Caraval (Caraval 1)

As Scarlett spoke, Tella’s expression had shifted. She started gnawing on her lower lip, though whether it was fear for their lives or for Scarlett’s sanity, Scarlett could not tell. “You really believe this?” Tella asked.

Scarlett nodded and hoped desperately that their sisterly bond would overcome Tella’s doubts. “I know how this sounds, but I’ve seen the proof.”

“All right, then. Give me a moment.” Tella bustled off, disappearing behind a large black dressing curtain near her bed, while Scarlett worked to push one of the lounges until it covered up the trapdoor, cutting off the stairs she’d used to get there. As she finished, Tella reappeared, wrapped in a blue silk robe, holding a cloth in one hand and a water basin in the other.

“What are you doing?” Scarlett asked. “Why don’t you have on proper clothes?”

“Sit down.” Tella motioned toward one of the many cushioned things. “We’re not in danger, Scar. Whatever you’re afraid of, I know you think it’s real, but that’s the entire point of Caraval. It’s all supposed to feel real, but none of it is. Now, sit, and I’ll wash off some of the blood. You’ll feel better when you’re clean.”

Scarlett didn’t sit.

Tella was using the voice again, the one for crazed children and delusional adults. Not that Scarlett could blame her. If she hadn’t come face-to-face with their father, and if she hadn’t seen Julian die, if she hadn’t felt his heart stop, his warm blood on her hands, or watched as the life drained out of him, she might have been able to doubt it was real.

If only she could doubt it.

“What if I can prove it?” Scarlett pulled out the funeral invitation. “Right before I came up here, Legend left me this.” She thrust the note into Tella’s hand. “Look for yourself. He plans to murder you!”

“Because of Nana Anna?” Tella scowled as she read. Then she seemed to be fighting a laugh. “Oh, Scar, I think you’ve taken this letter the wrong way.”

Tella smothered another giggle as she handed the note back to her. The first thin

g Scarlett noticed were the edges. No longer black, they were now lined in gold, and the script was altered as well.

* * *

Dear Miss Dragna,

As my special guest, I’d like to invite you and your sister to a party, usually reserved for my Caraval performers. It starts one hour after sunset. I know I’m not the only one who hopes to see you and your sister there.

Yours,

Legend

* * *

36

There’s nothing threatening about this.” Tella laughed. “Not unless you’re nervous about the idea of Legend fancying you?”

“No! That’s not what it said before. It was an invitation to a funeral, your funeral.” Scarlett looked at Tella, her eyes pleading. “I’m not crazy,” she insisted. “This note was different when I read it in the tunnels.”

“The ones beneath the game?” Tella interrupted. “Aren’t the tunnels where people go mad?”

“It was a different set. Tella, I swear, I’m not insane. The note said you would die tomorrow unless I could stop it. Please, even if you don’t believe me, I need you to try.”

Tella must have seen her desperation. “Let me see the paper again.”

Scarlett handed it back. Her sister examined the invite with particular care this time, holding it close to one of the fire pits. But no matter what, the script didn’t change.

“Tella, I swear, it was for a funeral, not a party.”

“I believe you,” Tella said.

“You do?”

“Well, I’m guessing it’s like the tickets you received on Trisda, it changes in certain lights. But, Scar…” That painfully careful voice once more. “Couldn’t it be just another part of the game, a device to get you up here, because it was taking you so long, and now that you are here: ta-da! The note has changed from a threat to a reward. Tell me, which makes more sense?”

The way Tella said it sounded so very reasonable. And oh, how Scarlett wanted her to be right. She knew how deceiving the tunnels—and Legend—could be. But Legend was not the only threat.