She probably should have changed into fresh shoes. Her thin slippers were completely ruined from the snow and then darting through the hot city; it was easier to walk once she took them off.

The granite stairs were warm from the sun, and yet Tella felt a brush of something cold running down her nape like spiders’ legs.

She hazarded a glance over her shoulder.

No one was behind her. No guards stood between the trees to her sides. In fact, there didn’t appear to be any guards at all.

But the slick sensation of being watched increased, along with the throbbing sensation of magic. Tella couldn’t just smell the magic now, she could feel it, stronger than when she’d followed Legend. It pulsed around her as if the steps had a beating heart.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Magic pounded beneath her bare feet as she continued to climb the ruins—except, suddenly, they no longer appeared so ruined.

Instead of crumbling arches, Tella saw pristine curves covered in brightly painted carvings of red chimeras reminiscent of the ones she’d spied at the Fated Ball. There were silver lambs with heads like wolves, blue horses with green-veined dragon wings, hawks with black ram horns. And—

Tella jolted back at the sight of Legend’s royal guards. Seven of them. All strewn across the top of the stairs like knocked-over toy soldiers.

She stubbed her heel on a rock as she stumbled back another step. Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to her that maybe the magic-scented trail she had been chasing didn’t belong to her mother. If all the Fates were awake, one of them might have done this.

But these guards didn’t look dead.

Maybe Tella was tricking herself, but they appeared to be sleeping.

She crept closer and cautiously pressed her finger to one guard’s neck. She thought she felt a pulse, when a rushed set of footfalls broke the quiet.

Did they belong to her mother, or a Fate?

Tella’s stomach tied into a knot. Before the Fates had been freed from the cards, the spell had begun to crack and ghostly versions of the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens had temporarily slipped out of the cards and almost killed her. But Tella had survived, and she’d rather face them all over again than risk losing her mother again.

Tella chased the footfalls down narrow stairs into a poorly lit labyrinth of cells with pearly white bars. They were almost pretty, but she hated cages; the sight of each one made her bare feet sprint faster.

Her bruising pace didn’t slow until the hallway opened into a brilliantly torch-lit cavern that reeked of sulfur and dank running water. It could have easily been an elaborate set for a historical play, the prettiest of torture chambers, or a training room for an ancient circus.

Red tightropes crisscrossed above Tella’s head, with no net beneath. Painted circles that looked like wheels of death, all decorated with knives, spun around the edges. Beyond the wheels were pits of vibrant orange-tipped flames that burned like lakes of fire beneath narrow suspension bridges. In a corner, a granite carousel covered in decorative spikes whirled.

Cutting through the center of it all was a river of red. Tella’s mother stood on the other side of it. But she looked nothing like the weak woman Tella had left lying in a bed.

11

Donatella

Paloma looked like a wicked version of Scarlett. Tella didn’t know where her mother had found new clothes, but she now wore a floor-length black leather coat with short sleeves that showed off long garnet-red gloves. They were the same color as her corset top. On her legs, Paloma wore fitted bone-white breeches, which tucked into black leather boots that went over her knees. A dagger rested in a sheath, snug against her calf, while a thin silver rope wrapped around her opposite thigh like a pet snake.

She looked brutal and beautiful, like a criminal who’d just escaped from a Wanted poster—a myth who’d ripped herself free from a story to give it a different ending. And Tella desperately wanted to be a part of that ending.

“Please, don’t leave again!” Tella cried.

Then she was running, barreling through the cavern, leaping over the stream of red and into her mother’s arms. Tella hugged her with everything she had. Maybe if she held on tight enough she wouldn’t have to let go this time. Tella wanted a different ending, too. She wanted one with her mother and Scarlett, smiling and laughing and making wondrous plans for the future.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Paloma said, her voice sharp, and yet she didn’t release Tella. She stroked her ratted curls with a tenderness Tella had never been able to capture in her memories.

“I knew you’d be fierce,” Paloma said. “But, Donatella, this is a fight that will destroy you if you don’t walk away.” She dropped her arms.

“No!” Tella grabbed her mother’s wrists; she’d hold on for the rest of her life if she had to. “You belong with Scarlett and me. I don’t know what you think you need to do, but please come back to us.”

“I can’t.” Paloma tried to shake free, but Tella refused to let go. “You need to get out of here—it’s not safe.”

“My life hasn’t been safe since you left!”

Paloma’s hazel eyes turned glassy, and her voice gentled at last. “I hate that you’ve experienced so much pain. But I’m only going to bring you more. I’m the one who’s dangerous tonight, Donatella. I’m here because I need to kill someone.”

“No,” Tella argued, even as she felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re just saying that to make me leave.”

“I wish I were. But there are things from my past that I need to make right, and I won’t risk letting you and Scarlett get involved. I’ve made countless mistakes, but you and your sister are the only things I’ve made that have brought something better into this world.” Her daring smile returned, giving Tella hope that maybe her mother didn’t really want to do this. Tella only had to convince her of that.

“Just come back with me to say good-bye to Scarlett,” Tella pled. “She’s missed you too!”

“I wish I could.” Paloma reached up and cupped Tella’s jaw. “I would go with you, but I have to do this, or you and your sister will never be safe.”

She stroked Tella’s cheek, one gentle touch, before she slipped her gloved fingers to the back of Tella’s neck and pulled her closer. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry.”

Something sharp poked out from the tips of Paloma’s gloves and pricked Tella’s nape. She felt a bite of cold and a sense of liquid being injected into her veins.

“Wh—what—” Her tongue felt suddenly heavy and useless. She wanted to ask what her mother had done. She wanted to ask why she suddenly couldn’t move her arms or legs. She wanted to say so much more. But nothing came out except that one powerless what.

Her mother had only pulled her close so she could paralyze Tella with the tips of the gloves. This must have been what she’d done to the knocked-out guards.

“It will be all right,” Paloma soothed. Her hands hooked beneath Tella’s arms.

But nothing felt fine.

Tella couldn’t believe her mother had left her, then drugged her, or that she was now dragging Tella’s body toward the mouth of the cavern. Tella tried to fight, but her limbs wouldn’t obey—she could barely even feel them.

Her mother finally stopped at one of the cracked wheels of death—the kind circus performers strapped women to and then threw knives at while the wheel spun and spun. Her mother didn’t strap Tella to it, but she did tuck her behind it, hiding Tella between the circle and the granite wall.

No! Don’t do this! Tella tried to object, but her tongue was so thick and heavy she couldn’t even manage a squeak.

“You should fall asleep soon. Once you wake up, leave this city with your sister. I’ll find you when I can.” Paloma kissed Tella on the cheek, her lips lingering longer than before. But despite what she said, this did not feel like an I’ll find you later kiss. This was an I’m planning on never seeing you again kiss.

Mother! Tella tried to shake the numb from her limbs. She wasn’t passing out like the guards—her mother must have used up most of her poison on them. Tella could feel tingling in her toes, but she couldn’t get them to move. She couldn’t even crawl after her mother as she walked away. All Tella accomplished was a ragged breath, but the sound was so pathetic, it was muffled by the grate of footsteps entering the cavern. Heavy and pounding, the sort of footsteps that wanted to make an entrance.

Tella didn’t know if it was her mother’s drugs, but the air grew hotter as the menacing sound became louder. The intruder moved close enough for Tella to see a pair of masculine boots caked in dust. But the figure continued past, not even pausing as he spun the cracked circus wheel in front of her. It groaned alive, ticking like an off-kilter clock as it rotated.

Click.

Click.