Legendary (Caraval 2)

Tella pitched forward as the arms around her dropped away.

“It’s all right.” The voice was low with a lilting accent. “I’m not going to hurt you, but don’t run.”

Tella spun around.

Julian’s dark hair was still mussed from Scarlett’s fingers, but his eyes were no longer the warm liquid amber they’d been when he’d gazed at her sister earlier. They were tight around the corners, hard.

“Julian? What in all the hells are you doing?”

“I’m trying to stop you from making a mistake you’ll regret.” His gaze shot down the narrow redbrick alley, back toward the street with the loathsome Count Nicolas d’Arcy.

“No,” Tella said, “I’m pretty sure if I make this mistake, I’ll be very happy. I’m surprised you don’t want to bloody him as well, for what he allowed my father to do to you.” She nodded toward the jagged scar that went from Julian’s jaw to the corner of his eye. Caraval players could come back to life if they died during the game, but their scars remained. Tella had heard that during Caraval Scarlett’s fiancé had just stood there, doing nothing to stop Tella’s father as he’d sliced Julian’s face.

“Trust me,” Julian gritted out, “I’ve wanted to bloody up Armando more than once, but—”

“Armando?” Tella interrupted. Not the count. Not Nicolas. Not d’Arcy, or that filthy piece of garbage Count Nicolas d’Arcy. Julian had called him Armando. “Why did you just call him Armando?”

“From the look on your face, I think you’ve already guessed. Armando was never engaged to your sister. He works for Legend, just like I do.”

Tella swayed on her bare feet as Caraval’s familiar mantra rushed back: Remember, it’s only a game. We want you to be swept away, but beware of being swept too far away.…

That villain.

Tella had thought herself immune, since she’d been writing letters to Legend as he planned the game. But apparently she’d been wrong. Legend had fooled her, exactly like he’d fooled everyone else. It had never occurred to Tella that an actor might have been playing the role of her sister’s fiancé.

Legend truly did deserve the name he’d given himself. Tella wondered if Legend’s games ever ended, or if his world was an endless maze of fantasy and reality that left those caught inside it forever suspended somewhere in between the two.

Across from her, Julian pulled at the back of his neck, looking more nervous than apologetic. Julian was impulsive. Tella doubted he’d thought through the consequences of telling her the truth. He’d probably just reacted when he’d spied her about to go after Armando.

“My sister has no idea, does she?”

“No,” Julian said. “And for now I want to keep it that way.”

“Are you asking me to lie to her?”

“It’s not as if you haven’t done it before.”

Tella bristled. “I did that for her own good.”

“This is for her own good, too.” Julian crossed his lean arms and lounged back against the alley wall.

In that moment Tella wasn’t sure she liked him at all. She hated the claim he’d just made. Saying something was for someone else’s own good was almost always another way of justifying something wrong. Of course since she’d said it first, she couldn’t properly berate Julian the way she wanted.

“We’re going to Valenda in a few days,” Julian went on. “What do you think your sister will do if she discovers that she never met her real fiancé during Caraval?”

“She’d look for him,” Tella admitted. It would be easy to do since he lived in Valenda. Tella had never understood it, but Scarlett had really wanted to marry this man whom she’d never even seen a portrait of. She’d imagined him with hearts in her eyes, always reading the best things into his bland, unromantic letters.

Scarlett would probably claim it was curiosity, but knowing her sister, deep down she’d probably feel as if she needed to give him a chance, which could be disastrous. Tella once again saw the image of Scarlett sobbing in a bloodied wedding dress. The Aracle showed that she’d erased that future, but there was still a chance it could come about.

“Scarlett won’t like it when she finds out you’ve lied to her,” Tella said.

“I think of it as fighting for her.” Julian rubbed the dark stubble covering his chin. He looked and sounded like a boy a little too eager to jump into a street brawl, yet Tella sensed genuine mettle beneath his words. She still felt a little uncertain as to how long Julian’s affections toward her sister would last, but in that moment Tella imagined Julian would cross any and every moral line to keep Scarlett’s heart. Oddly, it made her trust him more.

It might have made Tella’s life easier to refuse him; then Scarlett wouldn’t worry about Tella being spotted by the count while they were in Valenda, because the real count had never seen her face. But, despite how much simpler it could make things, Tella couldn’t take the risk of telling her sister the truth. A union between Scarlett and the count would end in heartbreak and devastation. The Aracle had shown this, and the card never lied to Tella.

“All right,” she said. “I agree not to say anything to Scarlett about Armando.”

A half nod, as if Julian knew Tella would comply with the deception.