Legendary (Caraval, 2)
Legendary: Part 8 – Chapter 39

Tella’s heart raced as she exited the sanctuary. After everything that night it should have run out of beats, but it managed to pound faster as the cool evening air whipped around her face and rustled the silvery leaves of her dress. Ignoring the chill, her hand dove into her pocket once more for Jacks’s luckless coin.

“Tella—” A low, achingly familiar voice, called from the base of the steps, followed by the echo of Dante’s heavy footfalls.

She froze.

If you win Caraval, the first face you see will be Legend’s.

No. No. No.

Tella quickly shut her eyes before she could see him. Maybe if she didn’t open her eyes he’d walk away, she’d see another face, and Dante wouldn’t be Legend.

She heard him climb closer. Boots heavy and eager against the stairs.

“I thought you were meeting me after midnight,” she called.

“I had a feeling you’d be here early.” His voice was a little closer.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“Tella, look at me.” Another step. Then she felt the heady warmth that always seemed to surround him. It pressed against her shoulders and chest, as if he were standing right in front her. “I can’t talk to you like this.”

She kept her eyes firmly closed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d suspected Dante was Legend, but she wasn’t supposed to be right.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said. “I want to talk to Legend.”

“Then open your eyes and speak to me.”

Her legs gave out.

His arms snaked around her, keeping her steady while the world she knew broke into pieces.

Dante was Legend.

Legend was Dante.

And he was still holding on to her. One hand left her waist, moving upward until his fingers gently brushed her cheek before resting beneath her chin and tilting her face toward his. She could feel his words against his lips as he spoke. “Tella, say something.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he was so close all she could feel were his lips touching hers. They were soft and parted and then they were pressing more firmly against her mouth.

She didn’t even want to try to resist him. But it was so much more than that.

They kissed as if the world were ending, lips crashing together as if the heavens were breaking and the ground was crumbling, as if a war raged all around them and this kiss was the only thing mighty enough to stop it. As long as they kissed, only she and Dante existed.

Tella never wanted to open her eyes; as soon as she did, the world would shift. Dante would be gone and there would only be Legend.

It was so brutally unfair. She’d only just decided how much she wanted Dante, but even if he made it through the night, Legend was someone she could never have. He was like a moment in time; he could be experienced but never held on to.

His lips pressed harder as one hand threaded through her hair and the other went lower around her hips, digging in and pulling her closer, as if he didn’t want the kiss to end, either.

But it had to stop. No matter how good of a distraction it was. The longer it lasted, the more danger she was in.

Tella leaned in toward him for one spectacular heartbeat, tasting his lips a final time. Then she forced herself to let go. She’d never be able to do what she needed if she fell any farther.

Her eyes opened reluctantly.

She wanted him to look different. She wanted his gaze to be cold and distant. She wanted him to look at her as if he’d really been the one to win this game. She wanted his lips to curve cruelly as he tried to steal the deck of cards from her grip. But he didn’t even look at them. He only stared at her. One hand was still on her waist. It was hotter than it should have been on such a cold night.

“You won the game,” he said. He lifted his other hand, as if reaching for her face.

She caught a glimpse of the black rose inked upon his skin. She might have laughed at how obvious that image had made his identity all along. But then his arm twisted and Tella caught a glimpse of the underside of his wrist, just beneath the scar he’d earned in the last Caraval.

She grabbed it. He winced, but he didn’t fight her as she pushed up the cuff of his sleeve.

She gasped so sharply it hurt. “God’s blood.”

On the underside of his wrist, marring one of his lovely tattoos, was a violent star-shaped brand, exactly like the one on Theron’s face.

She told herself he had only done it for the cards, not for her. This was about the Fates’s power, she reminded herself. But it still felt wrong that he’d let himself be branded in such a permanent way.

“What did you promise them?” Tella asked.

“It doesn’t matter. I did it for you and I’d do it again.” Dante rotated his wrist until somehow he was holding her hand. He still hadn’t even looked at the cards. He dark eyes stayed fixed on her as if she were his prize.

And, damn her, she believed him.

It was so very wrong.

If he was Legend, he wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to still gaze at her as if she’d just shattered his world with a kiss. He was supposed to laugh at her for being foolish enough to fall for him. He wasn’t supposed to lean in closer, as if he’d fallen for her, too. He was supposed to rip the cards from her hands and abandon her on the moonstone steps. He was supposed to break her heart.

She wasn’t supposed to break his.

