Legendary (Caraval, 2)

Tella continued to think of different ways to harm or embarrass Dante as she stumbled out of bed the next morning. She could find him that night at the ball, when Caraval began, and accidentally spill wine all over him. Of course, since Dante was so fond of black, that might be a waste of wine, and most likely just make her appear clumsy.

Maybe she could make him jealous instead, by looking stunning, and arriving on the arm of some handsome boy. But Tella doubted she had enough time to find a handsome young man to go with her to the ball, and making Dante jealous really should have been her furthest concern.

Tella needed to focus on meeting her friend before midnight and convincing him to give her an extra week to play Caraval and uncover Legend’s name.

Then she’d see her mother again.

It’d been so long Tella could no longer recall the sound of Paloma’s voice, but she knew it was both sweet and strong, and sometimes Tella missed it so much she wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

“Miss Dragna.” A sentry knocked heavily on her door. “A package has arrived.”

“Give me one minute.” Tella searched for her trunks, needing to dress, but apparently they’d either been lost or they weren’t allowed inside of the tower. All she possessed was the ugly little trunk she’d carried with her off the boat, and she’d not put any fresh clothes inside it.

Tella opened the door once she’d finished slipping on her gown from the day before.

The guard’s entire face was hidden behind a pearly white box as tall as a wedding cake, topped with an oversize velvet bow as thick as frosting.

“Who sent this?” Tella asked.

“There’s a note.” The guard set the box atop a tufted chaise the color of harbor light.

The instant he left, Tella removed a sheer vellum envelope. Her skin didn’t prickle with magic, but something felt not right. Though the entire package was as white as chaste kisses and pure intentions, the sitting room felt darker since the gift had entered. The sun’s shine no longer poured through the windows, leaving dimness that turned all the elegant furniture to wary shades of green.

Tella cautiously opened the envelope. The letter was covered in heavy black script.

MY DEAREST FIANCÉE,

WHAT A SURPRISE IT WAS TO HEAR OF YOUR ARRIVAL—AND I’D FEARED I’D HAVE NO ONE TO DANCE WITH AT THE FATED BALL TONIGHT. I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND THAT I’VE CHOSEN A GOWN FOR YOU TO WEAR. I WANT TO BE SURE I CAN SPOT YOU IMMEDIATELY. I’D RATHER NOT HAVE TO HUNT YOU DOWN BEFORE WE OFFICIALLY ANNOUNCE OUR ENGAGEMENT.

UNTIL THEN.

There was no signature, but Tella knew who the letter was from. Elantine’s heir. It seemed he had spies in the palace.

Nothing good could come from this.

With clammy fingers, Tella tore the lid from the box, half expecting to a find a funeral frock or some other monstrous creation. But to her astonishment the gown didn’t resemble anything remotely threatening. It looked like a fantasy a garden had cried.

The skirt was indulgent and full, formed of massive twirls of skyfall-blue peonies. Real peonies. They brimmed with sweet, clean fragrance, each one of them unique, from the subtle shifts in hue to the size of the blooms. Some were still tucked into tight periwinkle buds, not quite ready for the world, while others had exploded into bursts of lively petals. Tella pictured herself leaving a trail of blue flower petals as she danced.

The bodice appeared even more ethereal, such a pale shade of blue it was practically sheer, covered in the front by intricate sapphire beadwork that grew into ropes of necklaces, which hung across an otherwise bare back.

She shouldn’t have considered wearing it.

But it was magnificent and regal. Tella imagined what Dante’s face would look like when she showed up to the ball looking like the heir’s true fiancée.

This would be the perfect revenge.

Tella reread the note that accompanied the dress. Knowing it was from the heir made it feel like a threat. But nothing about it was actually menacing. He sounded more curious than anything—perhaps he was impressed by the audacity of her claim and merely wanted to meet her. It still felt like a risk to wear the gown, but as Tella liked to tell her sister, there was more to life than staying safe.

Though Tella wondered if she wasn’t taking a few too many risks that night.

Right after hanging up the dress, another guard knocked and delivered a letter from her sister.

Dearest Tella,

I was so relieved to hear you made it safely to the palace, and more than a little surprised to learn they placed you in the golden tower—I can’t wait to hear how that happened!

I hope you don’t mind, I’ve agreed to spend the afternoon with Julian. But I still plan on going with you to the Fated Ball for the start of Caraval. I’ll meet you at the stone garden outside the carriage house an hour before midnight.

Love,

Scarlett

It was wrong that this letter concerned her more than the missive from the heir. But Tella had nearly forgotten asking Scarlett to play the game with her. She’d done it before learning she’d need to meet her friend at the ball.

Tella deflated against the bed. This would complicate things.

Unless Tella confessed all of her secrets to Scarlett.

It was a terrifying thought. Scarlett wouldn’t be pleased to learn she’d been deceived by Armando during Caraval, or that Tella had been searching for their mother. And Tella couldn’t even guess what her sister would think about Tella’s new fake fiancé. But Scarlett was the most loyal person Tella knew: She would be upset, but it wouldn’t prevent Scarlett from helping Tella win the game.

And Tella needed to win the game.