Please!” Scarlett chased after him. “I’m not asking for a glimpse into the future. My sister has been taken as part of the game; can you tell me where I’ll find her?”
Nigel turned around. A flash of ink and color. “If you really care about this sister, why didn’t you ask about her first?”
“I don’t know,” Scarlett said. But that wasn’t quite true. She’d made a mistake yet again, just like in the clock shop. She’d been worried about her own future more than she had cared about finding her sister. But maybe she could fix this error. Nigel had said he’d uncover her future in proportion to what she gave him.
“Wait!” Scarlett called as he started walking again. “It was the heart,” she blurted. “Every time I looked at you I saw the heart around your lips and it made me think of my wedding, which is only a week away. I really want to get married, but I’ve never met my groom, so there are things I don’t know about him and—” Scarlett didn’t want to admit how she really felt, but she forced out the words: “I’m scared.”
Slowly Nigel turned once more. She wondered if he could see how deep her fear went, further down than Scarlett herself had realized. Her eyes found a link of chains around Nigel’s throat, and she imagined an invisible bind around her neck as well, always holding her back, formed from years of her father’s cruel punishments.
“If you want to win this game,” Nigel said, “you should forget about your wedding. And if you want to find your sister, you will not find her in this Castillo. Follow the boy with a heart made of black.”
“Is that the third clue?” Scarlett asked. But Nigel was already gone.
When she stepped back into the courtyard the brightness of the Castillo had dimmed. Its arches now looked dull bronze instead of bright gold, casting the palace in distended shadows. She’d used up almost all her time. But she dared to hope that by confessing her fears to Nigel she had earned the third clue. Maybe she was one step closer to Tella.
When Nigel said, Follow the boy with a heart made of black, her first thought was of Julian, selfish and deceitful. Scarlett could easily imagine his heart to be black.
Unfortunately, she could see no sign of the devious sailor, or the jade kissing tent where he told her to meet him. She saw a furry clover-green tent and a shimmery emerald-green one, but no jade-green anything.
Scarlett felt as if the isle was playing with her.
She crossed over to the emerald tent. Bottles covered every surface: floor, walls, the beams holding up the ceiling. Glass tinkled like fairy dust as she peered inside.
Aside from the female proprietor, the only other people in the tent were a pair of giddy young women. Both hovered in front of a locked glass box full of black bottles with ruby-red labels.
“Maybe if we get to that girl first and find Legend we can slip him some of this,” said one young woman to the other.
“They’re talking about my romance tonic,” said the proprietor. She stepped in front of Scarlett, greeting her with a spritz of something minty. “But I imagine that’s not what you’re here for. Are you looking for a new scent? We have oils that attract and perfumes that repel.”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Scarlett stepped back before the woman could spray her again. “What was in that bottle?”
“Just my way of saying hello.”
Scarlett doubted that. She turned to leave, yet something pulled her back into the tent, a voiceless call, drawing her to a crude bookshelf in the rear. Piled with burnt-orange apothecary bottles and vials, labeled with things like Tincture of Forgetting and Extract of Lost Tomorrows.
A voice in Scarlett’s head said she was wasting time—she needed to find Julian and follow his black heart. She started to turn to leave once more, but a celestial-blue ampoule on a high shelf caught her eye. Elixir of Protection.
For a second Scarlett swore the blue liquid inside pulsed like a heartbeat.
The tent’s proprietor retrieved it and handed it to Scarlett. “Do you have enemies?”
“No, just curious,” Scarlett hedged.
The woman’s eyes were bottle green, an intense concentration of color, and their crinkled edges said, I do not believe you. Yet she kindly pretended otherwise. “If someone is about to cause you harm,” she went on coolly, “this will stop them. All you need to do is spray a bit on their face.”
“Like you did to me?” Scarlett asked.
“My perfume merely opened your eyes so you would see what you might need.”
Scarlett rolled the tiny jar in her palm, barely larger than a vial, yet heavy. She imagined the solidly reassuring weight of it in her pocket. “What will this cost me?”
