Tella looked past all the merriment, searching for where a clue might be hidden, until her eyes landed on a queue of people. They lined up in front of a pair of black velvet curtains rimmed in gaudy gold tassels. Again, it was a bit too garish, a touch too blatant to truly feel like Legend. It felt more like the way people perceived him, an image she believed he was happy to perpetuate. In the last Caraval, Caspar, the actor who had played the role of Legend, had put on a performance that had been dazzlingly over the top. But Tella did not imagine the real Legend was that way.
Although Tella had not uncovered Legend’s true identity, she had received letters from him. The messages came without adornment; one had only contained a single sentence, and still she’d felt his magic pulsing through those simple words.
As beguiling as the Church of Legend was, Tella imagined it had Legend all wrong. Caraval might have been extreme in all of its splendor, but she didn’t think he was.
Yet she found herself drawing closer to the tasseled curtains. The line in front of them buzzed with eager whispers, lots of hands tightening cravats, pinching cheeks to bring color, and straightening top hats. Though, unlike the rest of the tavern, it appeared not everyone wore a top hat, giving Tella the impression these people weren’t members of the church, but players in search of the next clue.
Tella neared the front of the line, not wanting to wait at the end, nor thinking it wise to try to sneak in without waiting at all.
“Excuse me,” she asked a girl who wore a feathery fascinator with a gauzy crimson veil over her eyes. “What is everyone waiting to see behind the curtain?”
“If you don’t know, then maybe you don’t belong here.”
“Ignore her,” said the lanky boy at her side. Dressed a little more casual than the rest, in a collarless shirt and a pair of loose gray striped trousers held up by two cherry-red suspenders. “My sister forgets we’re just playing a game, and gets a little too competitive.”
“It’s all right,” Tella said. “My sister, Scarlett, thinks I’m the same way.”
The lanky boy’s eyes stretched wide, and Tella swore the girl in the veiled hat inhaled sharply. “Did you say Scarlett, as in the Scarlett who won the last game?”
“Oh, my sister and I didn’t play the last game,” Tella said. But she made her voice shake enough to instill a sliver of doubt. It was a risk to her true identity, but Caraval wasn’t won by playing it safe. And it seemed to be working already.
The lanky boy stepped back, looking more protectively at Tella as he made room for her to join them in the line. “I’m Fernando, this is my sister, Patricia, and this is our friend, Caspar.”
Tella tried to hide her surprise as a familiar performer reached for her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Caspar treated Tella similar to the way Julian had, as if they’d never crossed paths before. It wasn’t quite as unnerving as Julian’s disturbing performance. But it still threw Tella off balance, making her feel as if perhaps Caspar really was a stranger after all.
Caspar had pretended to be her fiancé as well as Legend in the last performance, but he now used a musical accent that Tella had never heard from him. He’d also changed out of the posh clothes he’d favored during the last Caraval to a rugged ensemble similar to Fernando’s attire.
“Caspar’s the one who told us the man who started this church is on the other side of the curtain,” Fernando said.
“This man is also an expert on the Fates,” Caspar cut in smoothly.
“He knows about the object we need to find, the one capable of destroying them,” Fernando added.
Patricia made a show of rolling her eyes. “You keep forgetting this is only a game. The object is just a symbolic item needed to win. Legend doesn’t really want to destroy the Fates. They’ve already been banished. When you say it like that, you sound like an idiot.”
Fernando’s cheeks reddened.
Tella agreed with his sister’s assessment but she didn’t like the way the girl was making a point of embarrassing her brother.
In front of them, a couple stepped behind the tasseled curtain. Fernando and his sister were up next. But all of Fernando’s giddiness was gone. He was now peering at the green tiles on the floor while Patricia gazed up at Caspar for approval, as if she’d just said something very clever. To his credit Caspar didn’t encourage her.
But Tella decided to take things one step further. Siblings were supposed to support each other, not tear each other down.
“I think you’re wrong.” She directed each word toward Patricia, speaking quickly so that the girl couldn’t interrupt with any sighs or rolling eyes. “Legend has never held two Caravals so closely together. Experts on the game are saying it’s because this one is real. If you pay attention, you’ll feel it. The magic in the air isn’t merely Legend’s—it’s the Fates, trying to come back. But the only way they can do that is by taking Legend’s power.”
Caspar’s brows arched up in surprise, his eyes piercing Tella with a look that made her feel as if she’d just spilled a secret she wasn’t even supposed to know. “Where’d you hear all of this?”
“I heard something similar,” Fernando chimed in. “But I was told that if Legend succeeds in destroying the Fates, he won’t only keep his power, he’ll take all of their powers as well.”
Dante hadn’t mentioned this part. Not that Tella had decided to believe his story. But it was difficult to ignore the way Caspar’s face had turned bone-white.
“What if the Fates’ powers have something to do with the mysterious final prize?” Patricia interjected, speaking with the sort of confidence that made it impossible to tell if the pressure of the group had changed her mind, or if she didn’t want to be left out of the conversation. “Maybe Legend will give the winner one of the Fate’s powers. I think I’d take the Undead Queen’s. She never ages.”
“None of the Fates are supposed to age,” said Tella, Caspar, and Fernando in unison.
Now it was Patricia’s turn to blush. “You didn’t let me finish.”