Legendary

  No longer feeling as exhausted, she practically bounced in her seat as the coach finally landed.

  Across from her the lazing nobleman ignored her as she slipped out the door into the cavernous carriage house.

  Tella wondered if she was the last to arrive. The only sound she heard was the heavy cranking of the notched wheels that moved the carriage lines. She didn’t see any of Legend’s performers or her sister. But in between the lines of rocking coaches there were a number of armor-clad, expressionless guards.

  One guard shadowed Tella’s every move, the clink of his armor following her, as she left the carriages and entered the empress’s luscious grounds. Legend’s performers might have been Elantine’s guests, but as Tella passed timeworn stone gardens and elaborate topiaries, she had a sudden impression that the empress didn’t trust her visitors. It made Tella wonder why she’d invited them to stay in the palace and perform for her birthday.

  Tella had heard that when she was younger Empress Elantine had had a wild streak. She’d snuck into the forbidding Spice Quarter and pretended to be a commoner so she could have all sorts of scandalous adventures and romantic trysts. Unfortunately, for most of Tella’s life, the empress had been known to be far less daring. Perhaps inviting Legend’s performers here was her way of being reckless once again. But Tella doubted it; someone who ruled as long as Elantine didn’t do so with thoughtless abandon.

  Somehow the inside of the palace was even more magnificent than its jewel-bright exterior. Everything was impossibly large, as if the Fates had built it merely to show off their might, and then simply left it behind when they’d disappeared. Glittering lapis floors reflected Tella’s entrance as she passed blue quartz columns larger than oak trees and crystalline oil lamps as tall as people.

  Up and down the massive marble staircase, servants flitted about like flurries of snowflakes, but again Tella saw no signs of her sister or any other performers.

  “Welcome.” A woman dressed in a proud shade of blue stepped in front of Tella. “I’m head matron of the sapphire wing.”

  “Donatella Dragna. I’m here with Legend’s performers, and I fear I’m a little late.”

  “I’d actually say you’re very late,” the matron told her, but she spoke with a smile, which gave Tella a bit of relief as the woman looked down at the list in her hands, softly humming. Until slowly the pleasant sound faded and stopped.

  Her smile disappeared next. “Could you repeat your name once more?”

  “It’s Donatella Dragna.”

  “I see a Scarlett Dragna.”

  “That’s my sister.”

  The woman looked up, eyes briefly darting to the guard who’d escorted Tella in. “Your sister might be a welcome guest, but I’m afraid I don’t have you written down. Are you certain you were invited?”

  8

  No. Tella hadn’t been invited to the palace, but if Scarlett was on the list, Tella should have been too. Legend was playing with her. He must have removed her from the guest list after Tella’s conversation with Nigel.

  She took a deep breath, refusing to be nervous, but she imagined every servant in the wing could hear the pounding of her heart. It would be so easy for the guard who’d escorted her there to toss her out into the night. No one would even notice right away, given how often Tella intentionally disappeared, and that she’d already been separated from Scarlett along with everyone else she knew in Valenda.

  “My sister,” Tella said, “she’s staying here. I could share her room.”

  “That would be unacceptable,” the matron answered, more stiffly than before.

  “I don’t see why it matters,” Tella said. “If anything my sister would prefer it.”

  “And who is your sister? Is she a royal monarch with a fifth of the world at her fingertips?”

  Tella bit back from saying something that would only have her tossed out faster. “What about one of the other wings?” she asked sweetly. “There must be one empty room in such a large palace.”

  “Even if there were rooms, you are not on the guest list, so you cannot stay.”

  At her words the guard stalked closer, armor echoing across the exquisite foyer.

  It took everything Tella had to keep from raising her voice. Instead she forced her lips to tremble and her eyes to turn watery. “Please, I have nowhere else to go,” she begged, hoping the woman had a heart somewhere beneath her starched dress. “Just find my sister and let me stay with her.”

  The matron’s lips pinched, appraising Donatella in all her pathetic splendor. “I can’t let you stay here, but perhaps there’s a free cot or nest in the servants’ quarters.”