Finally Tella’s heart stopped racing. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take more away from him than she already had. Jacks would have to replace another source of power to free her mother and the Fates.

“You need to leave. Immediately.” Tella ripped her hand from his. “I used Jacks’s luckless coin right before you arrived. He’s on his way here now. When he arrives he’s going to steal your powers and free all the Fates.”

Dante’s eyes finally dropped to the cards clutched in Tella’s hands. She still wasn’t entirely ready to think of him as Legend. Legends were supposed to be better than the truth. Perfect, idealized dreams and crystalline hopes that were too flawless to exist in reality. And she might have described him that way just then, if the naked expression that crossed his face didn’t cut deeper than disappointment. “You want to give the cards to Jacks?”

“I’m sorry,” Tella said. She clasped the deck tighter, but Dante made no move to take it, though a muscle jumped in his jaw and his knuckles turned white as if everything in him fought against the urge.

“This is about your mother, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I thought I could let her go, but she’s my mother. I have so many questions for her, and despite everything she’s done, I can’t stop loving her.” Tella’s voice cracked. “I can’t allow you to destroy her along with the Fates.”

His expression split, as if it had been ripped in half, a two-sided mask formed of regret and determination. “If I could free your mother, I would. But the only way to release someone from a card without breaking the curse is to take their place.”

“I’m not asking you to free her,” Tella said. “I’m asking you to go before Jacks gets here.” She shoved against Dante’s chest, but he was indomitable. He wouldn’t move. Her panic increased and she shoved him again. But he wouldn’t fight back and he wouldn’t flee. He wasn’t afraid. He was something far worse. He was hopeful that she would choose him. He didn’t leave and he didn’t take the cards because he wanted her to give them to him.

And maybe he imagined that if Jacks arrived he could beat him in a battle. Either way, Tella still lost her mother or she lost Dante.

Unless she saved them both.

The idea felt fragile at first, but like all thoughts it grew stronger the more consideration she gave to it. All this time, she kept thinking Jacks was the only one who could free her mother. But Tella could take her mother’s place. Caspar had mentioned how it was done during the play. All she needed to do was write her name on the card in blood. She still had the blood Dante and Julian had used to heal her pulsing through her veins; if her mortal blood wasn’t enough, that blood should do the trick.

It hadn’t felt like an option before. Tella feared being trapped more than anything. But perhaps love was an otherworldly entity like Death. And since Tella had now opened herself up to the possibility of Love, it would not stop coming after her, and it felt far more powerful than Death.

She’d underestimated Love in the past. She’d imagined the romantic sort to be a stronger type of lust—but this moment had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with caring more about saving Dante and her mother than saving herself. It made her fearless in a way she’d never been.

Using her mother’s sharp opal ring, Tella pierced the tip of her finger hard enough to draw blood.

“Tella, what are you doing?” Dante said.

“You can take the cards, but promise me you’ll leave before Jacks arrives.” She pressed her bleeding finger against the card imprisoning her mother.

“Tella,” Dante repeated. “What are you doing?”

“I’m being the hero.”

“No!” Dante roared the word the moment he realized what she meant. “Tella, don’t do this. Your mother wouldn’t want this.”

He reached for her mother’s card, but it was too late. Tella’s name was written upon it in blood.

“It’s already finished,” Tella said.

She tried to smile then. She was finally the hero. All it had cost her was everything.

Her lips wobbled, and hot tears fell from her eyes.

“Tella.” Dante rasped her name as if he were on the verge of crying too. “I know you don’t want to believe me, but I never meant for this to happen to you. When I set up the game, I knew your mother had hidden the cards, but I didn’t know she was trapped inside one of them.” He pressed the pads of his thumbs to her cheeks. But the more tears he wiped away, the more began to fall. “I’m so sorry, I failed you.”

She leaned into his hands. She had not thought Legend would be one to apologize, but it wasn’t his fault. This was her choice. She could have made another one if she’d wanted to. She didn’t know how long it would be until the spell took effect, but she imagined it would happen soon. And since her story wasn’t going to have a happy true ending, at least she could try for one last good moment during her almost-ending.

“I lied to my sister about our kiss,” Tella said.

Dante pressed his lips to her forehead. “I know.”

“I’m not finished,” she scolded. “I wanted you to know why I lied. I wasn’t ashamed. I said it so my sister wouldn’t worry, because I think I knew even then that I could have—”

The night. The world. The stars watching from above all disappeared.

Then Tella disappeared as well.