Perhaps the heir was looking for her as well.
Tella released a nervous laugh. She was definitely in over her head, but at least she’d soon have her sister with her.
In the distance a bell sang out, marking the time as a quarter past eleven. Less than one hour left until Caraval officially began. Tella was running out of time.
Her friend had wanted her at the party before midnight.
But Scarlett was nowhere in sight.
A few skyfall-blue petals rained from Tella’s flowering gown as she shot an uneasy look around the garden, hoping for a glimpse of one of her sister’s cherry dresses. But Tella’s only companions were the immobile statues.
The legends claimed that at one point during the Fates’ indomitable rule, the statues in Elantine’s stone garden had been real people. Mostly outdoor servants, going about their palace duties, pruning shrubs, picking flowers, and sweeping paths, when, for no fault of their own, they’d been turned to stone.
It was said the Undead Queen had done it. Apparently she didn’t believe the current sculptures looked lifelike enough, so she asked another Fate to transform a group of servants into statues.
Tella looked into the wide stone eyes of a young maid, imagining that her panic now mirrored Tella’s own.
It wasn’t like Scarlett to be tardy.
Unless her sister wasn’t coming, or something had happened to her.
Nervously Tella went to the edge of the garden, craning her head toward the hedge-lined path back to the palace. She might have started down it to try to find her sister, but another person was already on it.
Dante.
Tella’s already anxious stomach did another flip.
He’d traded in the black clothes he seemed to favor for nevermore gray. But his tall boots and the silk cravat around his neck were both deep shades of blue-black smoke, matching the curls of ink on his ungloved fingers. He looked like a freshly woken storm, or a beautiful nightmare come to life so he could personally haunt her.
Tella considered darting behind one of the statues. He was supposed to spot her from far away at the ball. He was supposed to be dazzled by her extravagant gown, and jealous when he spied her flirting with another man. He was not supposed to see her nervously standing in a garden by herself.
She hoped he’d walk right by the statues without noticing her. But Dante’s gaze had already found her. It took hold of Tella like a pair of hands wrapping around her waist and holding her in place as he approached. His shadowed eyes took their time trailing from her unbound hair to the ribbon tied around her throat, where they darkened and rested a full second before dropping.
Tella didn’t usually blush, but she felt a rush of color find her cheeks.
Dante looked up and gave her a fallen star’s smile. “You should always wear flowers.”
A few of the shyer blossoms on her gown finally bloomed, and Tella met Dante’s eyes with one of her most dazzling smiles. “I’m not wearing these for you. The dress was a gift from my fiancé.”
Dante’s eyebrows arched, but it wasn’t with the jealousy she’d hoped for. He eyed the gown as if it were something filthy, and then he looked at Tella as if she’d gone completely mad. “You need to be more careful with what you say.”
“Why’s that? Are you jealous and afraid someone other than a matron might actually believe me? Or are you suddenly nervous because Elantine’s heir—the fiancé you gave me—is a murderous fiend who might kill me for claiming we’re engaged?”
Before Dante could answer, Tella swept past him, toward the path to the palace and hopefully her sister. It was now half past eleven and growing closer to midnight. She needed—
“Donatella.” Dante snatched her wrist before she could take a second step. “Just tell me you’re not going to the Fated Ball at Idyllwild Castle.”
“That would be a lie.”
Dante’s fingers tensed around her wrist. “There are other parties. You shouldn’t be going to that one.”
“Why not?” Tella pulled away. “I enjoy drinking and dancing, and even you acknowledged that I look rather spectacular.” She did a half twirl, letting the petals of her skirt brush against his polished boots.
Dante gave her a look so withering the flowers that had just swept his trousers retreated back into buds. “Idyllwild Castle belongs to Elantine’s heir. Do you know what will happen to you there if he discovers you’re claiming to be his fiancée?”
“No, but it might be interesting to find out.” She flashed an impish smile.
A line of frustrated red started up Dante’s neck. “Elantine’s heir is unhinged; he hasn’t just killed the other heirs—he’s murdered anyone who he’s believed might get in his way to the throne. If he suspects for a second you’re one of those people, he will end you, too.”