“You should have asked me to dance first.”

“I will, next time.” His lips swept a kiss across her forehead. “Don’t give up on me, Donatella. If you stay with me long enough to get you somewhere safe and warm, then I promise I won’t let go of you like I did that night. Together we’ll fix all of this.”

The sharpness left his face, and for a moment Dante looked so treacherously young. His dark eyes were more open than usual, rimmed in bits of starlight that made her want to stare into them forever. His hair fell like strands of lost ink in every direction, while his dangerous mouth remained parted, looking vulnerably close to spilling a wicked secret.

“You’re the most beautiful liar I’ve ever seen.” She tried to mumble more, but her mouth didn’t want to move any longer. Her muscles were so, so tired.

Dante held her hazardously closer as he reached a mausoleum and opened the gate. Tella told herself she’d only close her eyes for another moment. Dante was murmuring something else, and she wanted to hear it. It sounded as if it might have been important. But it was suddenly so much warmer in here, and hadn’t she wanted to know what it would feel like to fall asleep wrapped in his arms?

26

Tella wanted to fall back asleep the instant she woke up, if this stifling form of consciousness could actually be considered wakefulness. Her eyes would not open. Her lips would not move. But she could feel the pain, searing so sharply. Her entire world was formed of injured bones and sliced skin, punctuated by fragments of sounds and wayward words, as if her hearing couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to work.

There were two voices, male, both echoing. Tella’s groggy head conjured images of rocky walls hidden deep underground.

“What did…”

“I—”

“Save … her…”

“I know the risks … but Fates … She won’t heal.”

“I thought the Prince … was the only Fate free?”

“These Fates … stayed hidden for years … or the spell imprisoning the Fates is weakening.”

The other voice muttered a curse.

Tella felt it then, something that wasn’t pain, wet against her lips. Thicker than water and slightly metallic. Blood.

“Drink.”

Something warm pressed more firmly against Tella’s mouth, until she could feel the damp blood dripping onto her tongue. Her first instinct was to spit it out. But it was still impossible to move, and she enjoyed the way it tasted, like power and strength and something fierce enough to make her heart race. With extreme effort she managed to lick and drink down more.

“Good girl.” It was one of the voices from before, but now that some of her pain had dulled Tella could add a name. Julian.

“That should be enough.” The second voice was lower and more commanding. Dante.

Tella’s heart beat even faster.

An instant later there was no more blood. The pain was still present but it was dulled to an aching.

“Find her sister.” Dante again. “Get her into Tella’s room at the palace. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

A pause followed, extended in a way that made Tella fear her hearing had failed her until Julian’s voice broke the quiet. “You really care about her?”

Another pause.

“I care about finding those cards, and she’s our best hope for it, brother.”

27

It should have felt like the end of existence when Tella came back to consciousness once more. Her everything should have hurt in every possible way. She should have awoken to a world of pain, to a screaming wrist, a swollen face, and battered feet. Instead her body felt whole and rested, and her heart was beating stronger than it had the night before. Wherever she was, this new universe was delightfully cozy and sweet, as if someone had tucked her into the center of a holiday.

Something crackled, a fire that smelled faintly of cinnamon and cloves. There were curling streams of laughter too, uneven and gasping, her sister’s laugh when she thought her companion genuinely funny.

If Scarlett was giggling, it couldn’t be all bad.

Tella cautiously cracked her eyelids.

And slammed them shut immediately. Or she tried to shut her eyes, but they refused to close, as if they were unable to look away from the vivid sight of her sister, clad in seductive shades of red, and Jacks, glowing faintly as he leaned lazily across one of the tufted lounges in Tella’s tower suite. Her sister and her fake fiancé both laughed and chatted and gazed as if they could not have been more taken with each other.

Tella sat up. It seemed she was atop but not inside her bed. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know who had changed her out of her decimated gown, or how. But somehow she was in a brand-new dress—the same silver sea salt and blue as Jacks’s eyes, with sleeves held together by a simple tie, a flowing skirt, and a bodice strung with dark thistle ribbons that made her look like a present someone had halfway unwrapped.

Dante didn’t appear to be anywhere and neither did Julian. Tella’s gaze took in every corner of the room. The dull peach light streaming through the window gave the impression of a sluggish morning, but there were no hints that Julian or Dante had been there. Just thinking about Dante brought a rush of dizziness that made her want to close her eyes again. Her skin warmed as she recalled the protective way he’d cradled her in his arms. But then it burned when she thought of the last words he’d said to Julian. She wanted to believe everything she’d overhead was only a dream. But then who had healed her? And how had she ended up here?

In front of the dying fire, Jacks and Scarlett were still chatting; neither of them noticed Tella was no longer asleep. Jacks was tossing around a pale blue apple and saying something too low for Tella to hear, but it made her sister’s cheeks turn pink.

Tella coughed. Loudly.

“Oh, Tella!” Scarlett jumped up from her seat, and Tella swore her sister’s face reddened further. “I’m so glad you’re awake. Jacks and I have been so worried.”

Tella’s head snapped toward the villain in question. “I didn’t even think you were allowed in here.”

“I love how you forget I’m the heir to the throne,” Jacks said smoothly. “This palace is practically mine. But even if it wasn’t, no one could keep me from your side, even after such a minor incident.”

His eyes hooked on to Tella’s as he came to her side of the bed, silently commanding her to go along with whatever he said next. “I know you only fell a few feet, after accidentally leaving the carriage too early and hitting your head. But I still worry what would have happened if I hadn’t been there to catch you and carry you back here, my love.” He spoke it all affectionately, as if he found everything about her entirely endearing.

Tella swore Scarlett’s eyes turned into little hearts.

Tella began to wonder if perhaps this was the actual dream, although it was feeling more akin to a nightmare. Scarlett appeared far too taken with Jacks, who wasn’t even supposed to be there. Dante and Julian had saved her—where were they?

Jacks picked up Tella’s wrist and gently squeezed. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have said he looked concerned. “Your pulse feels strong. But you probably need some food.” He turned back to Scarlett. “Would you be a treasure and fetch your sister a fresh tray of fruit and tea and biscuits? It will take too long to ring for a servant and I don’t think we should risk letting her pass out again.”