Caraval (Caraval 1)

Scarlett remembered a few years ago when Caraval had stopped traveling for a time. A woman had been killed. Scarlett didn’t know the details as to why. She had always assumed it was just a tragic accident, unrelated to the game, but now Scarlett wondered if the woman had become too caught up in the illusion of Caraval.

But Scarlett had played her father’s distorted games all these years. She knew when she was being deceived and she couldn’t imagine she’d become so confused about reality that she would lose her life or go insane. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous as she stretched out her hand. She knew better than to assume any type of game came without a cost.

Rupert pricked her ring finger, so quickly Scarlett barely noticed, though when she pressed her finger to the bottom of the delicate page, it was as if all the lights went out for a moment. When she took it away, the world became even brighter. She felt as if she could taste the red of the curtains. Chocolate cake drenched in wine.

Scarlett had only ever had a sip of wine, but she imagined that not even a whole bottle could bring this much iridescent euphoria. Despite her fears, she felt an uncustomary moment of pure elation.

“The game officially begins at sunset tomorrow and ends at sunrise on the nineteenth. Everyone has five nights to play the game,” Rupert continued. “You will each receive one clue to start you on your journeys. After that you will need to find the other clues on your own. I recommend acting quickly. There is only one prize, and many who will be searching for it.” He stepped closer and handed them each a card.

It read LA SERPIENTE DE CRISTAL.

The Glass Serpent.

“Mine’s the same,” Julian said.

“Is this our first clue?” Scarlett asked.

“No,” Rupert answered. “You’ll find lodgings prepared for you there. Your rooms will contain your first clues, but only if you manage to check in before daybreak.”

“What happens at daybreak?” Scarlett asked.

As if he didn’t hear her, the boy pulled a cord near the edge of the balcony, parting the curtains. Gray birds had taken flight in the sky, and beyond them the colorful streets were fuller than before, while the balconies were emptier—their hosts were letting everyone out at the same time.

Another silver rush of excitement swept over Scarlett. This was Caraval. She had pictured it more often than she’d dreamed of her own wedding. Even though she could only afford to stay a day, she already imagined it would be difficult to leave.

Rupert tipped his hat. “Remember, don’t let your eyes or feelings trick you.” He stepped up to the balcony’s rail and jumped.

“No!” Scarlett screamed, all the color draining from her face as she watched him plummet.

“Don’t worry,” Julian said. “Look.” He pointed over the edge of the rail, as the boy’s suit coat transformed into wings. “He’s fine, he just made a dramatic exit.”

A swath of gray fabric, he continued to glide until he looked like one of the large birds in the sky.

It seemed the tricks on Scarlett’s eyes had already begun.

“Come on.” Julian strode from the balcony, a purpose to his step that said he expected her to follow. “If you’d been listening, you’d have heard him say that everything locks at dawn. This game has a reverse curfew. Doors close at sunrise and don’t unlock until after sunset. We don’t have much time to find our rooms.”

Julian stopped walking. At his feet, a trapdoor was open. Most likely it was how the boy had entered unseen. It led to a winding black marble staircase, spiraling down like the inside of a dark seashell, lit by waxy sconces dripping crystal candles.

“Crimson—” Julian stopped her at the threshold. For a moment his expression looked torn, the way it had during the tense seconds before he’d left her in the clock shop.

“What is it?” Scarlett asked.

“We need to hurry.” Julian let Scarlett go first, though after a few flights she wished that the sailor had gone before her, or that he’d just left her to her own devices as she imagined he’d been about to at the top of the stairs. According to Julian, every step she took was too slow.

“We don’t have all night,” he repeated. “If we don’t get to the Serpent before dawn—”

“We’ll be out in the cold until tomorrow night. I know. I’m going as fast as I can.” Scarlett had thought the balcony was ten stories high, but now it seemed more like one hundred. She was never going to get to Tella.

It might have been different if her dress weren’t so clingy. Once more Scarlett tried to will it into another shape, but the gown remained determinedly unchanged. Her legs were shaking and a fine layer of sweat coated her thighs as she finally exited with Julian.

Outside, the air was crisper and a little bit damp, though thankfully there was no snow on any of the streets. The dampness came from the canals. Scarlett hadn’t realized it while above, but every other street was made of water. Striped boats swam about, as bright as tropical fish and shaped like half-moons, all helmed by young men or women around her age.

But there were no signs of Donatella.

Julian flagged down a boat right away, aquamarine with red stripes, steered by a young sailor girl dressed to match. Her lips were painted red as well, and Scarlett couldn’t help but notice how wide they parted as Julian strode closer.

“What can I do for you, lovelies?” she asked.