“Don’t.” Scarlett shook his hand away. His concern was more than she could take. Stormy, stormy, stormy blue, swirling and fierce and— Scarlett’s vision filled with black.

“Crimson!”

18

Donatella

Legend hadn’t just moved into the palace, he’d taken it over. Servants covered every inch of the place, buzzing around like worker bees as they either prepared for Legend’s upcoming coronation or worked on the massive renovation he’d commissioned.

During Elantine’s reign, her palace had been a thing made of dust and history. It had been grand in the way old stories were grand, full of curving details, threaded tapestries, and delicate artistry. But Tella imagined Legend’s palace would be none of those things.

Legend possessed a fallen angel’s beauty that commanded attention. He was tailored suits over inked tattoos, and lies that people wanted to believe. His palace would be breathtaking in the way that only powerful things could be.

Tella knocked against her sister’s door in the sapphire wing once more. Scaffolding covered both sides of the entry, but there were no workers in sight at the moment, so Scarlett should have heard the knocks.

“Either she’s not there, or she’s not answering,” Armando said.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Tella knocked again, just to be obnoxious, since she was certain Legend was just being obnoxious when he’d chosen to assign Armando—whom he knew she despised—as her personal guard.

Tella wondered if Scarlett was with Julian. In the dungeon they’d looked closer than Tella had expected. In a dream a week ago, Legend had told her when Julian had returned to Valenda, but as far as Tella knew, he hadn’t come to visit Scarlett until after Tella had left. Whatever reunion they’d had must have been magnificent, or maybe Scarlett hadn’t been quite as over him as she’d claimed—something both sisters had in common.

Tella knocked on the door a final time, but Armando was right—Scarlett wasn’t there or she wasn’t answering the door. Either way, Tella couldn’t stand here and do nothing, not as long as the Fates were out there.

Tella had bathed and scrubbed off the dirt from the cavern, and changed into a slender ice-blue gown with tiered skirts that she must have left in the palace. But she would never wash away what had happened in those ruins. She could still hear the click, click, clack of the wheel and see her mother’s wounded body, unmoving on the floor.

The Fallen Star needed to be stopped—and he needed to pay for what he’d done to her mother. And if Legend wasn’t going to share the Fallen Star’s weakness with Tella, then she was going to find someone else who would. And she knew just the person. Jacks.

Cold licked the back of Tella’s spine. For a moment she was back in his study, on the floor, feverish and hot except for all the places where his cool limbs tangled with hers.

It was a bad idea to go back. But if anyone knew the Fallen Star’s weakness, it would be another Fate. And hadn’t Jacks said something about hating the Fallen Star?

Tella glanced at Armando. He was barely two steps behind her. Losing him might be a little tricky. But she couldn’t take him with her to Jacks. If Legend found out Tella was visiting Jacks again, he might actually lock her up in the tower.

She did believe that this morning’s imprisonment was a mistake. But Tella also knew that she wasn’t dealing with the Legend of her dreams, who she’d almost convinced herself wasn’t that different from Dante. She was dealing with Legend the immortal, the soon-to-be emperor, the Legend who did whatever it took to get what he wanted. And if he wanted Tella safe—and away from the Prince of Hearts—she could picture him taking measures that went far beyond simply assigning her a guard.

Tella quickened her steps as she passed the Stone Garden. The statues had been human once, but when the Fates ruled centuries ago, they had treated humans more like objects and playthings. One of the Fates had turned all the people in the garden to stone just to have lifelike decorations. Tella didn’t know if there was any life inside them, if the people who had been frozen could still look out on the world and see and hear. She swore that the statues’ faces appeared more terror-stricken than they had before the Fates had been freed from the cards. She wondered if the bride’s sister who had been turned to stone today was standing among them, or if they’d found a way to cure her, but somehow Tella doubted that.

Her limbs had turned shaky again as she reached the carriage house.

“His Highness would prefer it if you didn’t leave the palace grounds,” said Armando.

