Finale (Caraval 3)

Scarlett tried to calm her by channeling soothing thoughts. When that didn’t work she tried to project images and emotions that might make the young woman feel drowsy, excited, sad, or happy.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“I can’t do this,” Scarlett finally said. She had tried to push every emotion on this woman, but instead of making her feel, it only drained Scarlett. She could barely hold her caged head up, and she couldn’t even think about what would happen when the Fallen Star returned; she didn’t want to find out how he would punish her for this failure.

It was time to leave. Scarlett was feeling the sort of bone-deep exhaustion that told her dawn was getting closer. The Fallen Star could come back any moment and discover she had not succeeded. Scarlett needed to use the Reverie Key and get out of there. She’d thought too highly of herself to imagine that if she stayed here long enough she could defeat him, rather than the other way around. She hated the idea of Tella and Julian seeing her caged, but she needed to return to them so they could come up with another plan.

“If you leave now, you will never win against him,” said the Lady Prisoner, stopping Scarlett as she approached the main doors. Until that moment Anissa had been particularly silent, content to swing on her perch and watch Scarlett’s repeated failures with the young woman. But now the Fate was on her feet, gripping the golden bars of her cage as her eyes turned an eerie white. “Don’t quit. This isn’t supposed to be your true ending, but it will be the start of it if you leave now.”

“I would stay if I knew what to do, but—” Scarlett cut off as the doorknob turned. Blast it!

She’d hesitated too long. He’d come back.

Except when the door opened, it wasn’t the Fallen Star. Morning light poured through the doorway as a servant boy wheeled in a cart laden with food, which he promptly set on the dining room table.

Scarlett hadn’t realized how hungry she was or how stale the air had become until suddenly it was filled with the scents of breakfast cakes, strawberry puffs, honeycomb spirals, brown-sugared sausage, seasoned eggs, and piping-hot tea.

The young woman finally moved from her chair. She rose, walked over to the tray on the dining room table, clumsily picked up the pot of tea with her palms, and dumped it over all the food before Scarlett could stop her.

Her cloak of anger briefly flickered with burnished threads that looked something like victory. But like most feelings of success, it didn’t last long. After a moment the threads shifted to red-black feelings of hatred and rage and bitterness.

A new plan formed as Scarlett watched the young woman’s writhing, uncontrolled emotions. She was miserable, but not without reason. The Fallen Star had cut off her fingers and then given her to his daughter as a training tool. Scarlett would have been furious, too.

The thought gave her a wild flicker of hope. Maybe there was a way for her to shift the woman’s emotions, after all.

“I’m disappointed,” Scarlett said. “I would have thought you’d be cleverer at defying my father. I might not be able to control your feelings, but I can see them. He’s the one who chopped off all of your fingers?”

The woman sat still as a placid doll, but Scarlett could see the vivid colors of her emotions crackling like a fire after a fresh log had been tossed into it.

“The Fallen Star is the one you hate and you think acting like a spoiled child with me will hurt him, but you’re wrong. If you really want to injure him, help me.” Scarlett picked up a soggy strawberry puff and took a bold bite, as if she wasn’t about to make a risky proposition. This woman might have hated the Fallen Star, but that didn’t guarantee she would help Scarlett. Her loathing was so horrible and heated and powerful, Scarlett was unsure if the woman was capable of feeling anything else.

But Scarlett had to try. Anissa was right; if Scarlett left now, it would be the start of the wrong ending. Scarlett could use the Reverie Key to escape, but she and her sister and Julian would only be safe for so long, and the entire Meridian Empire might never be safe again.

“I have no love for the Fallen Star either,” Scarlett confessed. “I may be his daughter, but he murdered my mother and put this cage around my head. If you want to hurt him, help me deceive him—find a more effective use for your hate. I can see it burning you up, but you can use it to burn him instead. Or you can stick to dumping over pots of tea.”

Scarlett finished off her sodden strawberry puff as she attempted to read the woman’s response. But her anger and hate were so powerful, if she felt anything else, Scarlett couldn’t see it.

She glanced back at the Lady Prisoner, once again sitting pretty on her gilded swing. “This should be very interesting.”

And then the doorknob turned.

This time, the Fallen Star strode in. A heavy gold cape with elegant red embroidery and dense white fur hung from his shoulders. It was too much for the Hot Season, but she doubted he cared. It looked powerful, which was of ultimate importance to him.

The pleased smile he’d worn during his last visit was gone; that victory had already turned into history, and now he was hungry for something more.

“I’ve brought you another gift.” He snapped his fingers. A streak of sparks shot out, and a pair of servants carrying a box nearly as large as Scarlett stepped inside.

“I think you’ll like this present. But let’s see your progress first, or this might not be the gift that I give you.” His golden eyes cut to Scarlett’s tea-soaked breakfast.

“I think you’ll be pleased.” Scarlett forced herself to grin. “You might be able to tell from my morning meal that frustration was one of the emotions I effectively projected. I also—”

“I don’t need a summary. I want a demonstration, and I’d prefer to see an emotion that deviates from her natural state of anger and displeasure. I want her to feel adoration, for me.”

The Fallen Star sat on the marble bench. “Make her worship me. I want her to feel as if I’m her god.”