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All she could think was, The storybooks lied.
Tella had never cared much for castles or palaces. Scarlett was the sister who’d fantasized about being whisked away by a rich nobleman or a young king to a secluded stone fortress. To Scarlett, castles were bastions of safety offering protection. Tella saw them as fancy prisons, perfect for watching, controlling, and punishing. They were larger versions of her father’s suffocating estate on Trisda, no better than a cage.
But as her coach continued its slow, downward drop, Tella wondered if she’d been too hasty with her judgments.
She’d always pictured castles to be things of gray stone and mold and musty corridors, but Elantine’s bejeweled palace set fire to the night like treasure snatched from a dragon’s lair.
She thought she heard the young nobleman snort, probably at some dazzled expression she’d made. But Tella didn’t care. In fact, she pitied him if he couldn’t appreciate the beauty.
Elantine’s palace sat atop Valenda’s highest hill. In the center of it, her famed golden tower burned beacon-bright in shades of copper and blazing coral. Regal and straight, until near the top where the structure arched like a crown, it was a mirror image of Tower Lost from Decks of Destiny. Tella held her breath. It was the tallest building she’d ever seen, and somehow it looked alive. It ruled like an ageless monarch, presiding over five arching jeweled wings, which stretched out from the tower like the points of a star. And Tella would get to live inside of this star for a week.
No longer feeling as exhausted, she practically bounced in her seat as the coach finally landed.
Across from her the lazing nobleman ignored her as she slipped out the door into the cavernous carriage house.
Tella wondered if she was the last to arrive. The only sound she heard was the heavy cranking of the notched wheels that moved the carriage lines. She didn’t see any of Legend’s performers or her sister. But in between the lines of rocking coaches there were a number of armor-clad, expressionless guards.
One guard shadowed Tella’s every move, the clink of his armor following her, as she left the carriages and entered the empress’s luscious grounds. Legend’s performers might have been Elantine’s guests, but as Tella passed timeworn stone gardens and elaborate topiaries, she had a sudden impression that the empress didn’t trust her visitors. It made Tella wonder why she’d invited them to stay in the palace and perform for her birthday.
Tella had heard that when she was younger Empress Elantine had had a wild streak. She’d snuck into the forbidding Spice Quarter and pretended to be a commoner so she could have all sorts of scandalous adventures and romantic trysts. Unfortunately, for most of Tella’s life, the empress had been known to be far less daring. Perhaps inviting Legend’s performers here was her way of being reckless once again. But Tella doubted it; someone who ruled as long as Elantine didn’t do so with thoughtless abandon.
Somehow the inside of the palace was even more magnificent than its jewel-bright exterior. Everything was impossibly large, as if the Fates had built it merely to show off their might, and then simply left it behind when they’d disappeared. Glittering lapis floors reflected Tella’s entrance as she passed blue quartz columns larger than oak trees and crystalline oil lamps as tall as people.
Up and down the massive marble staircase, servants flitted about like flurries of snowflakes, but again Tella saw no signs of her sister or any other performers.
“Welcome.” A woman dressed in a proud shade of blue stepped in front of Tella. “I’m head matron of the sapphire wing.”
“Donatella Dragna. I’m here with Legend’s performers, and I fear I’m a little late.”
“I’d actually say you’re very late,” the matron told her, but she spoke with a smile, which gave Tella a bit of relief as the woman looked down at the list in her hands, softly humming. Until slowly the pleasant sound faded and stopped.
Her smile disappeared next. “Could you repeat your name once more?”
“It’s Donatella Dragna.”
“I see a Scarlett Dragna.”
“That’s my sister.”
The woman looked up, eyes briefly darting to the guard who’d escorted Tella in. “Your sister might be a welcome guest, but I’m afraid I don’t have you written down. Are you certain you were invited?”
8
No. Tella hadn’t been invited to the palace, but if Scarlett was on the list, Tella should have been too. Legend was playing with her. He must have removed her from the guest list after Tella’s conversation with Nigel.
She took a deep breath, refusing to be nervous, but she imagined every servant in the wing could hear the pounding of her heart. It would be so easy for the guard who’d escorted her there to toss her out into the night. No one would even notice right away, given how often Tella intentionally disappeared, and that she’d already been separated from Scarlett along with everyone else she knew in Valenda.
“My sister,” Tella said, “she’s staying here. I could share her room.”
“That would be unacceptable,” the matron answered, more stiffly than before.
“I don’t see why it matters,” Tella said. “If anything my sister would prefer it.”
“And who is your sister? Is she a royal monarch with a fifth of the world at her fingertips?”
Tella bit back from saying something that would only have her tossed out faster. “What about one of the other wings?” she asked sweetly. “There must be one empty room in such a large palace.”
“Even if there were rooms, you are not on the guest list, so you cannot stay.”