“And I’d prefer it if he didn’t keep so many secrets.” Tella hopped inside a floating coach that would take her to the Temple District.

With a groan, Armando threw himself into the carriage opposite her as the cozy box took off. “I hope we’re at least going somewhere interesting.”

“Actually, we’re not going anywhere.” With that, Tella opened the door and leaped outside. She tore the hem of her glacier-blue gown and nearly sprained her ankle from the awkward landing. If the carriage had risen any higher, she definitely would have injured herself, but it was worth the risk to get away.

Armando scrambled to the door, but the coach was too high for him to jump safely.

Tella blew him a mocking kiss. “I won’t tell His Highness that you lost me if you don’t tell.” Then she picked another carriage line, one that would take her to University Circle and to the Prince of Hearts.

19

Scarlett

The pillows beneath Scarlett were so much fluffier than the lumpy things in her rented apartment. The sheets were far softer as well. They smelled of cool breezes and starlit nights and the only boy she’d ever loved.

Not her pillows. Not her sheets. Not her bed. Julian’s bed. And just then it felt like the safest place in the world. Scarlett wanted to hug the feathery pillow and curl deep into the sheets until she fell back asleep.

“Crimson.” Julian’s voice. Gentle but direct enough to tell Scarlett that he knew she was awake.

She sat up and slowly cracked her eyes open. For a heartbeat her vision was still blurry about the edges, but there weren’t feelings crowding the room. The only colors she saw were the ones that were supposed to be there. The cool dark blue of the sheets cocooning her, the sleek gray of the curtains at the corners of the bed, the warm brown of Julian’s skin, and the intoxicating amber of his eyes.

His room was full of the same colors and slightly wild, like his appearance. Stubble lined his jaw, his hair looked as if he hadn’t stopped running his fingers through it, and his cravat was on the floor at his feet. Scarlett didn’t need to see his emotions to detect his concern. He sat beside her on the bed, but he looked ready to catch her if she took another fall.

“How long was I out?” she asked.

“Long enough to make me worry that this wasn’t just an elaborate ploy to get into my bed.”

Scarlett managed a smile. “What if I said it was a ploy?”

“I’d tell you that you don’t need one. You’re welcome in my bed anytime.” He gave her a wicked grin. It would have been convincing if she hadn’t just seen thin threads of worried silver ghosting around the edges of him. She wondered if he suspected that she hadn’t just fainted out of grief.

Scarlett wanted to close her eyes again, to shut out the emotions coming off him, but she didn’t want to shut him out.

“Thank you,” Scarlett said.

“I’m here for whatever you need.” Julian shifted closer to the headboard, a silent invitation. She could lean against him if she wanted, and she did.

Scarlett pressed her head to his solid shoulder and closed her eyes. But even though she managed to mute the silver worry hovering around him, she couldn’t turn off everything. Earlier she’d thought the grief she’d felt only belonged to Tella, but perhaps some of it had also been Scarlett’s.

“I didn’t think it would hurt,” Scarlett confessed. “I thought I’d lost my mother a long time ago. I was furious with her. I didn’t trust her. I didn’t want her back in our lives, I didn’t want her … I didn’t want her at all.”

Julian held Scarlett tighter and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She didn’t know how long they sat there like that. And she didn’t know if she was sad because her mother was dead, of if she was sad because she’d wanted her mother gone. She wanted to be sad her mother was dead; that’s how a good daughter would have felt, and if there was one thing Scarlett tried to be, it was good. But she’d stopped trying when it came to her mother.

“Do you know where my sister is now?” Scarlett asked.

“I think she’s still with Legend,” Julian said.

Scarlett slowly peeled back the sheets. She wanted to get up, but given her gown’s fondness for Julian, she was a little nervous as to what it might have shifted into while she was in his bed. Oddly, it was still the same deep pink garment it had been before. She wondered if the emotions that had worn her out had depleted some of the gown’s magic as well.