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  His deep voice dipped lower. “You would miss me if I stopped visiting.”

  “Then you think too highly of yourself.”

  He stopped toying with his sugar cubes and looked away, once again preoccupied by the musician on the stage. His tune had ventured into the wrong key, turning his song discordant and unlovely. Around the room the ghostly dancers responded by stumbling over one another’s feet. Then a raucous crash made them freeze.

  The piano player folded atop his instrument, like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

  Tella’s heart beat wildly. Legend was always frustratingly in control of her dreams. But she didn’t sense this was his doing. The magic in the air didn’t smell like his. Magic always held a sweet scent, but this was far too sweet, almost rotted.

  When she turned back around, Legend was no longer sitting, but standing right in front of her. “Tella,” he said, his voice harsher than usual, “you need to wake yourself—”

  His last words turned to smoke and then he turned to ash as the rest of the dream went up in poisonous green flames.

  When Tella awoke, the taste of fire coated her tongue and a dead butterfly rested in her palm.

  4

  Donatella

  The next night, Legend did not visit her dreams.

  5

  Donatella

  The intoxicating scents of honeycomb castles, cinnamon bark pies, carmelite clusters, and peach shine floated through Tella’s cracked window when she woke, filling the tiny apartment bedroom with sugar and dreams. But all she could taste was her nightmare. It coated her tongue in fire and ash, just as it had the day before.

  Something was wrong with Legend. Tella hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. When the last dream they shared had gone up in flames, she’d thought it could be another one of his games. But last night when she’d searched for him in her dreams, all she’d found was smoke and cinders.

  Tella sat up, threw off her thin sheets, and dressed quickly. It was against the rules to do anything that gave the impression of caring, but if she just went to the palace to spy, without actually talking to him, he would never know. And if he really was in trouble, she didn’t much care about breaking the rules.

  “Tella, what are you getting dressed up so quickly for?”

  She jumped, heart leaping into her throat at the sight of her mother stepping into her room. But it was only Scarlett. Save for the silver streak in Scarlett’s dark brown hair, she looked almost exactly like their mother, Paloma. Same tallish height, same large hazel eyes, and same olive skin, just a tiny shade darker than Tella’s.

  Tella glanced over Scarlett’s shoulder into the next room. Sure enough, their mother was still trapped in an enchanted slumber, still as a doll atop the sun-bleached quilt of their dull brass bed.

  Paloma didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t open her eyes. She was less ashen than when she’d arrived. Her skin now had a glow, but her lips remained a disturbing shade of fairy-tale red.

  Every day Tella spent at least an hour watching her carefully, hoping for a flutter of her eyelashes, or a movement that involved more than just her chest rising up and down as she breathed. Of course, as soon as Paloma woke, Jacks—the Fated Prince of Hearts—had warned that the rest of the immortal Fates, whom Legend had freed from a Deck of Destiny, would wake as well.

  There were thirty-two Fates. Eight Fated places, eight Fated objects, and sixteen Fated immortals. Like most of the Meridian Empire, Tella had once believed the ancient beings were just myths, but as she had learned in her dealings with Jacks, they were more like wicked gods. And sometimes she selfishly didn’t care if they woke up as long as her mother woke up as well.

  Paloma had been trapped in the cards with the Fates for seven years, and Tella hadn’t fought so hard to free her just to watch her sleep.

  “Tella, are you all right?” Scarlett asked. “And what are you all dressed up for?” she repeated.

  “This was just the first gown I grabbed.”

  It also happened to be her newest one. She’d seen it in a shop window down the street and spent practically her entire weekly allowance. The dress was her favorite shade of periwinkle, with a heart-shaped neckline, a wide yellow sash, and a calf-length skirt made of hundreds of feathers. And maybe the feathers reminded Tella of a dream carousel Legend had created for her two months ago. But she told herself she’d bought the dress because it made her look as if she’d floated down from the clouds.

