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“I don’t. But if you win and meet Legend, then we can find out the truth about Julian.” Scarlett pulled out a slip of paper as if it were a dagger she’d hidden up her sleeve.
This was definitely a new side of Scarlett.
Tella liked it.
“Julian gave me this,” Scarlett said. “It’s the next clue. He said he wanted to help you, but I think he was trying to bribe me with it.”
Tella took the page, recognizing the script from the first clue card she’d received at the party.
* * *
THE GOAL OF THIS GAME IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK,
TO FIND THE TRUTH SEEK THE WOMAN
OF PARCHMENT AND INK.
SHE ALONE HOLDS THE NEXT CLUE,
WHICH WAS LEFT ONLY FOR YOU.
* * *
“This sounds like a woman I met at a Wanted shop the other day in the Spice Quarter.”
It also sounded as if it truly were meant for Tella alone. She doubted everyone playing the game had paused at the same shop. Elantine’s Most Wanted. Tella had hoped to return there, but it seemed like a rather great coincidence that Legend was leading her back to the very place that had first put her in touch with Jacks.
The game was starting to seem too real again.
Tella reminded herself of all the trickery she’d just witnessed from Legend’s performers in the Temple District. She would have been intentionally naive to believe that Caraval was more than just a game. Caraval was just one giant deception, but Tella could feel it trying to pull her in.
She held out the clue card Scarlett had just given her. “Come with me tomorrow night to look into this.”
Scarlett bit down on her lip.
“What, do you have other plans?”
“Who would I have plans with?” Scarlett asked. But the question came out oddly shrill, and Tella swore her nightgown flinched, quickly flickering from pink to black.
Tella didn’t know what her sister was hiding, but again she had the feeling that Scarlett was concealing something.
“I’d just prefer not to go out at night,” Scarlett added. “I can’t risk getting caught up in the game again.”
“I understand,” Tella said. She just wasn’t certain if she believed her.
NIGHT THREE
OF CARAVAL
22
Tella would have traded a year of her life for another hour of sleep. She didn’t even care that she possibly had less than one year to live. She never wanted to leave the blissful blue comfort of her bed with all its soft blankets and downy pillows. Yesterday had been brutally long. But she’d already slept much more than she should have—and if she never got up she would definitely have less than one year to live.
Beat … beat.
Nothing.
Nothing.