  The guard shadowing her snickered.

  Tella’s heart sank even further. A nest in the servants’ quarters?

  “Excuse me.” The low voice rumbled directly behind her, a rough brush against the back of Tella’s neck.

  Her stomach dipped and tied a knot.

  Only one person’s voice did that to Tella.

  Casually Dante came up to her side. A silhouette of sharp raven-wing black, from his perfect dark suit to the ink tattooing his hands. The only light came from the shimmer in his amused eyes. “Having a problem with your room?”

  “Not at all.” Tella willed her cheeks not to flush with embarrassment, hoping he’d not overheard the conversation. “There’s just a tiny mix-up, but it’s been resolved.”

  “What a relief. I thought I heard her say she was putting you in the servants’ quarters.”

  “That’s only if there’s room,” the matron said.

  Tella could have turned mortified-green and sunk into the lapis floor, but to her shock Dante, who usually enjoyed laughing at her, didn’t so much as tilt the corner of his mouth in diversion. Instead he turned the full force of his brutal gaze on the matron. “Do you know who this young lady is?”

  “I beg your pardon,” said the matron, “who are you?”

  “I oversee all of Legend’s performers.” Dante’s voice was full of more arrogance than usual. The type of tone that made it impossible for Tella to discern if he was speaking the truth or making up a lie. “You do not want to put her in the servants’ quarters.”

  “Why is that?” asked the matron.

  “She’s engaged to the heir to the throne of the Meridian Empire.”

  The woman’s brows drew together warily. Tella’s might have done the same, but she instantly covered her surprise with the sort of haughty expression she imagined a royal heir’s fiancée might wear.

  Of course, Tella didn’t even know who the current heir was. Elantine had no children, and her heirs were killed off faster than the news could travel to Tella’s former home on Trisda. But Tella didn’t care who her fake fiancé was, as long as it kept her from sleeping in a nest.

  Unfortunately, the matron still looked skeptical. “I didn’t know His Highness had a new fiancée.”

  “It’s a secret,” Dante responded flawlessly. “I believe he’s planning on announcing the engagement at his next party. So I’d recommend not saying anything. I’m sure you’ve heard what his temper is like.”

  The woman went stiff. Then her eyes darted from Dante to Tella. Clearly she didn’t trust either of them, but her fear of the heir’s temper must have outweighed her good judgment.

  “I’ll check again to see if there’s another room available,” she said. “We’re full for the celebration, but perhaps someone we expected hasn’t arrived.”

  The moment she left, Dante turned back to Tella, leaning close so that no eavesdropping servants could hear. “Don’t rush to thank me.”

  Tella supposed she did owe him a bit of gratitude. Yet the exchange coated her with the thick sensation that Dante was doing her the opposite of a favor. “I can’t figure out if you’ve just saved me or landed me in an even more unfortunate situation.”

  “I found you a room, didn’t I?”

  “You’ve also given me a bad-tempered fiancé.”

  One corner of his full
mouth lifted. “Would you rather have pretended to be my fiancée? I considered saying that, but I didn’t think that would be the best choice since—what was it you said to your sister?” He tapped a finger against his smooth chin. “Ah yes, when we kissed it was terrible, one of the worst, definitely not something you would wish to repeat.”

  Tella felt the color drain from her face. God’s blood! Dante was absolutely shameless. “You were spying!”

  “I didn’t need to. You were loud.”

  Tella should have said she hadn’t meant it—he had to have known she hadn’t meant it—but the last thing she wanted was to boost Dante’s pride. “So this is revenge?”

  He leaned even closer. Tella couldn’t discern if the humor had left his gaze or if it had just shifted into something deeper and darker and a little more dangerous. His warm fingers intentionally skimmed the length of her collarbone. Her breathing hitched. Yet she didn’t pull away, even as his eyes became nearly level with hers, coming so close she could feel the sweep of his lashes.

  “Let’s just say we’re even now.” His lips moved to the corner of her mouth.