  Tella gave Scarlett her most innocent smile. “I’m just going out to the Sun Festival for a bit.”

  Scarlett’s mouth wrinkled, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but she was clearly distressed. Her enchanted gown had turned a wretched shade of purple—Scarlett’s least favorite color—and the dated style was even older than most of the furniture in their cramped suite. But, to her credit, Scarlett’s voice was kind as she said, “Today is your day to watch Paloma.”

  “I’ll be back before you need to leave,” Tella said. “I know how important this afternoon is for you. But I need to go out.”

  Tella wanted to leave it at that. Scarlett didn’t understand Tella’s relationship with Legend, which was admittedly complicated. Sometimes Legend felt like her enemy, sometimes he felt like her friend, sometimes he felt like someone she used to love, and every once in a while, he felt like someone she still loved. But to Scarlett, Legend was a game master, a liar, and a young man who played with people the way gamblers played with cards. Scarlett didn’t know that Legend visited Tella in dreams every night, she only knew that he showed up sometimes. And she believed that the version of him Tella kept meeting was not the genuine Legend because he only visited in dreams.

  Tella didn’t believe Legend was still acting with her. But she knew there were things he wasn’t telling her. Although Legend did ask the same question each night, that question had started to feel like just an excuse to come and see her—a distraction to hide the real reason he only appeared in her dreams. Unfortunately, Tella still wasn’t sure if he visited because he truly cared for her, or because he was playing yet another game with her.

  Scarlett would be upset to learn that he’d been showing up in her dreams every night. But Tella owed her sister the truth. Scarlett had been waiting weeks for this day; she needed to know why Tella was suddenly running out.

  “I have to go to the palace,” Tella said in a rush. “I think something has happened to Legend.”

  Scarlett’s dress turned an even darker shade of purple. “Don’t you think we’d have heard rumors if anything happened to the next emperor?”

  “I don’t know, I only know he didn’t visit me in my dream last night.”

  Scarlett pursed her lips. “That doesn’t mean he’s in danger. He’s an immortal.”

  “Something’s wrong,” Tella insisted. “He’s never not shown up.”

  “But I thought he only visited—”

  “I might have lied,” Tella interrupted. She didn’t have time for a lecture. “I’m sorry, Scar, but I knew you’d be unhappy. Please, don’t try to stop me. I’m not objecting to your meeting with Nicolas today.”

  “Nicolas has never hurt me,” Scarlett said. “Unlike Legend, he’s always been kind, and I’ve been waiting months to finally meet him.”

  “I know, and I promise I’ll be back to watch Mother before you leave at two o’clock.”

  Just then the clock chimed eleven, giving Tella exactly three hours. She had to leave now.

  Tella wrapped her arms around Scarlett and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I didn’t say I understood,” Scarlett said, but she was hugging her sister back.

  As soon as she pulled away, Tella picked up a pair of slippers that laced up to her ankles and then padded across the faded carpet into her mother’s room.

  She pressed a kiss to Paloma’s cool forehead. Tella didn’t leave her mother very often. Since they’d moved out of the palace, she’d tried to stay by her
mother’s side. Tella wanted to be there when her mother woke up. She wanted to be the first face her mother saw. She hadn’t forgotten the way Paloma had betrayed her to the Temple of the Stars, but rather than choosing to remain angry, she was choosing to believe there was an explanation, and she’d learn it when her mother woke from her enchanted sleep. “I love you and I’ll be back very soon.”

  * * *

  Tella considered getting herself arrested.

  She didn’t want to get arrested, but it might have been the quickest route to the palace. Too many visitors, from all over the empire, had descended on Valenda for the Sun Festival. They overflowed the sky carriage lines and clogged the streets and sidewalks, forcing Tella to take a longer route to the palace, and to skirt the delta that led out toward the ocean.

