Finale (Caraval 3)

Scarlett couldn’t help it; she cringed away. If he wanted to kidnap her or put her in a cage, she wasn’t strong enough to stop him. But she would never accept affection from him. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest way to survive, but not everything was about survival.

The Fallen Star’s hand fell away, but to her surprise, he gave her another inhuman smile. “If you’d accepted me too easily, I would have been disappointed. But you will not keep fighting me. You are my only child. When I ascend to the throne, I’ll share the entire Meridian Empire with you, if you become what I want you to be.”

He waved one massive hand and Scarlett’s horror spiked, as sparks in the air exploded into flames that filled the space above their heads and twisted into shining shapes. She saw an image of herself sitting on a throne in a full party dress with a jeweled diadem atop her head and a line of suitors, some on their knees, others with their hands outstretched with elaborate gifts.

“I can make all of your wildest dreams come true once you come into your powers. I can make you a Fate, like me.”

Scarlett bit back from saying that taking over the empire with him or becoming a Fate was not one of her dreams, as he waved his hand again and the fiery image shifted.

Scarlett was still sitting in the throne room, but she was now at the Fallen Star’s feet, and instead of a diadem resting on her head, there was a cage around it.

“I’ll let you choose which future you want. Think about it while I’m gone. My lovely Lady Prisoner will keep you company, and remind you of what will happen if you try to leave the Menagerie.”

He caressed the bars of the gilded cage and Scarlett realized why this young woman was so familiar. The Lady Prisoner was another Fate. In Decks of Destiny, her card had a double meaning: sometimes her picture promised love, but usually it meant sacrifice.

Scarlett couldn’t remember what the Lady Prisoner’s powers were, but she hoped it wasn’t some form of fortune-telling when the young woman’s eyes shifted from purple to white as she said, “I look forward to watching you transform into what he wants.”

27

Donatella

Tella hoped to find Legend when she finally succumbed to sleep. She didn’t care if he was distant from her rejection or still a little dead, she just hoped he was there. Her shredded skyfall-blue skirts dragged over the floors of Idyllwild Castle, picking up bits of abandoned glitter from discarded paper stars, as she searched a ballroom that had no ball.

She knew she was dreaming, but everything felt more like an abandoned memory. Unlike the first night of the last game of Caraval, when Dante had accompanied her here, the ballroom was silent save for the drip-drop of a few pathetic party fountains. During the last Caraval they had flowed with deep burgundy wine, but now they barely drizzled a rusty red liquid the color of broken hearts.

Jacks sauntered out of the cage in the center of it in an elegant blur of wrinkled and half-buttoned clothing. Golden hair hung over his eyes, and it shined brighter than anything in the room. He looked untamed and more beautiful than Tella wanted to admit.

His movements were indolent yet graceful as he sliced off a wedge of a skyfall-blue apple, the same exact color as her dress.

Her cheeks felt suddenly flushed as he put the slice of fruit in his mouth and took a wide bite.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Not having as much fun as I’d hoped.” He wandered closer. He smelled especially divine tonight—the scent of apples was paired with a rich spice she couldn’t identify. She tried to tell herself she only liked it because when she’d been awake all she could smell was death, but the closer Jacks drew, the more she fought the urge to inhale him. Something was very wrong with this dream.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said in a huff. “I only gave you permission to enter my dreams for one night.”

“And yet you didn’t try to keep me out tonight?” His perfect lips toyed with the sharp tip of his blade. “What were you thinking before you slept?”

“Not about you.”

“Really?” he taunted. “You weren’t wishing I was there to make you feel better?” He continued toying with the knife, but the look in his unearthly eyes softened as his gaze trailed over her untamed curls and down to her ungloved hands, until it landed on the frayed hem of her wrecked ball gown. She almost thought he was concerned, until he said, “You look miserable.”

“It’s not polite to tell that to a girl,” she snapped.

“I didn’t come here to be polite, my love.” He dropped his knife to the floor with a clatter and stalked closer. “I’m here because you wanted me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“So, y

ou don’t want me to take your pain away?” His eyes were the flawless blue of polished sea glass. “I can make you feel whatever you want when you wake up. All you have to do is ask.”

He cupped her cheek with his cool hand and leaned in closer.

She should have pulled away. The word obsession returned to her mind. But when Jacks touched her, she couldn’t bring herself to worry that this was a horrible idea, or hate the feel of him the way she was supposed to. His cool skin was soothing against her heated cheek, coaxing her to close her eyes, to lean into him, to take what he was offering.

“Doesn’t that feel better?” His cold lips were at her ear, brushing against the sensitive skin. “Just say yes and I’ll take away everything that hurts. I can make you forget it all. And I can give you things that your dead princeling couldn’t.”