Caraval Series, Book 1

by Stephanie Garber

  Something about the gesture felt very intimate.

  Scarlett inched away, but Julian’s hand remained against her spine, keeping her close as he turned to the innkeeper. She bustled behind the large olive-green desk that took up most of the low-ceilinged room.

  “And thank you,” said Julian. “I appreciate the kindness you’ve shown us tonight.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t really a problem,” said the innkeeper, though Scarlett swore she was still shaken. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted her stocking cap. “Like I told your fiancée, I hate to break up couples. I actually have special arrangements for you two.”

  The innkeeper rummaged back through her desk before producing two glass keys, one etched with a number eight, and the other with a nine. “Easy to find, just go up the stairs to your left.” She winked as she handed them the keys.

  Scarlett hoped the wink was just a tic. She had never been overly fond of them. Her father liked to wink, usually after he’d done something nasty. Scarlett didn’t imagine this plump innkeeper had done anything nefarious to their rooms, but the little glass keys paired with the odd little gesture left Scarlett with an icy-blue nervous hum.

  It was probably just in her head, she told herself. Maybe the keys were part of the game as well. Perhaps they unlocked something other than rooms eight and nine and that was what she’d meant by “special arrangements.”

  Or perchance they just had a rather good view of the canals.

  The innkeeper explained that each hall had a water closet and a tub room for washing. “To your right is the Glass Tavern, closes one hour after sunrise, opens one hour before sunset.”

  Inside the barroom, jade light fell from emerald chandeliers, hanging over tables of glass that clinked with goblets and the crush of dull chatter. It smelled of stale beer and staler conversation. It was about to close for the day. Only a handful of patrons remained, all of them with different colorings and features, which made it seem they’d come from across the continents. None of them had curly blond hair.

  “I’m sure you’ll find her tomorrow,” said Julian.

  “Or maybe she’s already in her room?” Scarlett turned back to the innkeeper. “Would you be able to tell us if a young lady named Donatella Dragna is staying here?”

  The innkeeper hesitated. Scarlett swore she recognized the name.

  “I’m sorry, dearies, I can’t tell you who else is staying here.”

  “But it’s my sister.”

  “I still can’t help.” The woman divided a slightly panicked look between Julian and Scarlett. “Rules of the game. If she’s here, you’ll have to find her on your own.”

  “Can’t you—”

  Julian’s hand pressed against Scarlett’s back, then his lips were at her ear again. “She’s already done us one favor tonight,” he warned.

  “But—” Scarlett started to argue, yet Julian’s expression stopped her. Something in it went beyond caution and looked much closer to fear.

  Dark hair fell over his eyes as he leaned near to her once more and whispered, “I know you want to find your sister, but on this isle secrets are valuable. Be careful about giving yours away too freely. If people know what you want the most, it can be used against you.

  “Come on.” He started toward the stairs.

  Scarlett knew it was dawn, but the crooked halls of La Serpiente smelled like the end of the night, sweat and fading fire smoke mixed with lingering breath from words whose ghosts still haunted the air. The doors didn’t seem to be in any particular order. Room two was on the second floor, while room one was on floor three. Room five’s teal door came after eleven’s raspberry entry.

  The halls of the fourth floor were all covered in velvet paper striped with thick lines of black and cream. Scarlett and Julian finally found their rooms, in the middle of the hall. Neighbors to each other.

  Scarlett hesitated in front of the rounded door to room eight, while Julian waited for her to go inside.

  It felt as if they’d spent more than just one day together. The sailor had not been a horrible companion. Scarlett knew she might not have made it this far without his help.

  “I was thinking,” she started, “tomorrow—”

  “If I see your sister, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.” Julian’s tone was polite, but it was clearly a dismissal.

  So that was it.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised or upset that this was the end of their partnership. Julian had claimed he would help her out, but she’d learned enough of him to know that if he wanted something, he said whatever needed to be said to get it. She didn’t know when she started expecting more. Or why.

