Finale (Caraval, 3)

The moon had dissolved and the stars had fled to watch over another part of the world, leaving Valenda’s night sky a flat, inky black. The only spots of bright came from a few glowing windows lit by burning lamps and candles like the ones blazing inside of Scarlett’s Menagerie suite, where she panted in front of the Lady Prisoner’s gilded cage.

Scarlett’s brow was drenched in sweat that she couldn’t fully wipe away because of the ruby bars trapping her head. The gemstone globe had grown even heavier over the last few hours as she tried and failed, again and again and again, to alter the angry emotions of the young woman Gavriel had brought to her.

Scarlett needed to do this. If she could control the feelings of this woman, then she could control the feelings of the Fallen Star and stop him before he took the throne in less than one day.

But despite her best efforts, Scarlett couldn’t do anything beyond reading the young woman’s feelings. Scarlett could see her rage and anger cascading down her straight back like a fiery cape. Scarlett imagined getting burned by it if she dared step too close. The woman sat on the marble bench that rested next to the Lady Prisoner’s cage, and hadn’t moved from there since the moment the Fallen Star left.

Scarlett had felt relief at first. She’d expected the young woman to attack her, after the way she’d bitten Gavriel’s fingers. Instead she’d chosen to sit as perfect as a model for a portrait until she moved to take her long black gloves off with her teeth.

Her arms were covered in scrolling tattoos of faded black roses and vines that ended in two damaged hands, covered in fresh stitches. The woman’s fingers had been removed, and from the sight of the stitching, it looked as if it had just been done.

Scarlett reared back. This must have been how he’d disciplined the woman for misbehaving earlier. Was this how the Fallen Star planned to punish Scarlett this time if she failed?

Scarlett tried speaking to the young woman, but she never uttered a word. After a couple of hours, the woman rested her cheek against her stubby palm, feigning boredom. It might have been believable if not for the fiery emotions she still wore like a destructive mantle.

Scarlett tried to calm her by channeling soothing thoughts. When that didn’t work she tried to project images and emotions that might make the young woman feel drowsy, excited, sad, or happy.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“I can’t do this,” Scarlett finally said. She had tried to push every emotion on this woman, but instead of making her feel, it only drained Scarlett. She could barely hold her caged head up, and she couldn’t even think about what would happen when the Fallen Star returned; she didn’t want to find out how he would punish her for this failure.

It was time to leave. Scarlett was feeling the sort of bone-deep exhaustion that told her dawn was getting closer. The Fallen Star could come back any moment and discover she had not succeeded. Scarlett needed to use the Reverie Key and get out of there. She’d thought too highly of herself to imagine that if she stayed here long enough she could defeat him, rather than the other way around. She hated the idea of Tella and Julian seeing her caged, but she needed to return to them so they could come up with another plan.

“If you leave now, you will never win against him,” said the Lady Prisoner, stopping Scarlett as she approached the main doors. Until that moment Anissa had been particularly silent, content to swing on her perch and watch Scarlett’s repeated failures with the young woman. But now the Fate was on her feet, gripping the golden bars of her cage as her eyes turned an eerie white. “Don’t quit. This isn’t supposed to be your true ending, but it will be the start of it if you leave now.”

“I would stay if I knew what to do, but—” Scarlett cut off as the doorknob turned. Blast it!

She’d hesitated too long. He’d come back.

Except when the door opened, it wasn’t the Fallen Star. Morning light poured through the doorway as a servant boy wheeled in a cart laden with food, which he promptly set on the dining room table.

Scarlett hadn’t realized how hungry she was or how stale the air had become until suddenly it was filled with the scents of breakfast cakes, strawberry puffs, honeycomb spirals, brown-sugared sausage, seasoned eggs, and piping-hot tea.

The young woman finally moved from her chair. She rose, walked over to the tray on the dining room table, clumsily picked up the pot of tea with her palms, and dumped it over all the food before Scarlett could stop her.

Her cloak of anger briefly flickered with burnished threads that looked something like victory. But like most feelings of success, it didn’t last long. After a moment the threads shifted to red-black feelings of hatred and rage and bitterness.

A new plan formed as Scarlett watched the young woman’s writhing, uncontrolled emotions. She was miserable, but not without reason. The Fallen Star had cut off her fingers and then given her to his daughter as a training tool. Scarlett would have been furious, too.

The thought gave her a wild flicker of hope. Maybe there was a way for her to shift the woman’s emotions, after all.

“I’m disappointed,” Scarlett said. “I would have thought you’d be cleverer at defying my father. I might not be able to control your feelings, but I can see them. He’s the one who chopped off all of your fingers?”

The woman sat still as a placid doll, but Scarlett could see the vivid colors of her emotions crackling like a fire after a fresh log had been tossed into it.

“The Fallen Star is the one you hate and you think acting like a spoiled child with me will hurt him, but you’re wrong. If you really want to injure him, help me.” Scarlett picked up a soggy strawberry puff and took a bold bite, as if she wasn’t about to make a risky proposition. This woman might have hated the Fallen Star, but that didn’t guarantee she would help Scarlett. Her loathing was so horrible and heated and powerful, Scarlett was unsure if the woman was capable of feeling anything else.