  The Sun Festival took place every year on the first day of the Hot Season. But this year was especially rowdy, since it also marked an end to the Days of Mourning and the countdown to Legend’s coronation, which would take place in ten days—though only Scarlett, Tella, and Legend’s performers knew him as Legend. The rest of the empire knew him as Dante Thiago Alejandro Marrero Santos.

  Just thinking the name Dante still hurt a little.

  Now, Dante felt more like a character from a story than Legend did. Yet the name always pricked her like a thorn, reminding her how she’d fallen in love with an illusion—and how foolish it would be to completely trust him again. But she still felt compelled to go after him, to ignore the festival and all the excitement buzzing through the streets.

  Now that the Days of Mourning were over, the black flags that had haunted the city were finally gone. Dour frocks had been replaced with garments of sky-kissed blue, turmeric orange, and minty green. Color, color everywhere, accompanied by more delicious fragrances—candied citrine, tropical ice, lemon dust. But she didn’t dare stop at any temporary street stalls to buy any treats or imported fizzing ciders.

  Tella’s steps quickened and—

  She abruptly stopped next to a boarded-up carriage house. Several people rammed into her back, knocking her shoulder against a splintered wood door as she glimpsed a hand with a black rose tattoo. Legend’s tattoo.

  The sweetness in the air turned bitter.

  Tella couldn’t see the figure’s face as he wove through the crowd, but he had Legend’s broad shoulders, his dark hair, his bronze skin—and the sight of him made her stomach tumble, even as her hands clamped into fists.

  He was supposed to be in danger!

  She’d imagined he was sick or injured or in some mortal peril. But he looked … entirely fine. Maybe a little more than fine: tall and solid, and more real than he ever appeared in her dreams. He was definitely Legend. Yet, it still didn’t feel entirely real as she watched him confidently weave through the crowd. This scene felt more like another performance.

  As the heir to the throne, Legend should not have been sneaking around dressed like a commoner, in ragged brown pants and a homespun shirt. He should have been riding through the crush on a regal black horse with a gold circlet on his head and a cadre of guards.

  But there were no guards protecting him. In fact, it appeared as if Legend was going out of his way to avoid any royal patrols.

  What was he up to? And why had he so dramatically disappeared from her dreams if nothing was wrong?

  He didn’t slow his self-assured steps as he entered the crumbling ruins that edged the Satine District. They were full of decaying arches, overgrown grasses, and steps that looked as if they’d been built for giants instead of human beings, and Tella had to jog just to make sure she didn’t lose sight of her quarry. Because, of course, she was following him.

  She kept close to large boulders and darted over the rocky grounds, careful not to be seen by guards as Legend climbed up, up, up.

  The sweetness in the air should have grown thinner the farther she ventured from the vendors, but as she ascended, the sugar on her tongue became thicker and colder. When Tella’s knuckles brushed against a rusted iron gate that had fallen off its hinges, her skin turned blue with frost.

  She could still see the sun blazing above the festival, but its heat didn’t penetrate this place. Gooseflesh prickled up her arms as she wondered anew what Legend was playing at.

  She’d almost reached the top of the ruins. A giant broken crown of white granite columns grayed by decades of rainfall and neglect rested in front of her. But Tella could almost picture the decrepit structure as it had been centuries before. She saw pearl-white columns, taller than masts on ships, holding up curved panels of stained glass streaming iridescent rainbows over a grand arena.

  But what she no longer saw was Legend. He’d disappeared, just like the warmth.

  Tella’s breath slipped out in white streams as she listened for footsteps, or the low timbre of his voice. Perhaps he was meeting someone? But she didn’t catch any sounds other than the chattering of her own teeth, as she crept past the closest column and—

  The sky turned dark as the ruins around her vanished from view.

  Tella froze.

  After a heartbeat, her eyes blinked and then they blinked some more as her vision adjusted to the new scene. Piney trees. Tufts of snow. Glints of light from animals’ eyes. And air icier than frost and curses.

  She was no longer in one of Valenda’s many ruins—she was in a forest experiencing the middle of the Cold Season. She shivered and hugged her uncovered arms to her chest.

