Legendary (Caraval, 2)

Tella shot up in bed with a start. Heart pounding, pulse rushing—two more confirmations she wasn’t cursed any longer. It should have made her feel ready to conquer the world. Instead, she couldn’t shake the heavy sensation that the world was preparing to conquer her.

Her first instinct was to check the Aracle to see if her future had changed, but she could no longer trust the card, and she was done letting the Fates dictate her choices.

The shadows crawling over the floor and the sleep lines etched into her arms made it clear she’d been out for hours. Even though she no longer planned to finish the game, she hadn’t meant to sleep so long.

It was nearly twilight. The light pouring through her window dyed everything inside her suite an eerie red, except for the pearly white letter sitting quietly at the edge of her bed, as if it had been waiting for her.

Tella ripped it open, eyes a little blurry as she began to read. But after the first two lines, her vision sharpened and her mind finished waking up.

My dear Donatella,

Thank you for the gift of your company the other night at my little dinner. It was an unexpected pleasure to meet you. I didn’t realize until after you left how much you reminded me of someone special I once knew. You don’t particularly look like her, but you have the same indomitable spirit and vibrancy as Paradise the Lost. It made me wonder if she was your missing mother.

I probably shouldn’t say this given who she was, but Valenda dimmed the day Paradise disappeared. She was a treasure. If she was your mother and I can be of any help in your search to find her, do let me know.

Until we meet again,

Elantine

Tella felt wide awake when she finished reading. She might have read it more than once. By the time she looked up and out the window again, the sun had nearly set. Any minute Legend would form a new constellation in the sky, showing the city that Caraval was starting up again.

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.