  Then, right before making contact, he pulled away. “I wouldn’t wish to repeat something so unpleasant for you.”

  Without another word, Dante strutted off, his wide shoulders shaking, as if he were laughing.

  Tella burned. After what Dante had just done, they were far from even.

  The matron returned several rapid heartbeats later, with a smile tighter than fresh stitches. “It seems we have an available suite in Elantine’s golden tower.”

  Tella swallowed a gasp. Maybe Dante had done her a favor after all.

  Next to the city’s numerous ruins, Elantine’s golden tower was the oldest structure in the Empire. Rumored to have walls made of pure gold and all sorts of secret passages for monarchs to sneak out of, many believed it wasn’t just a replica of Tower Lost from the Decks of Destiny but that it was the actual tower, with dormant magic hidden inside it.

  “Guests are not normally allowed in the tower,” the matron said as she led Tella from the sapphire wing into a glass courtyard, where fancifully dressed clusters of people meandered under opalescent arches and crystal trees with silver leaves. Unfamiliar with palace culture, having grown up on an unrespected conquered isle, Tella wondered if they were part of Elantine’s court, or if these were some other guests that the matron had mentioned.

  “You’re not to have any visitors,” the matron continued. “Not even your fiancé is welcome inside your room.”

  Tella might have said she’d never dream of letting a boy enter her room, but it was probably best not to pile too many lies on top of each other or they might all come tumbling down.

  At the end of the courtyard there was only one set of doors to the golden tower, so grandiose and heavy it took three sentries to pull each one open.

  Tella didn’t realize the guard from the carriage house still followed her until he was stopped as Tella and the matron were both let through. Either word of Tella’s engagement had traveled swiftly through the palace, or this head matron was as important as she thought herself. Tella hoped for the latter, knowing as soon as the real heir discovered her ruse, she’d certainly be exposed and kicked out of the palace—or worse. Until then she’d decided to enjoy the charade.

  Contrary to the stories, the inside of the tower wasn’t golden; it was old. Even the air smelled archaic, full of forgotten stories and bygone words. On the lower level there were aged stone pillars formed of chipped columns, and decorative capitals carved to look like two-faced women, all lit by crackling black torches that smelled of incense and spells.

  From there, the matron shepherded her up floor after creaking floor, each one as old as the first. The door they finally stopped in front of looked so aged, one touch and Tella imagined it might fall off the hinges.

  No wonder guests never stayed in here.

  “A guard will be posted outside your door at all times.” The matron rang the bell around her neck, summoning a sentry in striking white metal armor. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you as the heir’s fiancée!”

  “For some reason, I don’t believe that’s true,” Tella said.

  The matron’s smile returned, spreading slowly, like a stain. “At least you’re sharper than you look. But if you really are engaged to the heir, then it’s not Her Majesty’s guards you should fear.”

  “I actually don’t believe in fearing anything.” Tella shut the door, leaving the woman in the hall before she could say another pointed word, or Tella could blurt out more things she shouldn’t.

  It wasn’t smart to upset servants. Of course, it also wasn’t wise to lie about being a royal heir’s fiancée. She’d have to pay Dante back for that one.

  Though, to his credit, he had garnered her a fantastic suite. The tower might have been a relic, but her rooms were marvelous.

  Moonlight flooded in through the windows, casting everything in a dreamy glow. Someone had already set a tray of good-night sweets atop one of the sitting room’s dainty glass tables. Tella plucked a star-shaped cookie as she wandered past two white stone fireplaces into a lavish bedroom covered in carpets of glory blue. They matched the heavy curtains hanging from the inviting canopy bed. Tella wanted to collapse atop it and sleep all her troubles away.

  But she needed to write Scarlett first and let her know she was—

  Two voices tripped out of the corner.

  Tella’s eyes cut to a cracked door in the crook of the room, which likely led to the bathing room.

  She heard the whispers again. Servants, who must have been unaware Tella was there. One voice was light and chirping, the other warm and soft, making her think of a petite bird talking to a plump bunny rabbit.