  Light fell from a moon larger than any she’d seen. It glowed sapphire-bright against the foreign night, and dripped silver stars like a waterfall.

  During the last Caraval, Legend had enchanted the stars to form new constellations. But he’d told Tella himself that he didn’t have that much power outside of Caraval. And this didn’t feel like any of the dreams she’d shared with him. If it had been a dream, he’d already be stalking toward her, giving her a fallen angel’s smile that made Tella’s toes curl inside her slippers as she pretended to be unaffected.

  In her dreams it was never this cold, either. Sometimes, she felt a brush of frost through her hair, or a kiss of ice down the back of her neck, but she was never actually shivering. If she had been, she could have just imagined a heavy fur and it would have appeared around her shoulders. But all she had were her thin cap sleeves.

  Her toes were already half frozen, and icy ringlets of blond hair clung to her cheeks. But she wasn’t about to turn back. She wanted to know why Legend had disappeared from her dreams, why he’d scared her so badly, and why they were now in another world.

  She might have thought he’d taken some sort of portal back to his private isle, instead of into another dimension, but the stars pouring out of a crack in the moon made her imagine otherwise. She’d never seen anything like it in her world.

  She wouldn’t have believed it at all, except this was Legend. Legend brought people back to life. Legend stole kingdoms with lies. Legend wrangled the stars. If anyone could walk through worlds, it was him.

  Not only that, but he’d magically changed his clothes. When Tella caught a fresh glimpse of his dark silhouette through the snowy branches, Legend no longer looked like a commoner, but like the Legend from her earliest dreams, dressed in a finely tailored suit accented by a raven-wing-black half-cape, a sophisticated top hat, and polished boots that the snow left untouched.

  Tella considered leaving the safety of the tree line to confront him when he took a few more steps—and met the most stunning woman Tella had ever seen.

  6

  Donatella

  Tella’s stomach went hollow.

  The woman was made of things that Tella didn’t possess. She was older, not by much—just enough to look more like a woman than a girl. She was taller than Tella too, statuesque with straight, fiery-red hair that fell all the way down to a narrow waist, which was cinched with a black leather corset. Her dress was black as well, silky and slender with slits down both sides that showed off long legs clad in sheer stockings embroidered with roses.


  Tella might not have thought much about the stockings, but there were also roses tattooed on the woman’s arms, black ones, matching the rose inked on the back of Legend’s hand.

  Tella instantly hated her.

  She might have hated him, too.

  Roses weren’t rare flowers, but she doubted these matching tattoos were a mere coincidence.

  “Welcome back, Legend.” Even the woman’s voice was the antithesis of Tella’s, slightly raspy and laced with a seductive accent Tella couldn’t place. The woman didn’t smile, but when she looked at Legend she licked her lips, making them deepen to a shade of red that matched her hair.

  Tella resisted the urge to pick up a snowball and toss it at the woman’s face.

  Was this who Legend visited in his days while he kept Tella confined to his dreams? Legend had always made it sound as if he was busy with imperial business when they were awake, but Tella should have known better than to believe him.

  “It’s good to see you, Esmeralda.” The tone of Legend’s voice chilled her to her blood. When he spoke to Tella it was deep and low, but often tinged with something teasing. This was more carnal and a little cruel, a voice that didn’t know how to play. He used it as easily as the voice he taunted her with in her dreams. And for a cracked moment Tella couldn’t help but wonder if this vicious Legend was the act—or if the flirtatious Legend she saw when she slept was the true performance.

  “We should get out of the cold.” The woman slipped her arm through Legend’s.

  Tella waited for him to shift away, to show a hint of discomfort, but he only pulled her closer, touching her easily when, for the last two months, he hadn’t touched Tella.

  She seethed and shivered as she followed the pair, creeping behind them as they reached a two-story cottage, bright with firelight that fell through the windows and then spilled out from the door as the woman opened it and they both stepped inside.