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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.