  She recalled what he’d told her in the clock shop, about how she thought too highly of him if she believed he cared for her sister. He used people. His use of her had been mutually beneficial, but he’d used her all the same. She remembered her first impression of him, tall, roughly handsome, and dangerous, like poison dressed up in an attractive bottle.

  It was better for her to stay away from him. Safer. He might have helped her today, but she couldn’t drop her guard; he was clearly here for his own purposes. And after she found her sister the next night, she wouldn’t be alone, or staying much longer.

  “Good-bye,” Scarlett said as curtly as he’d spoken to her, and without another word she swept into her room.

  A fire was already lit in the hearth, warm and glowing, throwing shades of copper against walls covered in flowered wallpaper—roses, white with ruby tips, in various states of bloom. The wood crackled as it burned, a soft lullaby that pulled her toward a massive canopy bed, the most enormous one Scarlett had ever seen. It must have been why the room was considered special. Sheltered by gauzy drapes of white that hung from carved wooden posts, the bed was covered in silk pillows made of fluff and thickly quilted blankets, tied with rich currant-red bows. She couldn’t wait to fall on the bed’s downy mattress and—

  The wall moved.

  Scarlett froze. The room grew suddenly hotter and smaller.

  For a moment she hoped it was a trick of her imagination.

  “No,” she said, watching as Julian strode through a narrow door, next to the wardrobe, which until that moment had been camouflaged by the room’s papered wall.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked. Though even before he answered, Scarlett knew exactly what had happened.

  The wink. The keys. The special arrangements. “She gave us the same room on purpose!”

  “You did a very good job convincing her we’re in love.” Julian’s eyes cut to the lavish bed.

  Scarlett’s cheeks blazed with red, the color of hearts and blood and shame. “I didn’t say we were in love—I only said we’re engaged.”

  Julian laughed but Scarlett was aghast. “This isn’t funny. We can’t sleep in here together. If anyone finds out, I’ll be utterly ruined.”

  “There you go being dramatic again. You think everything is going to destroy your life.”

  But if anyone found out, it would destroy her engagement to the count. “You met my father. If he ever discovered I—”

  “No one will find out. I imagine that’s why there are two doors with different numbers.” Julian crossed over to the enormous bed and threw himself on top of it.

  “You can’t sleep on that bed,” Scarlett protested.

  “Why not? It’s very comfortable.” Julian pulled off his boots, dropping them to the floor with loud thumps. Then he took off his waistcoat and went for the buttons of his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” Scarlett said. “You can’t do that.”

  “Listen, Crimson.” Julian stopped unbuttoning his shirt. “I told you I won’t touch you, and I promise to keep my word. But I am not sleeping on the floor or on that tiny lounge just because you’re a girl. This bed is big enough for the both of us.”

  “You really think I’d get in a bed with you? Are you mad?” A ridiculous question, because clearly he was. He continued to unbutton his shirt, and s
he was certain he did so only because he knew it made her uncomfortable. Or maybe he just liked showing off.

  Scarlett got another glimpse of his smooth muscles as she pivoted for the door. “I’m going back down to see if she has another room.”

  “And what if she doesn’t?” Julian called.

  “Then I’ll sleep in the hall.”

  A gentleman would have protested, but Julian was not a gentleman. Something soft hit the floor. Most likely his shirt.

  Scarlett reached for the glass doorknob.

  “Hold on—”

  A square lined with gold landed at her feet. An envelope. Her name written across the front in an elegant script.

  “Found that on the bed. I’m imagining it’s your first clue.”

  12

  Scarlett’s nana used to say the world of Caraval was Master Legend’s great playground. No words were spoken that he didn’t hear. Not even a whisper could escape his ears, no shadow went unseen by his eyes. No one ever saw Legend—or if they did, they didn’t know it was him—but Legend saw all during Caraval.

  Scarlett swore she felt his gaze on her as she stepped into the hall. She sensed it in the way the candlelit lanterns seemed to glow brighter, like eyes perking up, as she examined her message.

