Finale (Caraval, 3)

Tella had always been more dramatic than Scarlett. As a young girl, she’d played at being a mermaid, a pirate, and an assassin while Scarlett had just tried to make sure Tella was safe. Scarlett was not an actress. But it was time for her to put on the performance of her life. She needed to become Paradise the Lost, or she might not survive the night.

Scarlett schooled her features into the edged expression her mother had worn when she’d pulled the knife on Scarlett. Then she struggled against the Assassin’s grip as he roughly dragged her past Jester Mad’s forsaken stage, tables of half-eaten food, and goblets left abandoned on the floor. The party was over, but perhaps Poison had turned all the maids to stone, because the mess remained.

The Fallen Star leaned back in his bloody throne, playing with the flames at the tips of his fingers while drops of red trickled over his shoulders, as if he’d already grown bored with his kingdom.

The humans were gone, but a few Fates remained.

Scarlett saw Jacks, lingering near the foot of the throne and chatting with Poison as if they were old friends. But she forced herself to not pay close attention to Jacks or her sister. Scarlett was pretending to be Paradise, and young Paradise wouldn’t have known who Tella was or been concerned about the adoring way she gazed at Jacks. At a glance her emotions appeared to be a blissful shade of pink, but every few seconds they flickered with rotted hints of brownish-yellow, as if they were infected; she’d sacrificed too much. Tella didn’t even appear to notice Scarlett’s entrance, or Legend—who was trapped in an iron cage to the left of the throne.

Legend’s grim cage was so much smaller and harsher than Anissa’s, with a mockery of a swing that was covered in spikes. He looked miserable and weak and he couldn’t tear his eyes from Tella’s dreamy face. He appeared to be shouting to her, but there must have been an enchantment on his prison, like the one on Anissa’s cage that dimmed her powers, because Scarlett didn’t see any illusions, and his voice did not break through.

“You might want to fight even more,” the Assassin whispered.

They were almost at the throne.

Scarlett ripped herself free from the Assassin’s grip. “Let me go!” She brandished the white dagger that Paloma had dropped.

The Fallen Star finally saw her. His gaze went from the hooded Assassin to Scarlett, golden eyes widening as they caught on her dress—the dress he’d bought for Paradise—with its splashes of cream and black and rose and pink and flowers and lace and stray gold leaf. The flames at his fingertips died. The blood from the throne stopped flowing and for a moment the chamber was entirely silent.

“What have you done,” he breathed. His eyes left Scarlett’s to narrow on the Assassin. But Scarlett couldn’t tell for certain if he was upset because he believed that she was actually Paradise, or he thought that she was Scarlett.

“I took her from the past for you.” The Assassin shoved Scarlett forward with the flat of his hand.

Paradise wouldn’t have stumbled, so neither did Scarlett. She took a firm step, then she cringed and made a look of disgust. Paradise shopped in the Satine District and liked pretty things. She might have been a criminal, but she would have been revolted by the bleeding throne Gavriel sat upon.

“Why are you sitting on that thing? And who are these people?” She spoke with the same rapid tone her mother had used, and wrinkled her nose as she made a show of looking around, but she didn’t allow herself to appear too bewildered. Paradise hid her true emotions. “What’s going on here, Gavriel?”

The Fallen Star held her gaze, his golden eyes flickering like match-flames on the verge of starting a wildfire. As if he was seeing a ghost. The lie was working; he believed she was Paradise. But he didn’t appear to be in love with her.

He addressed the Assassin through gritted teeth as turbulent emotions writhed around him. “Please explain to me why you’ve brought her here.” The knuckles gripping the throne turned white as he said the word her. “Last I heard, you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I changed my mind, but I doubted you’d be satisfied,” the Assassin answered roughly. “So I brought her as a gift.”

“I am no one’s gift!”

The Assassin ignored her, grabbing her arm again and shoving her closer to the throne.

“Let her go!” Gavriel thundered.

The Assassin dropped her arm. “She’s pregnant with your daughter. I know you’ve had difficulties with the child. I thought you could fix it, if you raised her yourself.”

“What—” Scarlett sputtered. “How does he know this? I haven’t told anyone I’m pregnant except for you.” Scarlett held the Fallen Star’s eyes again, trying to remember the way her mother had looked when she’d talked about him in the dress shop. But mimicking a look of love wasn’t going to be enough to make him love her. And just then she was less worried about him loving her, and more concerned he might do something rash, like kill everyone in the throne room. The fire still hadn’t gone out of his eyes.

“All of you, get out!” he ordered, and every Fate obeyed. Poison glided to the nearest door. The Assassin bowed and turned. Her Handmaidens, who Scarlett hadn’t even realized were still there, evaporated like smoke. Jacks, who was closest to the throne, began leading Tella by the elbow, but Tella stopped as they neared Scarlett. Her face snapped toward her sister and her hazel eyes regained their focus, as if she’d been suddenly yanked out of a dream.

“Wait—” Tella tugged at Jacks’s arm. “That’s my mother. She’s alive—”

“Get her out of here!” the Fallen Star bellowed. His throne burst into flames, filling the room with heat.

Jacks tugged Tella away with a hand around her waist, but she continued to fight him. “No—Mother!”

“Gavriel, what’s going on?” Scarlett said, trying to rip his attention away from her sister, who appeared to be going off script. “What is that girl talking about?”

“Don’t listen to her.” The Fallen Star marched down from the burning throne, leaving a trail of blood behind him, but it looked almost peaceful compared to the emotions attacking him. Usually his angry feelings flared out like sparks that wanted to set anything nearby on fire, but these emotions seemed to be burning him, digging into his shoulders and arms like barbs at the end of a whip.

He wasn’t angry with her or the Assassin, or even Tella; he was furious with himself. His emotions had erupted when she’d appeared, but they had flared when Tella said the word alive. He truly regretted killing Paradise.

But it still wasn’t enough to make him love her now.

When he had loved Paradise in the past, Paradise had also loved him. And Scarlett didn’t love him at all. Maybe that’s what she really needed.

She thought she could do it. She’d brought her sister back to life with love. Scarlett was loving. She knew the colors of love and the shapes they took. She knew what it felt like to fight for love and to lose it and to give it with no design of getting anything back in return. And maybe that’s why it wasn’t working now. She didn’t want to give him her love.

She’d seen him do too many horrible things. And even though he was mostly angry with himself right now, the emotion was so strong, it made her think he might do something hideous very soon, either to her or her sister, who was still dangerously close.

Scarlett had to find a way to change his feelings. She tried to find a spark of love for him again. She hadn’t wanted to love her mother, either, but Paradise was more deserving. Or maybe no one deserved love. Maybe love was always a gift, but it was so much harder to give it to the Fallen Star because he’d spent his entire existence battling against it. He saw it as a disease rather than a cure.

“It’s going to be all right. I’m going to take care of you, and I’m going to make sure that our child is absolutely extraordinary.” He gave her a smile that was all teeth and inhuman hunger, without a shred of love.

Her plan wasn’t working the way it was supposed to.