“Only when it comes to you.” Her fingers knotted in his cravat as she tilted his chin toward her.

“I wish I could stay, Esmeralda. But I can’t. I need to go back and destroy the Fates, and I need your powers to do that.” He pushed up from his knees just as the witch had been leaning into what looked like a kiss. “I only want to borrow them.”

“No one ever wants to just borrow powers.” The witch’s voice turned biting again, but whether it was because of his request or because he’d denied the kiss, Tella couldn’t tell.

Legend must have imagined she’d be vexed by his denial; he took a step closer, picked up her hand, and brushed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “You made me who I am, Esmeralda. If you can’t trust me, no one else can.”

“No one else should trust you,” she said. But her rich red lips had finally curved into a smile. The smile of a woman who was saying yes to a man she couldn’t resist.

Tella knew the smile because she’d given the same one to him before.

The witch was giving Legend her powers.

Tella should have turned away, should have returned back to her world before Legend caught her there and he saw her trembling from the cold, and from all the feelings that she wished she still didn’t have for him. But she remained, transfixed.

The witch uttered words in a language Tella had never heard as Legend drank blood straight from her wrist. He drank and drank and drank. Took and took and took.

Legend’s cheeks flushed and his bronze skin began to glow, while the witch’s harsh beauty diminished. Her fiery hair dulled to orange; the black ink of her tattoos faded to gray. By the time Legend lifted his lips from her wrist, Esmeralda sagged against him as if her limbs had lost their bones.

“That took more out of me than I expected,” she said softly. “Can you carry me up to the bedroom?”

“I’m sorry,” Legend said—but he didn’t sound sorry at all. His voice was cruel without the sensuousness to temper it. Then he spoke words too quietly for Tella to hear.

The witch lost even more color, her already pale skin turning parchment-white. “You’re joking.…”

“Have you ever known me to have a sense of humor?” he asked. Then he picked up the witch and slung her over his shoulder with the ease of a young man checking an item off a list.

Tella stumbled backward on half-numb limbs, leaving a small riot of ripped-up feathers in her wake. She knew that he’d meant it every time he’d told her that he wasn’t the hero, but a part of her kept hoping that he’d prove her wrong. Tella wanted to believe that Legend really cared about her and that she was his exception. Although she couldn’t help but fear that all that belief really meant was that Legend was actually her exception, that her desire for him was the weakness that could destroy her if she didn’t conquer it.

If Legend was willing to betray the woman who’d created him, then he was willing to betray anyone.

Tella tore through the roses, running from her hiding spot beneath the window back into the forest. She stumbled off the main path, into the trees, only glancing back once she was safely hidden behind a copse of pines.

Legend left the cottage with Esmeralda still slung over his shoulder. And in that moment, Legend no longer felt like Tella’s enemy, or her friend, or the boy she used to love—Legend felt like every story she’d never wanted to believe about him.

7

Scarlett

Scarlett’s feelings were a commotion of colors, swirling around her in garlands of excited aquamarine, nervous marigold, and frustrated gingersnap. She’d been pacing the suite since her sister had left, somehow knowing that Tella wouldn’t be back in time, but also hoping that she’d prove Scarlett wrong.

She stopped pacing and looked herself over in the mirror once more, to make sure her dress wasn’t a reflection of how anxious she felt. The gown’s pale pink lace appeared duller than before, but everything appeared dimmer in this mirror.

The suite Scarlett and Tella rented was a threadbare tapestry of aging items. Both girls had agreed on moving out of the palace. Scarlett had wanted to be independent. Tella claimed the same thing. But Scarlett imagined her younger sister had also wanted to create distance from Legend after how he’d walked away from her at the end of Caraval.

Tella had begged to rent one of the fashionable apartments in the fanciful Satine District, but Scarlett knew that their money had to last beyond one season. As a compromise, they’d leased a suite of small rooms on the farthest edge of the Satine District, where the trim on the mirrors was more yellow than gold, the chairs were upholstered with scratchy velveteen, and everything smelled chalky, like chipped porcelain. Tella complained about it regularly, but living somewhere modest allowed them to stretch their funds. With most of the money Tella had stolen from their father, they’d secured this apartment until the end of the year. Scarlett wasn’t sure what they’d do after that, but it wasn’t her most pressing concern.

The clock chimed three.

She peered out her window. There were still no signs of Tella among the holiday revelers, but Scarlett’s ground coach had finally arrived. There weren’t many in Valenda, as people favored floating carriages to ones that rolled through the street. But, her former fiancé, Count Nicolas d’Arcy, or Nicolas as she had started calling him, resided in a country estate outside the city’s quarters, far beyond any of the floating carriage houses. Knowing this, Scarlett had secured her transport a week ago. What she hadn’t known was how crowded the festival would be.

People were already hollering at her coachman to move. He wouldn’t wait long. If he left, Scarlett would be stranded and she’d miss her chance to finally meet Nicolas.

Her lips pinched together as she entered the bedroom where Paloma slept. Always sleeping. Always, always sleeping.

Scarlett tried not to be bitter. Knowing her mother hadn’t meant to abandon them forever, that she’d been trapped in a cursed Deck of Destiny for the past seven years, made Scarlett more sympathetic to her. But she still couldn’t forgive her mother for leaving her and Tella with their wretched father in the first place. She could never see Paloma the same way Tella did.

In fact, Tella would probably be furious when she returned and found Paloma unattended. She was always saying how she didn’t want their mother to wake up and be alone. But Scarlett doubted Paloma would wake today. And if Tella was so concerned, she should have come back in time.

Scarlett pulled open the main door to her suite, ready to call for a servant and ask her to keep an eye on their mother. But one of the maids was already there, coral-cheeked and smiling broadly.

“Afternoon, miss.” The servant did a quick half-curtsy. “I came to tell you there’s a gentleman waiting for you in the first-floor parlor.”

Scarlett looked past the servant’s shoulders. She could see the scratched wood banister, but there was no view of anything downstairs. “Did the gentleman give a name?”

“He said he wanted to surprise you. He’s very handsome.” The girl coyly twirled a lock of hair around her finger, as if this attractive young man was standing in front of them.

Scarlett hesitated, considering her options. Perhaps it was Nicolas, come to surprise her. But that didn’t sound like him. He was so proper, he hadn’t wanted to meet her while the Days of Mourning were being observed; he’d asked her to wait until today for their true courtship to begin.

There was one other person who it might be, but Scarlett didn’t want to hope it was him, especially not today. She’d vowed not to think about him today. And if it was Julian, he was five weeks late. Scarlett might have thought he’d died, except she’d had Tella ask Legend about it, and he’d confirmed Julian was still alive. Though he didn’t say where his brother was, or why he’d failed to contact Scarlett.

“Would you do me a favor?” Scarlett said to the servant. “My mother is still unwell. She doesn’t need anything, but I hate to leave her alone. While I’m out, would you check on her every half hour in case she wakes?”

Scarlett handed the girl a coin. Then she quietly crept down the stairs, heart in her throat, hoping despite her better judgment that Julian had finally returned and had missed her as much as she missed him. She kept her steps quiet, but the moment she entered the parlor, she forgot how to move. Julian’s eyes met hers from across the room.

Everything was suddenly warmer than it had been before. The parlor walls grew smaller and hotter, as if too much sunlight had snuck in through the windows, covering all the tattered bookshelves and chairs in the sort of hazy afternoon light that left the entire world out of focus, except for him.

He looked perfect.

Scarlett could have easily been convinced he’d just escaped from a fresh painting. The tips of his dark hair were wet, his amber eyes were shining, and his lips parted in a devastating smile.