“For you?” The woman looked Scarlett over carefully, taking in her posture, the way she curled into herself or refused to have her back fully to the tent’s opening. “Tell me who you fear the most.”
Scarlett hesitated. Julian had warned her about giving her secrets away too freely. He’d also told her that to win and find her sister she needed to be a little merciless. She imagined this potion could be ruthless, although that wasn’t the entire reason Scarlett pushed out the words in one quick breath. “Marcello Dragna.”
With the name came a fearful rush of anise and lavender and something akin to rotted plums. Scarlett looked around the tent, making sure her father wasn’t standing at the mouth of it.
“This elixir can be used on a person only once,” warned the woman, “and the effects wear off after two hours.”
“Thank you.” As soon as Scarlett said the words, she thought she glimpsed Julian just beyond the border of the adjacent tent. A blur of dark hair and
stealthy movements. She swore he looked right at her, but then he continued in the opposite direction.
Scarlett followed hastily, dashing to the cool edge of the courtyard, where the colorful pavilions no longer grew. But Julian disappeared again. He slipped under the arch to her left.
“Julian!” Scarlett crossed beneath the same shadowed arc, trailing a narrow path that led into a dreary garden. But there was no glimpse of Julian’s dark hair behind any of its cracked statues. No sight of his sharp movements near any of its dying plants. He’d vanished, just like all the colors had seemed to fade from the garden, leaving it bleached out and unlovely.
Scarlett searched for another archway Julian might have used to exit, but the small park dead-ended at a shabby fountain spitting out bits of bubbling brown water into a dirty basin containing a few pathetic coins and a glass button. The saddest wishing well Scarlett had ever seen.
It made no sense. Julian’s disappearance, or this neglected plot of earth, left to die in the midst of a domain so carefully cultivated. Even the air felt off. Fetid and stagnant.
Scarlett could almost feel the sadness of the fountain infecting her, turning her discouragement into the type of dreary yellow hopelessness that choked out life. She wondered if that’s what had happened to the plants. She knew how crippling bleakness could feel. If not for Scarlett’s determination to protect her sister at all costs, she might have given up long ago.
She probably should have. What was that saying, No love ever goes unpunished? In many ways, loving Tella was a source of constant pain. No matter how hard Scarlett tried to care for her sister, it was never enough to fill the hole their mother had left. And it wasn’t as if Tella really loved Scarlett back. If she did, she wouldn’t have risked everything Scarlett wanted by dragging her to this miserable game against her will. Tella never thought things through. She was selfish and reckless and—
No! Scarlett shook her head and took a deep, heavy breath. None of those thoughts were true. She loved Tella, more than anything. She wanted to find her, more than everything.
This is the fountain’s doing, Scarlett realized. Whatever despair she felt was the product of some sort of enchantment, most likely meant to keep anyone from lingering there too long.
This garden was hiding something.
Maybe that was why Nigel had told her to follow Julian and his black heart
—because Nigel knew that it would lead her here. This must be where the next clue was hidden.
Scarlett’s boots clicked against dull stone as she moved closer to where she’d spied the button. It was the second one she’d seen that night. It had to be part of a clue. Scarlett used a stick to fetch it out. And that’s when she saw it.
It was so insubstantial she almost missed it—eyes that cared less might have overlooked it. Beneath the grim brown water, etched into the edge of the basin, was a sun with a star inside and a teardrop inside of the star—the symbol of Caraval. It did not feel as magical as the silver crest on the first letter Legend had sent her; of course nothing felt charmed in this awful garden.
Scarlett touched the symbol with her stick. Immediately, the water started draining, taking every feeling of wretchedness with it, while the bricks of the fountain shifted, revealing a winding set of stairs that disappeared into a dark unknown. It was the type of staircase Scarlett was reluctant to venture down alone. And she was running dangerously low on time if she wanted to get back to the inn before sunrise. But if this was where Julian had disappeared and if he was the boy with the heart made of black, Scarlett needed to follow him to discover the next clue. Either Tella could be the thing Scarlett chased after, or Scarlett’s fear could be what chased Scarlett away.
