“No!” She banged her fists against the hedge’s spindly, prickly, and entirely leafless branches. It was weaker than his earlier illusions, but it was enough to form a barrier between them.

“Prince Dante,” the Murdered King said slowly. “I wonder if history will call you Dante the Dead or just forget you altogether after tonight.”

“Tragic,” cooed the Undead Queen. “Your face would have looked marvelous on a coin.”

Before Tella could catch another word, the prickly hedge before her moved. It pressed against her chest, forcing her to stumble back. Faster and faster it shoved against her, herding her farther away from Legend and the Fates.

That bastard! Legend was using his magic to push her away and she was powerless to stop him—or the Fates who’d come for him.

She wanted to turn around, to battle against the wall at her back, and return to Legend. But the magical wall was relentless and she hated to admit there was nothing she could do against the Fates except hope that he was stronger. She’d survived when the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens had tried to kill her. Legend would survive as well.

He had to.

Ahead of her the palace glowed, moon-bright against the black sky. The only spot on earth that didn’t seem to be in pandemonium. The rest of the grounds were still dark; all the lights of the party were now vanquished. But Tella could hear people scrambling to leave the maze as its branches began to crack and crumble. There were still a few occasional giggles and laughs; some people must have thought this was all part of the game.

If it had been Caraval, Tella would have believed the same; she’d have imagined this was Legend’s plan. But she’d felt his fear when he’d kissed her and then forced her away.

Tella’s feet burned as her slippers crashed against the ground while the hedge continued to shove at her back. It scraped against the earth. She could sense the churning of dirt and hear the crush of its branches and—

The ground beneath Tella shook. She told herself to keep running. But she couldn’t hear the hedge anymore. When she slowed she didn’t feel it at her back. And when she turned she did not see it.

The hedge, the maze, the butterflies fluttering all over her skirt, everything that had been the party was gone. All that remained were thick spires of smoke, twisting upward.

No! No! No! Tella didn’t know if she shouted the words, if she gasped them, or if she just thought them. She knew there was only one reason Legend’s magic would suddenly stop.

He was dead.

“No!” This time she definitely shouted the word. Then her legs gave out and she fell to her knees.

THE MIDDLE

25

Donatella

Tella could feel the black earth beneath her hands and knees, but she didn’t know if it was dry or damp or prickly with grass and twigs. And she didn’t know how long she’d stayed there, unable to move. All she knew was that she needed to get up. She needed to keep moving, she needed to keep running, as Legend had begged her to with his last words.

A dry sob shook her chest as she tried to rise.

Legend wasn’t dead forever. This wasn’t like what had happened to her mother, who Tella would never see again. He would come back to life. But for now, he was gone.

She looked back at the wreckage that minutes ago had been the maze, but he didn’t emerge from the smoke.

Bedlam reigned where hours ago there had been magic and butterflies. She could hear the sound of people escaping, clumsy footsteps and heavy breathing, from those not used to running.

Tella struggled to her feet. She knew she needed to run away. Legend had asked her to flee with his last words. But what would happen to his body if she left? What if the Fates had figured out that he was Legend? What if they took his body, so that when he came back to life they could kill him over and over?

Tella ran back toward the melee.

“Leave the city!” she warned anyone she saw. “Get out of here!” She didn’t know if there were more than two Fates nearby, but if they’d come to kill Elantine’s heir, they weren’t afraid of discovery. And they’d likely take over the palace next. Unlike the grounds outside, it was still bright and glowing, untouched by violence. For now. When the Fates took over the palace and then the Empire, the fountains would probably be filled with blood.

A rigid hand latched on to Tella’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

She tensed, bracing for a fight, even as she recognized the voice; low and resonant with a lilting accent that was just the tiniest bit shaky: Julian.

It was difficult to see his face in the dark. But the alarming way his fingers dug into her shoulder gave away enough. He already knew what had happened.

“We need to go back into the maze to get his body,” she said.

“Tella.” Julian squeezed her shoulder. “My brother is dead.”

“But he’ll come back to life … right?” She tried to shake off Julian’s hand, or maybe she was just shaking.

“He’s immortal—he’ll come back.”

“Why don’t you sound more certain about that?”

“Because I’m trying to save your life right now. He made me swear that if anything like this happened to him, I would get you to safety.”

Julian released Tella’s shoulder, grabbed her arm, and pulled her in the opposite direction of the palace.

“Wait—wait—” Tella panted. “What about Scarlett?”

“She’s not here.” Julian tugged harder on Tella’s hand, forcing her through clouds of smoke. “When she didn’t show up to meet me at the maze, I went to find her … but she’s not at the palace.”

“Where is she?”

“With the count.”

“But—but—” Tella sputtered. “Scarlett told me she was calling the game off.”

“I wish she had,” Julian grunted, his words choppy as he urged her to sprint faster. “When I went in her rooms, I found a note from the count asking to see her again today.”

“Where does he live?” Tella asked.

“On the outskirts of the city—past the ruins south of the Temple District.”

“Then that’s where we go,” she said.

There was a pause, full of nothing but heavy breathing, where Julian might have argued that he was supposed to get Tella to safety and then he would look for Scarlett on his own. But it seemed his love for her sister outweighed the promise he’d made to Legend, or Julian knew there was no point in fighting with Tella. This was why Tella had always liked Julian. He never gave up on Scarlett.

They fled swiftly across the darkened city together, but they didn’t move faster than the rumors:

“Prince Dante is dead—crushed to death by his maze.”

“The former heir came back and murdered Prince Dante.”

“Prince Dante was killed by someone in the maze.”

“Invaders have taken over the city and beheaded Prince Dante.”

Some of the claims were closer to the truth than others, but all of them had one thing in common: Legend was dead.

Her steps faltered, but she didn’t stop. If anything, she ran harder. The Fates had won another round. But once Tella found her sister, and Legend came back to life, they’d all visit the Vanished Market. There they’d find a way to destroy the Fallen Star, and then they’d be able to stop the other Fates, as well.

There were holes in her slippers by the time she and Julian passed the edge of the city at dawn. It was a brilliantly bloody sunrise, as if someone had sliced opened the clouds and hazy streams of red had poured out instead of rain. On another morning it might have looked wrong, but on this particular day it felt appropriate that even the sky appeared violent.

A dusty stretch of dry, yellowing grassland rested between the city and the count’s estate. The sad bark of a dog was the only sound, save for the tired trudge of Tella’s and Julian’s footsteps.

Tella tried to catch her breath, now that their pace had slowed. She inhaled deeply, but the air tasted unclean, like the foulest parts of the city rather than a fresh slice of country. The stench grew stronger and the sad howling of the dog grew louder as they approached the count’s estate.

Tella hugged her arms to her chest, and Julian walked closer to her side.

The count’s residence looked like the beginning of a fairy tale, before the magic had arrived. The gardens were full of curious, well-tended flowers that appeared to have been planted with care. But the house itself was covered in chipping paint, the windows clean but full of cracks, and the crumbling chimneys appeared to be in severe need of repair. Even the long path they followed to the house was covered in fractures.

“I thought the count’s residence was fancier,” Tella said. “Scarlett described it as being much nicer.”

“I don’t think she saw it for what it really was the other day. I think she was too concerned about meeting the count. And it didn’t smell this bad.” Julian put a hand over his nose and mouth.

Tella did the same, fresh nerves clawing at her stomach. The stench was so putrid she dry-heaved as they reached the front door. It was cracked open, oozing more of the wretched odor.

The dog barked again, long and keening.