The seamstress creased her mouth. “We don’t have a dress to go with it.”
“If Jacks hired you, I’m sure you can figure out something.” Tella placed the waxy crown of candles atop her head and turned toward the mirrored wall. The gauzy black veil shrouded her features completely, shifting her into a living shadow. Absolutely perfect.
If there was one costume that declared that despite Jacks’s kisses and curses he would never fully own her, it was the crown of the Lost Heir. Maybe it was a foolish choice to be so defiant, but it was one of the few choices Jacks had given her.
The seamstress shook her head, again muttering something about Tella having no idea what sort of game she was playing.
But Tella knew exactly what type of game she was a part of: one that would destroy her and the people she cared about if she didn’t win.
17
Tella rode back to the palace beneath the slow descent of a falling sun. It was late afternoon, that warm hour of the day where the cerulean sky was usually tinged with gold and butter and wisps of peach light. But to Tella’s eyes all the colors above could have been called sepia at best. Everywhere she looked the sky was brownish, and dullish, and just wrongish enough to make her wonder if the afternoon was off or if it was her vision.
By the time she reached the palace she was half convinced another one of Jacks’s side effects was watching the once bright world lose all its color. But perhaps the true side effect was paranoia. Unlike the dull outside, Tella’s tower suite was as blissfully blue as before—from the periwinkle canopy above her bed to the tinted teal waters waiting for her in the bath.
But Tella didn’t have time to wash up more than her hands. She barely had enough minutes to change from her stained lace gown into a new dress from the seamstress. Made of midnight-blue satin and thick black velvet stripes that slashed down a full skirt, the gown was darker than Tella’s usual attire, but something about the combination made her feel fierce enough to battle Jacks and Legend and anyone in Valenda participating in Caraval.
With a fresh bounce to her step, which she hoped wouldn’t leave, Tella marched out of her bedroom into the main suite, and swallowed a curse at the sight of her sister.
Scarlett sat in front of one of the unlit white fireplaces. Tella didn’t know how Scarlett had found her way in, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. If Scarlett Dragna had a magical ability, it would be the power to always find her sister. Tella didn’t know if older sisters were always connected to their younger siblings this way, or if it was something special between the two of them. Tella would never admit it to Scarlett, but knowing her sister could track her down regardless of the obstacles was one of the few things that truly made Tella feel safe, though it wasn’t always convenient or comfortable.
Tella was not proud of herself for avoiding Scarlett. She’d had a valid reason not to go to her last night, but she should have made time to check in on her that morning and to apologize for not telling the truth about Armando.
As Tella stepped deeper into the room, Scarlett’s head remained down toward her hands, where she held the pair of nude gloves that Jacks had sent that morning.
“Did you know gloves are a symbolic gift?” Scarlett rubbed the soft sheaths between her fingers. “It’s out of fashion now, but I once read that at the start of Elantine’s reign giving a pair of gloves was a custom connected with asking for a girl’s hand in marriage. I think it was supposed to be a young man’s way of saying he’ll take care of a girl by giving her gloves to protect her hands.”
“I’d prefer something a little less symbolic and a little more practical, like blood.”
Scarlett’s head shot up from the gloves. “That’s not very romantic.”
But Tella swore a bolt of red shot up her sister’s throat and color flooded her cheeks, as if the idea thrilled her more than it repulsed her. Interesting.
Tella had only said it to bring a bit of levity, but maybe she’d meant it a little, and since the statement seemed to have pulled Scarlett’s thoughts in a brighter direction, Tella continued. “I read about it in one of your wedding books. It was an ancient marital custom. People would drink each other’s blood to synchronize their heartbeats. So that even when they were parted they could sense if the other was safe or afraid by the pace of their hearts. That’s what I would want, someone who would give me a piece of himself rather than scraps of fabric.”
“So, did your fiancé give you a vial of blood before he proposed last night?”
A curse burned Tella’s tongue. Her sister was supposed to be there to talk about Armando. But it seemed Scarlett was avoiding that subject, not that Tella could blame her. Though she wished she’d not focused on this topic instead. “How did you hear?”
“I might not have gone to the ball last night, but I didn’t curl up and hide beneath the palace,” Scarlett said. “Although even if I had, I imagine I’d have still caught the rumors about the heir’s very public display of affection and whirlwind engagement to a girl named Donatella.”
“Scar, I can explain, you don’t have to worry.”
“Do I appear worried?”
Scarlett might have looked a bit somber, but now that her head wasn’t bowed Tella was surprised to see there were no anxious lines around her hazel eyes, her pink lips weren’t pinched, her hands weren’t wringing, and her voice was pleasantly light.
It was actually unnerving. Scarlett worried all the time, even when there was nothing to fret about, and right now there were definitely things that should concern her.
“So you really don’t care that I’m engaged?” Tella plopped onto the tufted chaise across from Scarlett.
“Tella, I know you’re only kidding, but this is veering into slightly uncomfortable territory for me. Can you just tell me what really happened?”
Blast it all. This was exactly what Tella feared.
Scarlett continued to give her sister a smile that was both strained and a little patronizing, as if Tella were a very young girl caught up in a make-believe fairy tale. Tella couldn’t blame her. In some ways that was exactly how it felt to Tella. She was staying in a golden tower. A wicked prince had cursed her and imprisoned her mother, and if Tella failed at her task, they’d both be doomed, and so would Scarlett, who’d be left without anyone.
Tella took a deep breath. She had convinced her sister of a sham engagement during Caraval, and she could do it again. She had to do it again if she wanted to keep her sister safe.