The symbol of Caraval.
Scarlett now hated that crest more than the color purple, but she distinctly knew that box, with its wretched emblem, had not been there before.
Slowly Scarlett raised the lid.
A slip of paper. Carefully, she unfolded the note. It was dated almost a year ago.
* * *
1st day of the Hot Season,
Year 56, Elantine Dynasty
Dear Master Legend,
I believe you are a liar, a blackguard, and a villain, and I would very much like your help.
My father is a villain as well, though not the dashing sort like you. He’s the kind who likes to beat his daughters. I know this is not your problem, and since you probably have a heart made of black, perhaps you don’t care. But I’ve learned you did actually feel something when that woman threw herself from your balcony after you rejected her during Caraval a few years ago. I heard you were so upset, that was the real reason you stopped traveling.
Helping my sister and me won’t completely make up for whatever happened then, but it might help a little. I also think it would create a very interesting game, and I know how you like to play.
Yours truly,
Donatella Dragna
* * *
Scarlett reread the letter, again and again. Each time she believed it a little more and a little more, until at last she believed it without a doubt.
The game was not over yet. And it seemed Scarlett was right: this year’s Caraval really was about more than just Legend and her grandmother. In fact, it appeared her sister had made some sort of bargain with the master of Caraval himself.
“Jo!” she called. “Jovan!”
The girl appeared with a peculiar bounce to her step the second time her name was shouted.
“Take me to Master Legend,” Scarlett said.
40
What’s the meaning of this?” Scarlett demanded.
Across from her Legend sat in a tufted champagne chair looking out an oval window. There was no balcony, not in this room. Scarlett imagined these quarters were sick—if it were possible for a room to be ill. The large stretch of space was covered in dull shades of beige, with only two faded chairs.
Scarlett waved the letter in front of Legend, who’d yet to look away from the view. He peered down on all the people below, dragging trunks and carpetbags, as they began their exodus back into the “real” world.
“I was wondering when you’d come,” he said airily.
“What type of deal did you make with my sister?” Scarlett asked.
A sigh. “I didn’t make any deal.”
“Then why did you leave this letter?”
“I didn’t do that, either.” The master of Caraval finally looked away from the window, yet something about his placid expression was off-kilter—or rather missing.
“Think. Who would want you to have that letter?” he asked.
Again, Legend was her first thought.