Finale (Caraval 3)

Tella jolted back at the sight of Legend’s royal guards. Seven of them. All strewn across the top of the stairs like knocked-over toy soldiers.

She stubbed her heel on a rock as she stumbled back another step. Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to her that maybe the magic-scented trail she had been chasing didn’t belong to her mother. If all the Fates were awake, one of them might have done this.

But these guards didn’t look dead.

Maybe Tella was tricking herself, but they appeared to be sleeping.

She crept closer and cautiously pressed her finger to one guard’s neck. She thought she felt a pulse, when a rushed set of footfalls broke the quiet.

Did they belong to her mother, or a Fate?

Tella’s stomach tied into a knot. Before the Fates had been freed from the cards, the spell had begun to crack and ghostly versions of the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens had temporarily slipped out of the cards and almost killed her. But Tella had survived, and she’d rather face them all over again than risk losing her mother again.

Tella chased the footfalls down narrow stairs into a poorly lit labyrinth of cells with pearly white bars. They were almost pretty, but she hated cages; the sight of each one made her bare feet sprint faster.

Her bruising pace didn’t slow until the hallway opened into a brilliantly torch-lit cavern that reeked of sulfur and dank running water. It could have easily been an elaborate set for a historical play, the prettiest of torture chambers, or a training room for an ancient circus.

Red tightropes crisscrossed above Tella’s head, with no net beneath. Painted circles that looked like wheels of death, all decorated with knives, spun around the edges. Beyond the wheels were pits of vibrant orange-tipped flames that burned like lakes of fire beneath narrow suspension bridges. In a corner, a granite carousel covered in decorative spikes whirled.

Cutting through the center of it all was a river of red. Tella’s mother stood on the other side of it. But she looked nothing like the weak woman Tella had left lying in a bed.

11

Donatella

Paloma looked like a wicked version of Scarlett. Tella didn’t know where her mother had found new clothes, but she now wore a floor-length black leather coat with short sleeves that showed off long garnet-red gloves. They were the same color as her corset top. On her legs, Paloma wore fitted bone-white breeches, which tucked into black leather boots that went over her knees. A dagger rested in a sheath, snug against her calf, while a thin silver rope wrapped around her opposite thigh like a pet snake.

She looked brutal and beautiful, like a criminal who’d just escaped from a Wanted poster—a myth who’d ripped herself free from a story to give it a different ending. And Tella desperately wanted to be a part of that ending.

“Please, don’t leave again!” Tella cried.

Then she was running, barreling through the cavern, leaping over the stream of red and into her mother’s arms. Tella hugged her with everything she had. Maybe if she held on tight enough she wouldn’t have to let go this time. Tella wanted a different ending, too. She wanted one with her mother and Scarlett, smiling and laughing and making wondrous plans for the future.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Paloma said, her voice sharp, and yet she didn’t release Tella. She stroked her ratted curls with a tenderness Tella had never been able to capture in her memories.

“I knew you’d be fierce,” Paloma said. “But, Donatella, this is a fight that will destroy you if you don’t walk away.” She dropped her arms.

“No!” Tella grabbed her mother’s wrists; she’d hold on for the rest of her life if she had to. “You belong with Scarlett and me. I don’t know what you think you need to do, but please come back to us.”

“I can’t.” Paloma tried to shake free, but Tella refused to let go. “You need to get out of here—it’s not safe.”

“My life hasn’t been safe since you left!”

Paloma’s hazel eyes turned glassy, and her voice gentled at last. “I hate that you’ve experienced so much pain. But I’m only going to bring you more. I’m the one who’s dangerous tonight, Donatella. I’m here because I need to kill someone.”

“No,” Tella argued, even as she felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re just saying that to make me leave.”

“I wish I were. But there are things from my past that I need to make right, and I won’t risk letting you and Scarlett get involved. I’ve made countless mistakes, but you and your sister are the only things I’ve made that have brought something better into this world.” Her daring smile returned, giving Tella hope that maybe her mother didn’t really want to do this. Tella only had to convince her of that.

“Just come back with me to say good-bye to Scarlett,” Tella pled. “She’s missed you too!”

“I wish I could.” Paloma reached up and cupped Tella’s jaw. “I would go with you, but I have to do this, or you and your sister will never be safe.”

She stroked Tella’s cheek, one gentle touch, before she slipped her gloved fingers to the back of Tella’s neck and pulled her closer. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry.”

Something sharp poked out from the tips of Paloma’s gloves and pricked Tella’s nape. She felt a bite of cold and a sense of liquid being injected into her veins.

“Wh—what—” Her tongue felt suddenly heavy and useless. She wanted to ask what her mother had done. She wanted to ask why she suddenly couldn’t move her arms or legs. She wanted to say so much more. But nothing came out except that one powerless what.