  The envelope looked the same as every one Legend had sent her before, gold and cream and thick with mystery.

  When she opened it, several red rose petals fell onto her palm, along with a key. Delicate green glass. Similar to the one she’d been given for her room, only this key had a number five etched into it, and attached to it was a tiny black ribbon, which held a wide slip of paper with one name: Donatella Dragna.

  Scarlett knew this was supposed to be her first clue. But to her it felt more like a gift from Legend, just like the dress and the invitations to the isle. Scarlett had found it difficult to believe she was special in the clock shop, but maybe she was feeling a touch of Caraval magic, for she found herself daring to hope that Legend was indeed treating her differently, taking care of her again by showing her where her sister was. For a moment Scarlett felt as if everything was going to be right and bright.

  She flew down the hall until she reached the steps to the third floor. Room five came after room eleven: a square teal door with a green glass handle that looked a bit like a giant gemstone. Gaudy and magnificent. Perfect for Tella.

  Scarlett started to use her key, but the breathing on the other side of the door sounded a little too loud for Tella. A smoky-ginger prickle of discomfort crawled down Scarlett’s neck as she put her ear closer to the door.

  Thud.

  Something heavy dropped to the floor.

  Followed by a groan.

  “Tella—” Scarlett reached for the handle. “Are you all right?”

  “Scarlett?” Tella’s voice sounded strained, out of breath.

  “Yes! It’s me, I’m coming in!”

  “No—don’t!”

  Another loud thud.

  “Tella, what’s going on in there?”

  “Nothing—just—do not come in.”

  “Tella, if there’s something wrong—”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m—just—busy—” Tella broke off.

  Scarlett hesitated. Something was wrong. Tella didn’t sound like herself.

  “Scarlett!” Tella’s voice rang loud and clear, as if she could see her sister reaching for the knob. “If you open that door I will never speak to you again.”

  Her tone was low, and this time it was echoed by a deep voice. A young man’s voice.

  “You heard your sister,” he said.

  The words ricocheted through the crooked hall, hitting Scarlett like a burst of unwanted wind, reaching into all the places her clothing couldn’t protect.

  She felt five different shades of berry-colored foolish as she walked away. All this time she had been worried about Tella, but obviously her sister had not been concerned about her. She probably hadn’t even thought about her. Not when she had a young man in her bed.

  Scarlett shouldn’t have been surprised. Her sister had always been wilder; Tella liked the taste of trouble. But it wasn’t the wildness that hurt Scarlett. Tella was the most important person in the world to Scarlett, but it always broke Scarlett to know her sister did not feel the same way.

  When their mother, Paloma, had abandoned them, all the soft parts of Scarlett’s father seemed to disappear along with her. His rules went from strict to severe, and so did the consequences for failing to obey. It would have been so different if Paloma had just stayed on Trisda. Scarlett vowed she’d never leave Tella alone the way their mother had left them. She would protect her. Even though Scarlett was only one year older, she didn’t trust anyone else to take care of her sister, and as Tella grew up, Scarlett didn’t trust Tella to take care of herself. But while she had sheltered Tella, she’d also spoiled her. Tella too often thought only of herself.

  At the end of the hall, Scarlett slumped to the floor. Rough wooden boards rubbed awkwardly beneath her. It was colder on this lower level than it had been up the stairs. Or maybe she only felt chilly because of Tella’s dismissal. She’d chosen someone else over Scarlett. A young man whose name Tella probably didn’t even know. While Scarlett often feared men, Tella was the opposite, always chasing after the wrong ones, hoping one might give her the love their father withheld.

  Scarlett thought about returning to her room, warmed with fire and full of blankets. But all the heat in the world would not entice her to share a bed with Julian. She could have gone down and asked the innkeeper for another room, but something told her that was not a wise idea, not after making such a fuss about how Julian needed to be let in. Stupid Julian.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.… She repeated the word in her head until her eyes drifted shut.

