Finale (Caraval 3)

Tella woke up haltingly. Her dreams had been feverish flashes, all fleeing too fast for her to fully remember, but she knew Legend hadn’t been in them.

After two months of sharing dreams with Legend, she wasn’t used to dreaming alone. She also hadn’t expected to dream alone. Legend had his full powers back. Since he’d taken all the witch’s powers, he probably had more power than before. But he still hadn’t visited Tella’s dreams.

Had he seen her following him yesterday? Was something still wrong with his powers? Or was it something else?

Tella’s heart pounded, and her skin flushed hot, except for all of the places where she tangled with the Prince of Hearts’s icy arms and legs.

Dirty blood and saints.

She needed to get out.

She hadn’t meant to sleep there all night. She needed to leave and find her sister, who was probably worried to death.

Carefully, Tella slid her leg out from between Jacks’s. His arms responded by pulling her closer. Air rushed from her lungs as their faces became perfectly aligned.

Even in slumber, he looked vicious in his beauty. His brows formed a cruel line; his dark eyelashes looked sharp enough to prick fingers; his cheeks were so pale they’d turned an icy shade of blue; and his lips still had flecks of blood from where she had bitten him during their kiss.

Her skin went suddenly hot. She could still taste him on her lips. Tart and bitter and deliciously sweet. Apples and grief and Fated magic. She refused to think of it as a mistake, but she couldn’t let it happen again.

Giving up on graceful, Tella clumsily shook out of his grip, jumped up to her feet, and bolted for the exit.

* * *

Tella smelled breakfast porridge and bitter black tea when she knocked on the boardinghouse door. The light brown wood was warm from the freshly risen sun. It would be another hot day. The back of Tella’s neck was already damp from the growing heat.

She looked down at the dirt and blood spattered across her tired periwinkle dress. She should have stolen a cloak from Jacks before leaving. If Scarlett saw the blood on her skirt, she’d ask questions Tella wasn’t eager to answer. And Tella imagined that her sister already had a lot of questions.

But it was too late now. The proprietor had opened the door. She took one look at Tella and started to close it. “We don’t take in charity cases.”

“Wait—” Tella grabbed the edge and held tight. The woman must not have recognized Tella in her current state of dishevelment. “I have a suite here on the second floor with my sister.”

“Not anymore.” The owner puckered her mouth. “You and your sister have been evicted for destruction of property. Leave or I’ll have you arrested.”

“You can’t do that.” The last time Tella had been there she’d ripped a sheet from a bed, but that hardly constituted destruction of property. “My sister and I have already paid through the end of the year. So, get out of my way, or maybe I’ll have you arrested.”

Tella shoved on the door, hard enough to force it all the way open.

“Stop!” the owner yelled. “I will call the patrol if you go any farther.”

“Go ahead!” Tella cried as she barreled up the stairs. She didn’t know what was going on, but she needed to see her sister and—

Tella crashed to a halt just outside the door. Only fragments of defenseless wood now hung from its hinges. Someone had nailed a sheet to the frame, but somehow that made it even worse, like a closed casket at a funeral.

Tella yanked the fabric back with one pull.

“Scarlett?” she called. But her voice was met with only silence and chaos. The furniture was splintered and charred, the mirrors were cracked, and shards of the chandeliers covered the ground in sharp glass tears. It looked like the scene of a crime.

“Scarlett!” Tella cried again, louder than before. The painful emotions Jacks had taken away threatened to return in a new form at the thought of losing her sister. There didn’t appear to be any blood, but that didn’t mean Scarlett was all right. And Tella could not imagine that her sister had done all of this.

“She’s right up there, officers.” The proprietor’s starched voice climbed up the stairs, followed by two guards in royal blue uniforms.

Tella started to panic. Her chest tightened the same way it had last night. “Scarlett?” she called one more time, though it was obvious her sister wasn’t there.

By now, several guests had poked their heads out of their doors. Their expressions ranged from curious to frightened to irritated, but no one breathed a word as the guards closed in on Tella.

The female guard stepped forward first, slow and careful, as if Tella were a stray cat who might scratch or run away. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“But we will if you run.”