She yanked it again.
The veil ripped free, but so did the crown’s ring of black candles. They fell apart in thick, waxen tears, crumbling until all that remained were five razor-sharp points tipped in black opals.
It looked like an unbroken version of the Shattered Crown. The same crown Tella had seen when Armando read her fortune.
The Shattered Crown predicted an impossible choice between two equally difficult paths. Tella knew the circle in her hands wasn’t the same crown. That crown was trapped in a deck of cards, and this crown had yet to break. But she didn’t like that her fingers went numb wherever they touched it.
She wanted to shove it into the box. It felt like a bad idea to put this crown on. But she refused to be afraid of it or the ideas it brought to mind.
Tella looked in the mirror as she placed it atop her head. The crown wasn’t nearly as heavy as it had been when the candles had been a part of it, but from the moment it touched her curls, Tella felt a stirring, as if wearing the crown was the first step toward an impossible choice she wasn’t ready make.
She tried to dismiss the feeling. Just because she was going to speak with the empress about her mother didn’t mean Tella was going to sacrifice herself to the stars so that she could win the game to save Paloma. And yet Tella found herself tucking Jacks’s luckless coin into the pocket of her costume, along with the Aracle and the card imprisoning her mother.
ELANTINE’S EVE:
THE LAST NIGHT
OF CARAVAL
37
The stars were spectacularly fiery that night, lighting all of Valenda with their splendor and shimmer. Legend had wrangled them into the shape of a giant hourglass. It glowed desert-gold and scorching red, dripping crimson stars like grains of sands, no doubt counting down until dawn and the end of Caraval.
The hourglass hung suspended above the palace, where the last night of the game was taking place. Tella had glimpsed it when she’d looked out of her window. The glass courtyard below, which filled the space between the golden tower and the other wings of the palace, was beginning to fill with people costumed to look like the accursed Fates.
Thankfully none of the game players were allowed inside the tower. The ancient structure was almost eerily quiet. Tella could only hear the patter of her footfalls against the rickety wooden stairs as she climbed up, up, up.
During their dinner the other evening, Elantine had mentioned watching the Elantine’s Eve fireworks from the highest floor. She’d even told Jacks she hoped Tella would join them for the show. It wasn’t an actual invitation, and Jacks had never mentioned it again, but Tella hoped the empress had meant it.
Guards stopped her at the top. There must have been a dozen of them, their armor clanging loud and harsh as they blocked Tella’s path.
Her legs burned from climbing, but she managed to stand up straight and speak without gasping. “I’m engaged to the heir, and Her Majesty has invited me to watch the fireworks with her this evening.” Tella flashed her letter from Elantine, showing off the royal seal as if it were an invitation. But it wasn’t needed.
The guards parted ranks for Tella as if they’d been expecting her. She wondered if it was because the empress’s invitation to watch the fireworks had been genuine, or if the empress had known that her letter would draw Tella here. She was done letting fate or the Fates dictate her future, but something about this meeting with Elantine felt inevitable.
The top of the tower was much narrower than the bottom, just one room, not particularly large, and yet later she would remember it as endless. The walls and ceiling were formed of seamless glass, an observatory built for watching and dreaming and wishing. Legend’s churning hourglass was so close Tella swore she could hear the stars falling inside of it, hissing and sparking out a dangerous song as Tella ventured farther in.
The suite itself was simple elegance. An ash-white tree grew in the middle, full of silver leaves that looked as if they were on the verge of falling. Surrounding it was a circle of tufted lounges, all looking out toward the pristine glass, silver and white, just like the tree. The only spot of bold color in the room came from the bouquet of red roses in the vase next to Elantine.
The empress lounged on a seat so close to the windows it nearly touched the glass. She didn’t appear to be in costume, though there was something ghostly about her and it wasn’t merely the white gown she wore.
Two nights ago when Tella had met her, Empress Elantine had been the definition of lively, brimming with smiles and hugs. But perhaps she’d given away too many. Now she slumped against her chair, waxen and sickly, exactly like the overeager maid had said.
Even Elantine’s voice sounded feverish when she spoke. “You climbed all this way, my dear, you may as well ask the question burning your tongue.”
“What happened to you?” Tella blurted.
Elantine looked up. Her dark eyes were larger than Tella remembered, or perhaps her face had become thinner. Elantine looked as if she’d aged two decades in two days. Tella swore the woman grew even older as she sat there. Fresh wrinkles formed across her pallid cheeks as she said, “It’s called dying, my dear. Why do you think I wanted to have such a magnificent seventy-fifth birthday celebration?”
“But—but you looked so well the other night.”
“A tonic from Legend.” Elantine’s eyes cut to the red roses on the table beside her. “He’s been helping me hide my failing health from Jacks.”
“So you’ve met Legend?”
A wrinkled smile moved the empress’s mouth. “After all his help, even if I knew who Legend was, I would not betray his secret. And I don’t think you climbed up all this way to ask about him.”
Elantine’s gaze dropped to the letter in Tella’s hand.