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Tella claimed she didn’t want love—she liked to say love trapped and controlled and ripped hearts apart. But the truth was she also knew love healed and held people together, and deep down she wanted it more than anything. She enjoyed the kisses, but a part of her always wished that whenever she walked away from a boy he’d run after her, beg her to stay, and then promise he’d never leave.
She’d accepted the cards she’d been given and turned them into her fate because it felt like the only way to protect herself after her mother left. But maybe if Tella chose to reject what she’d seen in the cards then she could have a new destiny. One where she didn’t have to be afraid of love.
When the kiss finally ended, their cloaks were both puddled on the ground, their arms were around each other, and the sky had moved back to where it should be, to the black hour just before sunrise. Only the moon lingered, undoubtedly wishing it had lips after witnessing what Tella and Dante had just done.
Dante spoke against her mouth, this time loud enough for her to hear his words. “I think I’d like you even if you were the villain.”
She smiled against his lips. “Maybe I’d like you even if you were a hero.”
“But I’m not the hero,” he reminded her.
“Then perhaps I’m here to save you.” This time she kissed him first. But it wasn’t as sweet as before. It tasted acrid. Metallic. Wrong.
Tella broke away, and in that moment she swore the stars returned and shined a little brighter simply to be cruel. Light fell over Dante illuminating the blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Slow and red and cursed.
34
Tella shoved up from the fountain and turned away. She didn’t even pay attention to where she went as she wiped her lips with her hands. Blood kept pouring out of the corners of her mouth, mercilessly bringing her back to the reality of her situation, and to the game that she and Dante were on different sides of. Her mother might have no longer deserved saving, but Tella still needed it.
Beat …
Nothing.
Beat …
Nothing.
Beat …
Nothing.
It was almost as if Jacks were watching, waiting for Tella’s one moment of happiness so that he could rip it away.
In between her dying heartbeats, she heard Dante’s heavy footsteps as he rose from the fountain and followed until he stood directly behind her.
“Tella, please, don’t run.” His voice was as gentle as the hand he placed on her bare upper back. Her entire body had gone suddenly cold except for where his palm rested. Such a contrast to Jacks’s forever cold touch and unbeating heart. And yet at the end of it all Jacks would be the one to triumph.
Tella might have been the only person capable of retrieving her mother’s Deck of Destiny from the stars’ vaults and winning Caraval, but Jacks and the Fates he planned on setting free would be the true victors. Once she gave Legend to Jacks, Tella would no longer be cursed, but she’d be enslaved to the stars for using her mother’s ring. The freedom she’d fought so hard for would vanish. And there was a good chance Legend and Caraval would disappear as well.
Tella really was the villain after all.
She still might have felt as if giving Legend to Jacks was the right path to take if she believed her mother was worth saving. But in that moment, Tella preferred the idea of keeping Paloma trapped in a card.
“Tella, please talk to me,” Dante said.
“I’m not going to run. But I need a moment.”
Without letting Dante see her face, Tella returned to the fountain. She cupped the wine in her hands, careful not to swallow any as she rinsed the blood from her mouth. Once she finished, she spat it out into the bushes and picked up her cloak to wipe her lips before placing it back on her shoulders. She was stalling. Dante had seen her crying, he’d seen her bleeding, seen her on the verge of death. A little blood on her mouth wasn’t about to scare him away.
“You still don’t trust me, do you?” he asked.
Finally she turned around.
The night had grown darker, but Tella could see Dante’s forehead was covered in lines and his hands were stiff at his side, as if holding back from touching her.
“I don’t trust myself,” she admitted.
Dante took a slow step closer. “Is it because you now believe it’s not a game?”
