Legendary (Caraval 2)

“No. But they were entertained enough to keep me alive.”

Tella found herself smiling at the thought of young Dante attempting to fool a boat full of pirates. “So, does this mean you know pirate tricks?”

“I know all sorts of tricks.” Dante finished knotting the cord. But he left his hands on the indent of her waist, warm against the thin fabric. “If you stop trying to push me away, I’ll teach you some.”

“Do I look as if I’m pushing you away?”

“No, but you want to.” He pressed two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face toward his. One of his hands remained on the rope at her waist, while the other moved from her chin to slowly stroke her jaw. She’d often thought his eyes bordered on black, but under the torches’ brilliant glow, Dante’s eyes looked lined in gold and full of something like longing. He gazed at her as if he wanted her to lose herself somewhere in his eyes, so that he could be the one to find her.

But Tella knew this wasn’t about finding her. This was about locating a deck of cards. This was about Fates and power and life and death. Tella wanted to know what it would be like to lose herself in someone like Dante and trust that he would find her. But the only person she could trust was herself.

“Thank you for your assistance, but I think I can manage on my own from here.” She took a step back, freed her chin from his hand, and swept past him.

When her heart skipped over its next beat, it felt more like sorrow than pressure from Jacks, but she forced herself to keep walking. To not turn around.

The dark air became nectar-sweet, taking on an almost drowsy quality as Tella approached the doors and knocked.

She heard Dante come to her side, but she didn’t face him. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“I can. But I don’t want to, and I don’t think you want me to either.”

Before she could ask him to leave again the pearly door before them opened.

Everything on the other side was as pale as the crushed wings of white doves or as gold as fallen stars. Unlike the Church of Legend, this looked like a true temple. And the young man who’d opened the door looked almost exactly like one of the godlike star statues on the steps.

32

Tella had half expected to see Caspar or Nigel or another of Legend’s players, but this young man was foreign to her. It felt like further confirmation the game had turned very real, or that Tella was on the wrong path. She believed that to win Caraval all she needed to do was find her mother’s Deck of Destiny—but believing something didn’t make it true.

Doubt nipped at her as she stepped inside the Temple of the Stars.

The man who opened the door really could have been a carving come to life. His arms and legs, and the parts of him that Tella could see peeking out from all the leathers covering his chest and thighs, looked more like stone than muscle. Maybe he didn’t tower quite so high as the statues outside the sanctuary, but he was taller than Dante. The sort of tall that made Tella tilt her neck to fully see his face.

She swallowed a gasp as she caught sight of his cheek.

The right half of his face was almost too flawless, from his square jaw to his aquiline nose and the dark kohl around his upswept eyes. But all Tella saw when she looked at the left half was the brand burned into his cheek—a brutal eight-pointed star with a symbol in the center made of intricate knots that Tella didn’t recognize.

She tried to avert her eyes, but she was certain he caught her staring. As if to taunt her, he traced the ruthless lines of the star with the tip of one finger.

But though his face was branded, a silver circlet crowned his brow, and a royal-blue cloak draped from his right shoulder held in place by a silver pin that matched the signet ring on the finger he’d used to trace his cheek. He must have been in a position of power, which only made her more nervous. If the temple was as wicked as everyone said, this severe young man must have done unspeakable things to rise to the top of it.

“I’m Theron.” With one simple bend of his wrist, as if used to having others follow his commands, he bade Tella and Dante walk deeper into the foyer.

The ceiling arched above them like a series of interconnected wings, all black with pinpricks of gold clustered together like constellations. Below, the octagonal space was primarily filled by a triple-tiered fountain that dripped candlelight. The floors were white soapstone; shiny enough to reflect the glowing gate covering the double doors at the back wall.

It felt like the sort of place a person was meant to whisper. Tella had the sudden urge to take off her slippers, as if they might soil the spotless floors. Though for all its glimmer and shimmer, there was something insidious about the place. More stone statues lined the walls, as lifelike as the ones in the front, only these were all frozen with expressions of shock, horror, and pain.

“Our temple is fueled by ancient magic from the stars,” Theron said. “The vaults beneath are more secure than any in the world but occasionally fools think they can break in and steal from them.”

“Good thing we’re not planning on stealing anything,” said Tella.

Theron didn’t so much as crack a smile. “What exactly do you want here?”

“I have a question about—”

“If you’re here for the game, we do not possess any clues,” Theron cut in. “We are also not a tourist attraction like many of the other basilicas. To move beyond this hall and have your questions answered, you’ll have to prove your motives aren’t tainted and that you truly seek the stars.” He led Tella and Dante farther in to a lone ivory pedestal topped off by a hammered copper bowl, old and battered compared to everything else. “For our examination, we require one drop of blood.”

Dante side-eyed Tella.