Caraval (Caraval 1)

“I’m sorry, Father. I made a foolish mistake.” It was the truest thing she’d said all morning. She might not have been the one Julian had tasted, but once again she had failed to protect her sister. “I won’t repeat it.”

“I hope you mean that.” The governor put his gloves back on, then reached into his frock coat and retrieved a folded letter. “I probably shouldn’t give this to you, but maybe it will remind you of everything you have to lose. Your wedding will be ten days from today, at the end of next week, on the twentieth. If anything gets in the way of it, more than your sister’s face will bleed.”

3

Scarlett could still smell her father’s perfume. It smelled like the color of his gloves: anise and lavender and something akin to rotted plums. It stayed with her long after he left, hovering in the air around Tella while Scarlett sat by her side, waiting for a maid to bring clean bandages and medicinal supplies.

“You should have let me tell the truth,” Scarlett said. “He’d not have hit me this badly to punish you. Not with my wedding in ten days.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t have struck your face, but he’d have done something else just as vicious—broken a finger so you couldn’t finish your wedding quilt.” Tella closed her eyes and leaned back against a barrel of rum. Her cheek was now almost the color of her father’s wretched gloves. “And I’m the one who deserved to be hit, not you.”

“No one deserves this,” Julian said. It was the first time he’d spoken since their father left. “I’m—”

“Don’t,” Scarlett cut in. “Your apology will not heal her wounds.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize.” Julian paused, as if weighing his next words. “I’m changing my offer about taking you both from the isle. I’ll do it for free, if you decide you want to leave. My ship sets off from port tomorrow at dawn. Come find me if you change your mind.” He divided a look between Scarlett and Tella before he disappeared up the stairs.

“No,” Scarlett said, sensing what Tella wanted before she said any words aloud. “If we leave, things will be worse when we return.”

“I don’t plan on returning.” Tella opened her eyes. They were watery but fierce.

Scarlett was often annoyed by how impulsive her younger sister was, but she also knew that when Tella finally set her mind to a plan, there was no changing it. Scarlett realized Tella had made her decision even before the letter from Caraval Master Legend arrived. That’s why she’d been with Julian. From the way she’d ignored him as he’d left, it was obvious she didn’t care about him. She just wanted a sailor who could take her away from Trisda. And now Scarlett had given her the reason she needed to leave.

“Scar, you should come too,” Tella said. “I know you think your marriage is going to save and protect you, but what if the count is as bad as Father, or worse?”

“He’s not,” Scarlett insisted. “You’d know this if you read his letters. He’s a perfect gentleman, and he’s promised to take care of us both.”

“Oh, sister.” Tella smiled, but it wasn’t the happy sort. It was the way someone smiles just before they say something

they wish they didn’t have to. “If he’s such a gentleman, then why is he so secretive? Why have you only been told his title but not his name?”

“It’s not because of him. Keeping his identity a mystery is another way of Father trying to control us.” The letter in Scarlett’s hands proved as much. “Look for yourself.” She gave her sister the note.

The rest of the page was missing. Not only were her groom’s words cut off, but her father had been kind enough to remove any traces of the letter’s wax seal, which might have given Scarlett a further indication of who she was marrying.

Another one of his twisted games.

Sometimes Scarlett felt all of Trisda was under a dome, a large piece of glass that trapped everyone inside while her father looked down, moving—or removing—people if they weren’t in the right places. Her world was a grand game board, and her father believed this marriage would be his penultimate move, putting all that he wanted within his grasp.

Governor Dragna had more fortune than most island officials, from his rum trade and other black market dealings, yet because Trisda was one of the Conquered Isles, he lacked the power and respect he desired. No matter how much wealth he amassed, regents and nobles from the rest of the Meridian Empire ignored him.

It didn’t matter that the isle of Trisda, or the four other Conquered Isles, had been a part of the Meridian Empire for more than sixty years; the Islanders were still thought of as the uncouth and undereducated peasants they’d been when the Empire had first subjugated them. But according to Scarlett’s father, this union would change all that, joining him with a noble family that would finally grant their own some respectability—and of course it would give him more power as well.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” Tella said.

“It shows he’s kind and considerate and—”

“Anyone can sound like a gentleman in a letter. But you know only a vile person would make a bargain with our father.”

“Stop saying things like that.” Scarlett snatched the message back. Her sister was wrong. Even the count’s handwriting illustrated thoughtfulness, neat curves and soft lines. If he were uncaring, he’d not have written her so many letters to ease her fears, or promised to also take Tella with them to the Elantine Empire’s capital city of Valenda—a place where their father’s hands could not reach.

A part of Scarlett knew there was a chance the count might not be everything she hoped, but life with him had to be better than living with her father. And she could not risk defying her father, not when his vicious warning still echoed through her head: If anything gets in the way of it, more than your sister’s face will bleed.

Scarlett would not jeopardize this marriage for a mere chance at winning a wish during Caraval.

“Tella, if we try to leave on our own, Father will hunt us to the edge of the world.”

“Then at least we’ll travel to the end of the world,” Tella said. “I’d rather die there than live here, or trapped in your count’s house.”