Trying not to worry that she was making an immense mistake, Scarlett darted down the steps. After the first damp set, sand circled around her boots as she spiraled farther down the stairs, which reached much deeper than the steps to the barrel room back home.
Torches lit her descent, casting dramatic shadows against light-gold bricks of sand that grew darker with each flight. She imagined herself to be three
stories below; it felt as if she’d entered the heart of the Castillo. A place she was becoming quite certain she did not belong.
The concerns she’d tried to bury resurfaced as she plunged farther down. What if the boy she’d followed wasn’t Julian? What if Nigel had been lying? Hadn’t Julian warned her about trusting people? Each fear squeezed the invisible chain around her neck, tempting her to turn around.
At the foot of the steps, a corridor stretched out in multiple directions, a snake with more than one head. Dark and tortuous, magnificent and frightening. Cold air blew from one tunnel. Warmth breezed out of another. But no footsteps sounded down any of them.
“How did you get down here?”
Scarlett spun around. Dim light flickered over the mouth of the cold corridor, and the red-lipped girl who’d been unable to keep her eyes off Julian as she’d rowed Scarlett and Julian to La Serpiente the night before stepped out.
“I’m looking for my companion. I saw him come down—”
“No one else is down here,” said the girl. “This isn’t a place you should—” Someone screamed. As hot and bright as fire.
A weak voice inside her reminded Scarlett it was only a game, that the shriek was just an illusion. But the red-lipped girl across from Scarlett appeared genuinely scared, and the wail sounded incredibly real. Her thoughts flashed back to the contract she’d signed in blood, and the rumors of the woman who’d died during the game a few years ago.
“What was that?” Scarlett demanded.
“You need to leave.” The girl grabbed Scarlett’s arm and wrenched her back to the steps.
Another scream rocked the walls, and dust shook off the corridors, mixing with the torchlight, as if flickering to the wretched sound.
It was only for a trembling second, but Scarlett swore she saw a woman being tied up—the same woman in the dove-gray dress who Scarlett had witnessed being carried away earlier. Jovan had told her it was only a performance, but there was no one in this place to hear this woman’s wails,
aside from Scarlett.
“What are they doing to her?” Scarlett continued struggling with the red- lipped girl, hoping to get to the other woman, but this girl was strong. Scarlett remembered the force she’d used to row the boat the night before.
“Stop fighting me,” warned the girl. “If you go deeper into these tunnels, you’ll end up mad, just like her. We’re not hurting her; we’re stopping that woman from hurting herself.” The girl pushed Scarlett a final time, knocking her to her knees at the bottom of the staircase. “You will not find your companion down here, only madness.”
A fresh scream punctuated her sentence; this one sounded male.
“Who was—” A sand-slate door slammed in front of Scarlett before she could finish. It cut off the girl, the stairs from the corridor, and the screams from Scarlett’s ears. But even as Scarlett climbed back up to the courtyard, echoes lingered in her head like damp on a sunless day.
The last scream hadn’t sounded like Julian. Or that’s what she tried to tell herself as she caught a boat to take her back to La Serpiente. She reminded herself it was only a game. But the madness part was starting to feel very real. If the woman in gray truly had gone insane, Scarlett couldn’t help but wonder: Why? And if she hadn’t, if she was just another actor, Scarlett could see how going after her, how believing her cries of pain were real, could make
a person mad.
Scarlett thought of Tella. What if she was tied up screaming somewhere? No. That type of thinking was exactly what would drive Scarlett mad. Legend had probably provided an entire wing of lush rooms for Tella; Scarlett could picture her ordering around servants and eating strawberries dipped in pink sugar. Hadn’t Julian said Legend took excellent care of his guests?