  “Miss—” A warm hand rocked Scarlett’s shoulder, returning her to wakefulness.

  Scarlett startled, clutching her hands to her chest as her eyes shot open, only to quickly close again. The young man in front of her held a lantern rather close to her face. She could feel its warmth licking her cheek, though he stood a safe distance away.

  “I think she’s drunk,” said a young woman.

  “I’m not drunk.” Scarlett opened her eyes again. The young man with the lantern appeared a few years older than Julian. But unlike the sailor, this young man was made of polished boots and neatly tied-back hair. He was attractive, and the care he took with his appearance made Scarlett think he knew this as well.

  Dressed entirely in sleek black, he was the type of boy Tella would have called uselessly pretty, while secretly thinking of ways to gain his attention. She noticed all the ink covering his hands and moving up his arms. Tattoos, carnal and intricate, arcanists’ symbols, a mourning mask, lips curved into an alluring pout, bird talons and black roses. Each of them was at odds with the rest of his refined appearance, which made Scarlett more curious than she ought to have been.

  “I was accidentally placed in a room with someone else,” Scarlett said. “I was on my way to ask the innkeeper for another suite, but then—”

  “You just fell asleep in the hall?” This from the girl who had called Scarlett drunk. She was farther away from the lantern, and the rest of the hall’s lights had gone out, so Scarlett couldn’t clearly see her face. She imagined her to be sullen and unattractive.

  “It’s complicated.” Scarlett faltered. She could have easily told them about her sister, but even if this couple never met Tella, Scarlett didn’t want to expose her sister’s indiscretions. It was her job to protect Tella. And Scarlett wasn’t sure she really cared about what either of these people thought of her, even if her eyes kept falling on the young man with the tattoos. He had the sort of profile meant for sculptors and painters. Full lips, strong jaw, coal-dark eyes sheltered by thick, dark brows.

  Being cornered by a young man like this, in a dimly lit hall, ought to have made her uncomfortable, but his expression was concerned rather than predatory.

 
“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “I’m sure you had a good reason for sleeping out here, but I don’t think you should stay. I’m in room number eleven. You can sleep there.”

  From the way he said it, Scarlett was fairly certain he didn’t intend to stay in the room with her—unlike another young man she knew—yet Scarlett was so used to hidden danger, she couldn’t help but hesitate.

  She studied him again in the lamplight, eyes falling on the black rose that inked the backside of his hand, elegant and lovely and a little bit sorrowful. Scarlett didn’t know why, but she felt as if that tattoo somehow defined him. The elegant and lovely part might have scared her away—she had learned that this too often disguised other things—but the sad part drew her in. “Where will you sleep?”

  “My sister’s room.” He nodded to the girl at his side. “There are two beds in her suite. She doesn’t need them both.”

  “Yes I do,” said the girl, and although Scarlett still couldn’t see her clearly, she swore the girl looked Scarlett over with disgust.

  “Don’t be rude,” said the young man. “I insist,” he added, before Scarlett could protest again. “If my mother found out I let a shivering young lady sleep on the floor, she would disown me, and I wouldn’t blame her.” He held out an inked hand to help Scarlett up. “I’m Dante, by the way, and this is my sister, Valentina.”

  “Scarlett, and thank you.” She spoke tentatively, still surprised he wanted nothing in return. “This is very generous of you.”

  “I think you’re giving me too much credit.” Dante held Scarlett’s hand a beat longer. Briefly his dark eyes traveled below her neck, and she swore his cheeks pinked, but he brought his gaze back up before it could make her uncomfortable. “I glimpsed you from the tavern earlier, but it looked as if you were with someone else?”

  “Oh, I—” Scarlett hesitated. She knew what he was asking. But she couldn’t discern if Dante’s curiosity was because of the game, or something that involved actual interest in her. All she knew was that the steady way Dante gazed at her warmed up the chilly parts of her limbs, and she imagined if Julian were in the hall with a pretty girl, he’d not claim Scarlett as his fiancée.