Finale (Caraval 3)

Tella had seen through the glamour outside and thought it had looked charming. But inside, it reminded Tella of the illusion Legend had created in the dungeon, when he’d turned her cell into a four-story study. The ceilings of the Narrow House stretched even higher, and the books on the surrounding shelves didn’t look as flawless as they had in his illusion. Some of the volumes were aged and cracked and fragile, as if they’d experienced several previous lives before finding homes on these shelves.

Legend had one arm protectively around Tella’s shoulders as they entered the vaulted room. He hadn’t even wanted Tella to enter the house, but the Assassin had been insistent and so had Tella—this was her fight as well as Legend’s.

The scene they’d stepped into could have been a painting called Hostages at a Tea Party. Legend’s most trusted performers were sitting stiffly in tufted red chairs that encircled a shiny ebony table, set with a pewter tea service that no one touched, except Nigel, Legend’s tattoo-covered fortune-teller. Julian and Jovan were there, as well as Aiko—Legend’s historiographer who captured the history of Caraval through pictures—and Caspar, who’d once pretended to be Tella’s fiancé.

Behind them, the Assassin and the Maiden Death hovered like grim hosts. A few of the other Fates Tella had seen sometimes glowed, but the Assassin, who kept his face concealed by his heavy hood, appeared to collect shadows.

The Maiden Death looked exactly like her card from Decks of Destiny. Her head was covered in curving bars of pearls that wrapped around like a cage, and her dress looked more like long tatters of gossamer fabric that had been tied together. She didn’t glow, either, but her frayed garment billowed around her, as if she kept a private wind on a leash.

“Do not be afraid of us,” said the Maiden Death. “We are here to help defeat the Fallen Star.”

“And if we wanted to hurt you, I’d have shoved daggers through each of your hearts the moment I saw you outside.” The Assassin’s voice was like nails pounding through glass, harsh and discordant.

“Is that really how you win people over?” muttered Julian.

“Daeshim,” the Maiden Death chided in a voice far softer than her cloaked companion’s, “remember what we talked about?”

“You said to be friendly. That was a joke.”

No one laughed except for Jovan. “I think you need some work on your humor, mate.”

“If you don’t kill us all, I’ll help you out,” added Caspar.

“Thank you,” the Assassin answered. Not that his politeness appeared to relax anyone. If anything, more tension filled the room. Watching Caspar and Jovan smile at the hooded Assassin felt like observing kittens hop toward a crocodile.

“I know you have little reason to trust us, but I come to warn of harm, not bring it.” The Maiden Death’s mournful eyes met Legend’s and the wind that made her shredded dress billow grew stronger. “I sense your entire world is in danger if you refuse to accept our help.”

“Any danger to our world is because of your kind,” Legend said.

“You’re not that different from us,” replied the Maiden Death. “You’re immortal and you have abilities like ours. But you do not know what it is like to be connected to the Fallen Star. We are his immortal abominations, and when we act out, he punishes us eternally. Your myths claim that Death imprisoned my head in pearls, but it was really Gavriel. Once upon a time, he wanted me. I refused him. So, he had my head caged in this cursed globe, to keep anyone else from touching me. I have tried to remove it; I’ve even died and come back to life, but the cage will remain until Gavriel dies.”

“And what’s your tale of woe?” Tella asked the Assassin.

“It’s none of your business. You should trust me because I’m not killing any of you right now.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Caspar said with a laugh. It seemed he thought the Assassin was telling another joke. Tella wasn’t so sure.

Julian appeared leery as well. He sat opposite where the Fates stood, elbows on the table as he leaned forward with a stare that was on the verge of asking for a fight. “We all agree, everyone hates the Fallen Star. But I still find it hard to believe you’d want him dead, since killing him makes you two more vulnerable.”

“Being vulnerable is not as bad as some believe,” said the Maiden Death. “The Fallen Star’s death would make us ageless. If we died, we wouldn’t come back to life, it’s true. But if we are ageless, we could still live almost as long as an immortal if we’re careful. Although, not all of us want to even live that long. Some among our kind would like to have the option of finally dying. But they are not willing to openly oppose him. No one wants to spend an eternity in a cage.”

“That I believe.” Legend’s tone was more diplomatic than his brother’s, but it was clear from the heavy weight he put behind it that one wrong move from the Fates would change his approach. “Can we all have a minute alone? If you’re really here to help us, I don’t imagine that will be a problem.”

The Maiden Death silently glided toward where Legend and Tella stood near the door. Once she left, the Assassin simply—and unnervingly—disappeared in a way that reminded everyone he could reappear, with the knives he spoke about earlier.

Tella swore the walls shuddered, as if the study had finally stopped holding its breath.

Legend loosened his grip on Tella but didn’t let her go as he moved closer to the table. This was the first time she’d ever seen him interact with his performers like this. Some of his performers didn’t even know who he truly was, but these were the ones he was closest to.

There was a respectful silence as Legend and Tella reached the table together. Everyone looked anxious to give their opinion. But no one said a word until Legend turned to Nigel.

The tattooed fortune-teller picked up a cup of tea and took a sip before speaking, his lips surrounded by inked barbed wire. “I couldn’t get a read on either Fate. The Assassin’s eyes were concealed by his hood and when the Maiden Death looked my way, she only met my eyes. Her gaze never ventured to any of my tattoos.”

“What’s your personal impression?” Legend asked.

“Never trust a Fate,” Nigel said.

“If the Assassin had wanted to hurt us, he would have,” Caspar interrupted.