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Everything looked so perfect, Tella imagined she might smudge it if she stepped fully into the room. She tiptoed past into what was clearly Legend’s bedroom.
His bed took up nearly half the space, and with its heavy iron
frame and black silk sheets, it was exactly what she would have expected. Legend lay in the middle of it; his shirt was gone and he was on his stomach, sheets low enough to reveal the exquisite wings tattooed on his beautiful back.
Tella couldn’t have held back her smile. She knew many of his other tattoos had disappeared, but she’d so badly wanted this one to be real.
The wings were as mesmerizing as she remembered. Soulless jet-black with midnight-blue veins the color of lost wishes and fallen stardust. And they were one of her favorite things about him. She itched to reach down and trace them, to run her fingers down his spine and wake him up. But while she’d shared countless dreams with Legend, she’d never seen him sleep, and she was curious.
Her eyes left the wings and trailed to his face. It looked as if he’d fallen asleep while reading. One bronzed hand held a book near his slumbering head, while hair black as raven feathers fell across his forehead. It was a very human pose, and yet his skin faintly glowed with inhuman light. He looked perfect and tempting, and in that moment Tella felt like a girl from a fairy tale who’d stumbled upon a sleeping god that would give her a prize if she woke him with a kiss.
And she was tempted to do just that, to sweep his hair back and press her lips to his brow, when something behind him caught her attention. She’d been so drawn to seeing Legend asleep on his own bed that she hadn’t even noticed the enormous mural painted on the wall behind it.
Tella took a couple steps away to take it all in. Haunting and bright and sad all at once, the artwork almost covered the entire wall.
From the distance, it looked like an overwhelming picture of a night sky on fire. But as she drew closer again, Tella could see that this wasn’t a depiction of sky or fire, but a series of smaller images; a kaleidoscope of stars and night and hourglasses, hot-air balloons and top hats, skulls and roses, death and canals, waterfalls of tears and blood and ruins and riches. It was beauty and horror and pain and longing.
Legend’s soul was painted on this wall.
She didn’t imagine he’d want it seen by anyone, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She swore the mural moved as she drew even closer and looked until it was no longer a picture at all—it was a story.
Tella saw images from Caravals past as well as some that appeared to be from Legend’s life outside of the game.
During the last Caraval, he’d told her that his tattoos were there to help him remember what was real. After the game was over and some of his tattoos had disappeared, she’d imagined that was a lie. But now she wondered if there had been something honest behind what he’d told her, because he’d clearly painted his past on his walls.
Her eyes traveled to the lower right of the wall, where the mural abruptly stopped. She imagined the images right before that naked patch would either be from the last Caraval or the past two months of Legend’s life.
Her pulse sped up as she found the final image. It was of her and Legend during Caraval. They were in front of the Temple of the Stars and he was holding her close. It must have been the moment right after he’d freed her from the cards. He was clutching her as if he had no intention of ever releasing her, even though he had.
If these pictures were memories, he clearly saw things differently than she did.
Tella knew she was pretty, and that when she smiled, she could convince people she was more than pretty; she was beautiful. But in this picture, she could have been a goddess the way he painted her on those tragic steps, while he looked more like a grim shadow.
Was this how he saw himself?
“What do you think of it?” Legend’s voice was low and rough with sleep.
Tella whirled back toward the bed to discover him sitting on the edge of it, bare feet on the ground, black pants covering his legs, and nothing on his flawless chest. His bronze skin glowed a little brighter, and his pants were so low she could see the definition of—
“Donatella.” His voice was a low growl. Her eyes shot up to his face. Stubble coated his jaw, dark hair hung over his forehead, and though his eyes were hooded, his gaze was far from tired. He could have set the room on fire from the intensity of his stare. “You need to stop looking at me that way.”
“How exactly am I looking at you?” she challenged.
His mouth slowly curved, as if he was about to challenge her right back. “I’m half naked, I’m in my bed, and you’re staring at me as if you want to join me here.”
“Maybe I do.”
His eyes flashed with white gold and suddenly he was on his feet, towering over her. “Tella, I’m not in the mood for games right now.”
She took a tremulous breath. She hadn’t changed her mind, but for a moment she feared that he’d changed his. “I’m not playing a game.”
She stepped closer to the bed and took another ragged breath. She’d never felt more vulnerable in her life, but if she put her guard back up he would never take his down. “I want you to make me an immortal.”
Legend’s brows drew together, wary. Not the response she’d hoped for. “Why did you change your mind? Is this because I didn’t come to your room tonight?”
“No.” She would have told him to get over himself, but she was about to throw herself at him even harder and crack her heart open even wider. “Most of my life, I’ve romanticized death. I used to love the idea of something being so tremendous that it was worth dying for. But I was wrong. I think the most magnificent things are worth living for.” She took another step, until she was standing right in front of him. She reached up and placed a hand on his bare chest, right at his heart.
He sucked in a deep breath, but he didn’t move away, he didn’t reject her, as her hand traveled upward toward his neck. She spread her fingers out, feeling his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed.
