Caspar’s brows arched up in surprise, his eyes piercing Tella with a look that made her feel as if she’d just spilled a secret she wasn’t even supposed to know. “Where’d you hear all of this?”

“I heard something similar,” Fernando chimed in. “But I was told that if Legend succeeds in destroying the Fates, he won’t only keep his power, he’ll take all of their powers as well.”

Dante hadn’t mentioned this part. Not that Tella had decided to believe his story. But it was difficult to ignore the way Caspar’s face had turned bone-white.

“What if the Fates’ powers have something to do with the mysterious final prize?” Patricia interjected, speaking with the sort of confidence that made it impossible to tell if the pressure of the group had changed her mind, or if she didn’t want to be left out of the conversation. “Maybe Legend will give the winner one of the Fate’s powers. I think I’d take the Undead Queen’s. She never ages.”

“None of the Fates are supposed to age,” said Tella, Caspar, and Fernando in unison.

Now it was Patricia’s turn to blush. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Go ahead, then,” Caspar said.

But apparently Patricia didn’t know that the Undead Queen’s true power was the ability to control anyone foolish enough to pledge service to her. Patricia stayed silent until Caspar turned to Fernando. He looked at the other young man with a smile so warm it made Tella wonder if she’d only imagined Caspar’s skin turning pale.

“What about you?” Caspar asked. “Which Fate’s power would you want?”

Fernando toyed with his suspenders as he appeared to think on it. “I’d probably pick Maiden Death.”

Tella stiffened.

Patricia gaped at her brother. “You’d want to kill people?”

“Maiden Death doesn’t kill anyone,” Fernando said. “She’s one of the good Fates. She senses when tragedy is about to happen and she warns people. I’d want to be able to do that.”

If only Fernando was right. In Tella’s experience, the Maiden Death sealed rather than thwarted Fate. Though perhaps things might have turned out differently if Tella had actually known what the Maiden Death represented when Tella had first pulled her from her mother’s Deck of Destiny. Then maybe she could have done something to prevent her mother from leaving.

Caspar turned to Tella. “What about you, which power would you desire?”

Tella might have been fascinated with the Fates, but she wasn’t sure she wanted any of their terrible gifts. The Fates weren’t all bad; Mistress Luck brought people fame and good fortune, but given the capricious nature of luck, even that could turn sour. And while the Aracle gave Tella helpful glimpses of the future, it had also brought her grief after grief. The Assassin could move through space and time, but as tempting as that power was, Tella also imagined it could bring bits of madness. It would be even worse to have all the Fates’ powers. She could see why someone like Legend would want them. With that much magic he could rule the world. But Tella doubted that Legend or the world would be better for it.

The curtains before them parted again, saving Tella from answering the question as Fernando and Patricia were beckoned inside.

Tella turned back to Caspar, but he’d already slipped away, most likely off in search of another pair to play with.

It was probably for the best. Caspar’s reaction to Tella’s story had made her question things better left unquestioned. Tella didn’t know what she’d find on the other side of the black tasseled curtain, but if it involved the next clue, she assumed her head would be toyed with even more. Best to have it on straight before she stepped inside.

There were no clocks on the tavern walls, only mirrors and lanterns, bottles, and more attempted renderings of Legend. So Tella didn’t know how long she waited, just that too much time seemed to slip past before the curtain finally parted once more and a familiar voice beckoned her inside.

20

Tella felt as if she’d slipped inside a bottle of poison. Like the rest of the tavern, everything on the other side of the tasseled curtain was green—from the glass-tiled floors to the long mirrored walls and the trio of clamshell chairs. Green as ripening hatred, raw jealousy, and Armando’s emerald eyes.

Tella sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him.

Even though he had never been truly engaged to her sister she would always think of him as the villain he played in the last game.

Tonight Armando’s deep green eyes were lined in black, making them look like freshly set gemstones. His sleek suit was ivory, except for the crimson cravat tied around his throat, and the black top hat on his head. The hat sat at an angle, with a satin band of red wrapped around it, and something about it made Tella imagine it wasn’t so much a tribute to Legend as a prop to make players wonder if Armando was perhaps the true master of the game.

Tella sat smoothly in the empty chair across from him, as if just the sight of Armando’s immaculate white suit didn’t make her want to push the pearl buttons on her gloves and shred his clothes to scraps. But if she did, he would not give her the next clue, and if anyone in this strange church possessed it, she imagined it was the devil across from her.

His mouth smiled, but the expression did not touch his eyes, as if they were just another part of his costume. Unlike most of Legend’s other performers, Armando made no attempts at saying anything charming. It made it easy to dislike him, easy to believe he wasn’t acting, and that he was the role he played. “How’s your sister?”

Tella bristled. “I told you, don’t ever mention her.”

“Or what, you’ll dig your claws into my cheek and scratch my face?” Armando’s gaze dropped to her gloves. “If you feel a need for revenge, go ahead, but I still think I did your sister a favor. No one wants to be the only one who doesn’t know a secret. And she’d have been far worse off if she’d discovered the truth after this week.”

“You could have been less nasty about it.”

“If you believe that, you still don’t know how this game works. All of Legend’s performers are given a role to play, a person that we are each meant to become during the game—that’s what really moves Caraval forward, not rhyming clues. So, yes, Miss Dragna, I did have to be nasty about it.” Armando’s eyes turned hard and sharp with every word, as if each one made him more of a villain.

If Tella could have placed a wager on it she’d have bet that he relished the role. He’d played a monster in the last game as well, and from his lack of apology Tella guessed he’d enjoyed that, too. Was that why he always played the role, or was there something more to it?

As Tella considered the question, she heard her nana Anna’s voice repeating part of a story she’d told many times. The witch also warned that wishes come with costs, and the more he performed, the more he would transform into whatever roles he played. If he acted the part of a villain, he’d become one in truth.

Tella had always remembered her nana saying Legend liked to play the villain, and that it had turned him into one. But that wasn’t the exact truth. Legend became the roles he played, which meant he only became a villain if he took on the role of one—as Armando had done.

Tella hadn’t considered it before. She hated Armando for what he’d put her sister through. To imagine him being Legend felt like giving him a compliment, and she didn’t want to give Armando anything unless it caused a significant amount of pain.