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She told herself not to turn around. Not to give in to her curiosity. But being told no—even from herself—only made Tella want to do the opposite.
Carefully she snuck a look over her shoulder, and instantly regretted it.
Dante strutted down the other side of the quiet street with amused eyes fixed on her.
Tella averted her gaze, hoping if she ignored him he’d stay on his side of the road and pretend he hadn’t just seen her yelling at a rock.
Instead he crossed the street, intentionally striding toward her with those impossibly long legs of his, broad mouth smiling as if he had a secret.
3
Tella told herself her stomach only tumbled because she hadn’t eaten that morning. Dante might have slept on a forest floor, but not even a blade of grass clung to his polished boots. Dressed in inky shades of black, without so much as a loose cravat, he looked like a dark, wingless angel who’d been tossed from the heavens and landed on his feet.
Tella had a sudden flash of the way he’d approached her at the party last night, and her insides did another flip. He’d responded with disinterest that bordered on ignoring her when she’d first said hello. But then she’d caught him watching her from the across the party—just glimpses, here and there—until, out of nowhere, he’d appeared at her side and kissed her until her knees gave out.
“Please don’t stop such an interesting speech on my account,” he said, returning her to the present moment. “I’m sure I’ve heard far more colorful curses.”
“Did you just insult my use of profanity?”
“I thought I asked for more dirty words.” His voice pitched so low Tella swore it curled the ribbons trailing down the back of her dress.
But this was Dante. He talked like this to all the girls, flashing his devastating smile and saying wicked and beguiling things until he got them to unbutton their blouses or lift their skirts. Then he pretended they didn’t exist. She’d heard the stories during Caraval. So Tella should have been safe to assume that after last night this boy would never speak to her again, which was what she wanted.
Tella enjoyed the kissing, and maybe once upon another time she might have been tempted by the idea of more. But the problem with more was it could also bring more feelings, like love. Tella wanted nothing to do with love; she’d learned long ago it was not in her destiny. She gave herself the freedom to kiss as many boys as she liked, but never more than once.
“What do you want?” Tella asked.
Dante’s eyes widened enough to betray surprise at her sharp tone, yet his voice remained pleasant as he said, “You dropped this in the forest last night.” He held out one large palm, showing her a thick brassy coin embossed with a disjointed image that resembled half of a face.
He had her coin! Tella could have leaped out of her skin to grab it, but she doubted acting too eager would be wise.
“Thank you for picking it up,” she answered coolly. “It’s not valuable, but I like to carry it as a good-luck charm.”
She reached for it.
Dante pulled his hand back, and tossed the brassy disc into the air before catching it. “Interesting choice for a charm.” Suddenly he looked more serious, thick brows drawing closer together over coal-dark eyes, as he flipped the coin over and over, letting it dance between his tattooed fingers. “I’ve seen some odd things during Caraval, but I’ve never known someone to carry one of these for luck.”
“I suppose I like to be original.”
“Or you have no idea what it is.” His rich voice sounded more entertained than before.
“And what do you think it is?”
Dante tossed the coin once more. “It’s said these were forged by the Fates. People used to call them ‘luckless coins.’”
“No wonder it’s never worked well.” Tella managed a laugh, but something gnawed—foolishness, perhaps—at not having recognized the object.
Tella had been obsessed with the Fates ever since finding her mother’s Deck of Destiny. There’d been thirty-two of them, comprising a court of sixteen immortals, eight places, and eight objects. Every Fate was known for one particular power, but that wasn’t the only reason they’d come to rule most of the world centuries ago. It was also said they couldn’t be killed by mortals, and that they were faster and stronger, too.
Centuries ago, before they’d vanished, the Fates pictured in Decks of Destiny had ruled over most of the earth like gods—cruel ones. Tella read everything she could about them, so she’d heard of luckless coins, but she felt ridiculous admitting it now.
“People called them luckless because finding one was always a bad omen,” Dante said. “The coins were rumored to have the magic ability to track a person’s whereabouts. The Fates would slip them into the pockets of their human servants, their lovers, or anyone else they wished to follow, keep close, or control. I’ve never held one before today, but I’ve heard if you spin a luckless coin, you can see which Fate it belonged to.”
Dante set the coin atop the edge of a nearby bench.
An unpleasant thrill danced up Tella’s spine. Although he seemed to know a lot of obscure history, she couldn’t tell if Dante put faith in the power of the Fates, but she believed in them.
The Maiden Death was said to predict the loss of a loved one or family member. And within days of flipping it over, and seeing the maiden with her head caged in pearls, Tella’s mother had vanished. She knew it was childish to believe that turning the card had caused this disappearance. But not all childish beliefs were wrong. Her mother had warned her, the Fates had a way of twisting futures. And Tella had seen the Aracle, time and time again, predict futures that came to pass.
