was heavy and clunky, and the thick veil attached to it was impossible to see through.

Before putting it on her head, Tella tugged at the veil’s fabric. Only the stubborn thing didn’t want to budge.

She yanked it again.

The veil ripped free, but so did the crown’s ring of black candles. They fell apart in thick, waxen tears, crumbling until all that remained were five razor-sharp points tipped in black opals.

It looked like an unbroken version of the Shattered Crown. The same crown Tella had seen when Armando read her fortune.

The Shattered Crown predicted an impossible choice between two equally difficult paths. Tella knew the circle in her hands wasn’t the same crown. That crown was trapped in a deck of cards, and this crown had yet to break. But she didn’t like that her fingers went numb wherever they touched it.

She wanted to shove it into the box. It felt like a bad idea to put this crown on. But she refused to be afraid of it or the ideas it brought to mind.

Tella looked in the mirror as she placed it atop her head. The crown wasn’t nearly as heavy as it had been when the candles had been a part of it, but from the moment it touched her curls, Tella felt a stirring, as if wearing the crown was the first step toward an impossible choice she wasn’t ready make.

She tried to dismiss the feeling. Just because she was going to speak with the empress about her mother didn’t mean Tella was going to sacrifice herself to the stars so that she could win the game to save Paloma. And yet Tella found herself tucking Jacks’s luckless coin into the pocket of her costume, along with the Aracle and the card imprisoning her mother.

ELANTINE’S EVE:

THE LAST NIGHT

OF CARAVAL

37

The stars were spectacularly fiery that night, lighting all of Valenda with their splendor and shimmer. Legend had wrangled them into the shape of a giant hourglass. It glowed desert-gold and scorching red, dripping crimson stars like grains of sands, no doubt counting down until dawn and the end of Caraval.

The hourglass hung suspended above the palace, where the last night of the game was taking place. Tella had glimpsed it when she’d looked out of her window. The glass courtyard below, which filled the space between the golden tower and the other wings of the palace, was beginning to fill with people costumed to look like the accursed Fates.

Thankfully none of the game players were allowed inside the tower. The ancient structure was almost eerily quiet. Tella could only hear the patter of her footfalls against the rickety wooden stairs as she climbed up, up, up.

During their dinner the other evening, Elantine had mentioned watching the Elantine’s Eve fireworks from the highest floor. She’d even told Jacks she hoped Tella would join them for the show. It wasn’t an actual invitation, and Jacks had never mentioned it again, but Tella hoped the empress had meant it.

Guards stopped her at the top. There must have been a dozen of them, their armor clanging loud and harsh as they blocked Tella’s path.

Her legs burned from climbing, but she managed to stand up straight and speak without gasping. “I’m engaged to the heir, and Her Majesty has invited me to watch the fireworks with her this evening.” Tella flashed her letter from Elantine, showing off the royal seal as if it were an invitation. But it wasn’t needed.