Tella didn’t know if the enchanted card would show the same awful picture today; after everything that had happened during Caraval, she hoped that perhaps it had changed.

But the image hadn’t shifted.

All the air and hope fled Tella’s lungs.

The card still showed her mother. She looked like a battered version of the Lady Prisoner, depicted in Decks of Destiny, covered in blood, and caged behind the harsh iron bars of a dim prison cell.

This was the future that had prompted Tella to make another request of her friend and ask him if he could also help find her mother. Tella’s previous searches for Paloma had led nowhere, but her friend, who was not bound to a backwater island like Tella, clearly had better ideas and methods of how to search.

She had memorized his reply by heart.

* * *

Dearest Donatella,

I’m looking into the request regarding your mother and I already have a strong lead. I believe the reason you couldn’t find her before is because Paloma was not her real name. However, I will not be able to reunite you with her until you pay me back for the information I sent you about Caraval Master Legend.

In case you forgot, I need Legend’s true name. The others I’ve tasked to do this have all failed. But since you’ll be spending time on his private isle, I’m sure you will succeed. Once you have the name, we can discuss my payment for finding your mother.

Yours,

A friend

* * *

This news about Paloma’s name was the only information Tella had learned about her mother since she’d left seven years ago. It gave Tella genuine hope. She had no idea why her friend wanted Legend’s name, whether it was for personal use, or if it was information another client had tried to purchase. But Tella didn’t care; she would do whatever it took to uncover Legend’s name. If Tella could do this, she believed she would finally see her mother again. Her friend had not let her down before.

“Good lord!”

Tella looked up to see her sister’s large eyes go wide as she reentered the room. “Where did you get all those coins?” Scarlett pointed at Tella’s open trunk.

But at the word coins, Tella’s thoughts were suddenly elsewhere. Her friend had wrapped a strange coin inside the last letter he’d sent. That’s what she was missing! It must have slipped out of her pocket when she’d been tumbling around the forest floor with Dante.

Tella needed to get back to the forest and find it. She concealed the Aracle inside her pocket as she shot toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Scarlett called. “Don’t tell me you stole all that money!”

“Don’t worry,” Tella replied. “I took it all from our father, and he thinks I’m dead.”

Before Scarlett could respond, Tella raced from the room.

She moved so fast she was already outside of the turreted house, on a street lined with hatbox-shaped shops, when she realized she was still barefoot. A mistake she felt quickly.

“God’s teeth!” Tella yelped. She was only halfway to the forest and it was the third time she’d stubbed her toe. This time she swore a rock jumped up from the cobbled street and attacked her exposed feet on purpose. “I swear, if another one of you bites my toes I will drown you in the ocean where the mermaids can use you to wipe their—”

Tella heard a low, deep, and unnervingly familiar chuckle.

She told herself not to turn around. Not to give in to her curiosity. But being told no—even from herself—only made Tella want to do the opposite.

Carefully she snuck a look over her shoulder, and instantly regretted it.

Dante strutted down the other side of the quiet street with amused eyes fixed on her.

Tella averted her gaze, hoping if she ignored him he’d stay on his side of the road and pretend he hadn’t just seen her yelling at a rock.

Instead he crossed the street, intentionally striding toward her with those impossibly long legs of his, broad mouth smiling as if he had a secret.

3

Tella told herself her stomach only tumbled because she hadn’t eaten that morning. Dante might have slept on a forest floor, but not even a blade of grass clung to his polished boots. Dressed in inky shades of black, without so much as a loose cravat, he looked like a dark, wingless angel who’d been tossed from the heavens and landed on his feet.

Tella had a sudden flash of the way he’d approached her at the party last night, and her insides did another flip. He’d responded with disinterest that bordered on ignoring her when she’d first said hello. But then she’d caught him watching her from the across the party—just glimpses, here and there—until, out of nowhere, he’d appeared at her side and kissed her until her knees gave out.

“Please don’t stop such an interesting speech on my account,” he said, returning her to the present moment. “I’m sure I’ve heard far more colorful curses.”

“Did you just insult my use of profanity?”

“I thought I asked for more dirty words.” His voice pitched so low Tella swore it curled the ribbons trailing down the back of her dress.

But this was Dante. He talked like this to all the girls, flashing his devastating smile and saying wicked and beguiling things until he got them to unbutton their blouses or lift their skirts. Then he pretended they didn’t exist. She’d heard the stories during Caraval. So Tella should have been safe to assume that after last night this boy would never speak to her again, which was what she wanted.

Tella enjoyed the kissing, and maybe once upon another time she might have been tempted by the idea of more. But the problem with more was it could also bring more feelings, like love. Tella wanted nothing to do with love; she’d learned long ago it was not in her destiny. She gave herself the freedom to kiss as many boys as she liked, but never more than once.

“What do you want?” Tella asked.

Dante’s eyes widened enough to betray surprise at her sharp tone, yet his voice remained pleasant as he said, “You dropped this in the forest last night.” He held out one large palm, showing her a thick brassy coin embossed with a disjointed image that resembled half of a face.

He had her coin! Tella could have leaped out of her skin to grab it, but she doubted acting too eager would be wise.

“Thank you for picking it up,” she answered coolly. “It’s not valuable, but I like to carry it as a good-luck charm.”

She reached for it.

Dante pulled his hand back, and tossed the brassy disc into the air before catching it. “Interesting choice for a charm.” Suddenly he looked more serious, thick brows drawing closer together over coal-dark eyes, as he flipped the coin over and over, letting it dance between his tattooed fingers. “I’ve seen some odd things during Caraval, but I’ve never known someone to carry one of these for luck.”

“I suppose I like to be original.”

“Or you have no idea what it is.” His rich voice sounded more entertained than before.

“And what do you think it is?”

Dante tossed the coin once more. “It’s said these were forged by the Fates. People used to call them ‘luckless coins.’”

“No wonder it’s never worked well.” Tella managed a laugh, but something gnawed—foolishness, perhaps—at not having recognized the object.

Tella had been obsessed with the Fates ever since finding her mother’s Deck of Destiny. There’d been thirty-two of them, comprising a court of sixteen immortals, eight places, and eight objects. Every Fate was known for one particular power, but that wasn’t the only reason they’d come to rule most of the world centuries ago. It was also said they couldn’t be killed by mortals, and that they were faster and stronger, too.