But Scarlett had to try. Anissa was right; if Scarlett left now, it would be the start of the wrong ending. Scarlett could use the Reverie Key to escape, but she and her sister and Julian would only be safe for so long, and the entire Meridian Empire might never be safe again.

“I have no love for the Fallen Star either,” Scarlett confessed. “I may be his daughter, but he murdered my mother and put this cage around my head. If you want to hurt him, help me deceive him—find a more effective use for your hate. I can see it burning you up, but you can use it to burn him instead. Or you can stick to dumping over pots of tea.”

Scarlett finished off her sodden strawberry puff as she attempted to read the woman’s response. But her anger and hate were so powerful, if she felt anything else, Scarlett couldn’t see it.

She glanced back at the Lady Prisoner, once again sitting pretty on her gilded swing. “This should be very interesting.”

And then the doorknob turned.

This time, the Fallen Star strode in. A heavy gold cape with elegant red embroidery and dense white fur hung from his shoulders. It was too much for the Hot Season, but she doubted he cared. It looked powerful, which was of ultimate importance to him.

The pleased smile he’d worn during his last visit was gone; that victory had already turned into history, and now he was hungry for something more.

“I’ve brought you another gift.” He snapped his fingers. A streak of sparks shot out, and a pair of servants carrying a box nearly as large as Scarlett stepped inside.

“I think you’ll like this present. But let’s see your progress first, or this might not be the gift that I give you.” His golden eyes cut to Scarlett’s tea-soaked breakfast.

“I think you’ll be pleased.” Scarlett forced herself to grin. “You might be able to tell from my morning meal that frustration was one of the emotions I effectively projected. I also—”

“I don’t need a summary. I want a demonstration, and I’d prefer to see an emotion that deviates from her natural state of anger and displeasure. I want her to feel adoration, for me.”

The Fallen Star sat on the marble bench. “Make her worship me. I want her to feel as if I’m her god.”

Scarlett’s stomach turned queasy. Even if the woman were inclined to go along with Scarlett’s plan, she couldn’t picture her doing this. Feigning confidence, Scarlett looked at the woman through the ruby bars of her cage, but doubted she would help.

Scarlett was going to have to try again.

Please. Please. Please work, she silently chanted. Her heart pounded and her fingers clenched as she pictured the woman getting up from her bench and falling to her knees in reverence.

Across from her, nothing changed; the woman’s emotions were a firestorm of bold and searing colors. The intensity was so extreme it took Scarlett a moment to realize the young woman’s eyes had softened. Then her lips began to move. Until this point her pale mouth had been a thin line, but now it parted as if a silent gasp had escaped at the sight of the Fallen Star.

It was the most extraordinary thing to watch.

The woman fell to her knees, tears glistening in her eyes as if the Fallen Star really were someone she worshipped.

It was beyond what Scarlett had pictured. Scarlett might have believed she’d done it, if not for the hateful colors that continued to cascade from the woman’s shoulders and down her tattooed arms. Thankfully, the Fallen Star couldn’t see them. If he had, his eyes wouldn’t have glittered as he watched the woman kneel before him.

“It’s remarkable. I never thought she’d look at me like this again. Lift your head,” he instructed.

The woman obeyed.

The Fallen Star reached out and stroked her neck, making the woman quiver with what he must have interpreted as pleasure.

His lips formed a flawless sneer. “It’s really too bad your magic is gone and you’re absolutely useless now. Even touching you disgusts me.” He pulled his hand away. “You should get out of my sight before I decide to remove more than your fingers.”

The woman broke into tears.

The Fallen Star laughed, vicious and bright. Scarlett wasn’t certain what she was watching, but she imagined his reaction wasn’t purely from what he perceived as Scarlett’s actions. Somehow he had a history with this woman, and Scarlett sensed it went far beyond cut-off fingers.

“Now that’s gorgeous. She responds as if she really does worship me and I’ve broken her. This is very good, auhtara. You didn’t just make her feel, you’ve given her real feelings. But”—a wrinkle marred his perfect brow—“I don’t sense that you’ve tapped in to your full magic yet. Let’s see what happens when you take them away. I want every hint of love and adoration gone. I want her to feel nothing. Turn her into an emotionless husk.” His voice dripped with cruelty.

Scarlett fought against betraying her disgust, once again focusing her full attention on the woman, as if Scarlett were the one in control of her.

But nothing happened.

If anything, the young woman sobbed harder. She wailed thick, sloppy tears, as if her emotions had gone out of control.

Scarlett didn’t know what the woman was doing. Her true emotions hadn’t ever changed. Her tears weren’t real, but they were effectively infuriating the Fallen Star.

The air in the room grew thick with heat; the walls began to sweat.

He glared at Scarlett. “Make her cease.”

“I can’t,” Scarlett admitted. “I—”

“Stop this or I’ll put a stop to it,” he threatened.

The woman fell face-first onto the floor, hysterical as a child. It echoed off every surface.

The Lady Prisoner covered her ears.

Scarlett furiously tried to project calming thoughts and images. She didn’t have to read the Fallen Star’s emotions to know how destructive he was feeling. He rose from the chair. Flames licked his boots.

“Just give me a minute,” Scarlett pleaded. “I can fix this. I’m learning.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The Fallen Star pulled the woman up from the ground by her neck. And then he snapped it.