  “I honestly feel sorry for her,” said the bunny girl.

  “You’re saying you wouldn’t want to be engaged to the heir?” chirped the birdy one. “Have you seen him?”

  “I don’t care what he looks like. He’s a murderer. Everyone knows there were seventeen people between him and Empress Elantine’s throne. Then one by one all the other heirs died in horrific ways.”

  “But that doesn’t mean the current one killed them all.”

  “I don’t know,” murmured the bunny. “I heard he’s not even part of the noble bloodline, but he’s murdered so many people the real heir won’t step forward.”

  “You’re ridiculous, Barley!” The bird girl squawked out a laugh. “You shouldn’t believe every rumor you hear.”

  “What about the rumor that he killed his last fiancée?”

  Both maids went abruptly quiet.

  In the tense silence Tella thought she heard Death’s rasping laugh. It grated like rusty metal sawing into bone. The same exact sound had greeted her as she’d plunged from that awful balcony during Caraval. A gruesome welcome to a hideous kingdom. Now it served as a chilling reminder that she’d once been Death’s, and he wanted her back.

  Tella was going to kill Dante. Slowly. With her hands.

  Or maybe Tella would use her gloves to kill him—she’d tie the sheaths of satin around his throat—then she would use her naked hands to finish off the job. Not only had the brooding bastard given her a fake fiancé with a bad temper, he’d chosen a murderous one. Tella might have been able to appreciate how well constructed his petty vengeance was if she’d not been the subject of it.

  9

  Tella continued to think of different ways to harm or embarrass Dante as she stumbled out of bed the next morning. She could find him that night at the ball, when Caraval began, and accidentally spill wine all over him. Of course, since Dante was so fond of black, that might be a waste of wine, and most likely just make her appear clumsy.

  Maybe she could make him jealous instead, by looking stunning, and arriving on the arm of some handsome boy. But Tella doubted she had enough time to find a handsome young man to go with her to the ball, and making Dante jealous really should have been her furthest concern.

/>   Tella needed to focus on meeting her friend before midnight and convincing him to give her an extra week to play Caraval and uncover Legend’s name.

  Then she’d see her mother again.

  It’d been so long Tella could no longer recall the sound of Paloma’s voice, but she knew it was both sweet and strong, and sometimes Tella missed it so much she wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

  “Miss Dragna.” A sentry knocked heavily on her door. “A package has arrived.”

  “Give me one minute.” Tella searched for her trunks, needing to dress, but apparently they’d either been lost or they weren’t allowed inside of the tower. All she possessed was the ugly little trunk she’d carried with her off the boat, and she’d not put any fresh clothes inside it.

  Tella opened the door once she’d finished slipping on her gown from the day before.

  The guard’s entire face was hidden behind a pearly white box as tall as a wedding cake, topped with an oversize velvet bow as thick as frosting.

  “Who sent this?” Tella asked.

  “There’s a note.” The guard set the box atop a tufted chaise the color of harbor light.

  The instant he left, Tella removed a sheer vellum envelope. Her skin didn’t prickle with magic, but something felt not right. Though the entire package was as white as chaste kisses and pure intentions, the sitting room felt darker since the gift had entered. The sun’s shine no longer poured through the windows, leaving dimness that turned all the elegant furniture to wary shades of green.

  Tella cautiously opened the envelope. The letter was covered in heavy black script.

  * * *

  MY DEAREST FIANCÉE,

  WHAT A SURPRISE IT WAS TO HEAR OF YOUR ARRIVAL—AND I’D FEARED I’D HAVE NO ONE TO DANCE WITH AT THE FATED BALL TONIGHT. I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND THAT I’VE CHOSEN A GOWN FOR YOU TO WEAR. I WANT TO BE SURE I CAN SPOT YOU IMMEDIATELY. I’D RATHER NOT HAVE TO HUNT YOU DOWN BEFORE WE OFFICIALLY ANNOUNCE OUR ENGAGEMENT.