Scarlett hoped she’d find Julian in the tavern, teasing her about how she’d run after someone who looked like him, and how long she’d spent inside of Nigel’s silken tent. Scarlett convinced herself Julian had just given up on waiting for her; he’d gotten bored and taken off. She’d not left him screaming in the tunnel. It was a different dark-haired young man she’d seen run into that garden. And Nigel’s words had been another trick of the game. She was
certain of all this by the time she made it back to La Serpiente. Almost.
The Glass Tavern was even more crowded than it had been the day before. It smelled of laughter and boasts, laced with sweetened ale. Half a dozen glass tables were cluttered with windswept women and red-cheeked men all bragging of their finds—or bemoaning their lack of discoveries.
To Scarlett’s great pleasure, she overheard the silver-haired woman she’d met in Tella’s room talk of how she’d been taken for a fool by a man who claimed to sell enchanted doorknobs.
“We tried the knob,” she said. “Put it in the door up there, but it didn’t lead us anywhere new.”
“That’s because it’s just a game,” a black-bearded man replied. “There’s not really any magic here.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
Scarlett would have loved to continue eavesdropping in the hopes of learning something, as the lines between the game and reality were starting to blur a little too much for her, but a young man near the corner caught her eye. Dark, chaotic hair. Strong shoulders. Confident. Julian.
Scarlett felt a swell of heady relief. He was all right. He wasn’t being tortured; in fact, he looked quite well. His back was turned, but the tilt of his head and the angle of his chest made it clear he was flirting with the girl near his table.
Scarlett’s relief shifted into something else. If she wasn’t even allowed to chat with another young man because of their make-believe engagement, she was not going to let Julian make eyes at some tart in a bar. Especially when this particular tart was the pregnant strawberry blonde who had made off with Scarlett’s things. Only now the young woman didn’t appear to be with child at all. The bodice of her dress was smooth and flat, no longer curving around a bulging stomach.
Slightly seething, Scarlett placed a hand on Julian’s shoulder as she approached. “Sweetheart, who is—”
Scarlett’s words broke as he turned around. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She should have realized he was wearing all black. “I thought you were—”
“Your fiancé?” Dante provided, in a tone full of nasty innuendo. “Dante—”
“Oh, so you remember my name. You didn’t just use me for my bed.” His voice was loud. Patrons sitting at the next tables shot Scarlett looks ranging from disgust to desire. One man licked his lips, while a group of boys made inappropriate gestures.
The strawberry blonde snorted. “This is the girl you told me about? From the way you described her, I thought she’d be much prettier.”
“I’d been drinking,” Dante said.
Red heat burned Scarlett’s cheeks, far brighter than her usual peach embarrassment. Julian might be a liar, but it looked as if he was right about Dante’s true nature.
Scarlett wanted to say something back to both Dante and the girl, but her throat was tight and her chest was hollow. The men at nearby tables were still leering, and now the ribbons of her dress were beginning to darken, shifting into shades of black.
She needed to get out of there.
Scarlett turned on her heel and wove back through the tavern, followed by whispers, while black color wept from the ribbons of her dress, spreading like stains all over her white gown. Tears sprang to her eyes. Hot, angry, embarrassed.
This is what she got for pretending as if she didn’t have a real fiancé. And what had she been thinking—touching him like that? Calling him “sweetheart”? She’d believed Dante was Julian, but did that make it any better?
Stupid Julian.
She should never have agreed to her arrangement with him. She wanted to be angry with Dante, but it was Julian who had created this mess. She braced herself as she opened the door to her room, half expecting to find him lounging in the great white bed, dark head propped up on a pillow, feet resting on one as well. The room had the feeling of him. Cold wind, wicked smiles, and blatant lies. Scarlett felt the shadow of those things as she stepped inside.
But there was no young man to go with it.
The fire quietly roared. The bed lay there, covered in layers of untouched fluff. The sailor had kept his promise about trading days in the room.
Or he’d never left Castillo Maldito.
