A hundred misplaced memories resurfaced, and every single one appeared bloodless and insubstantial compared to the miraculous reality of Tella’s mother.
Paloma looked like a slightly older version of Scarlett, although her smile lacked Scarlett’s gentleness. When Paloma’s lips curved they were just as they had been in the Wanted poster Tella had seen for Paradise the Lost. It was the same enchanting and enigmatic smile that Tella remembered practicing when she was a little girl.
“Why am I not surprised that you look as if you just came out of a fight?” Paloma’s smile wavered but her voice was the sweetest sound that Tella had ever heard.
“It was only with a rosebush.” She flung herself toward the bed and pulled her mother into a hug. She didn’t smell the same way Tella remembered—the sweet scent of magic cleaved to Paloma—but Tella didn’t care. She pressed her head into her shoulder as she clung tightly to her mother’s softness, perhaps a little too ferocious.
Her mother returned the embrace, but only for a moment. Then she was sagging against the quilted headboard, breathing raggedly as her eyelids began to droop.
“I’m sorry.” Tella pulled back right away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You could never hurt me with a hug. I’m just—” Her brow wrinkled beneath stray strands of dark mahogany hair, as if she were searching for a runaway thought. “I think I just need to eat, my little love. Can you fetch me some food?”
“I’ll ring for one of the maids.”
“I—I—think—” Paloma’s eyes fluttered all the way shut.
“Mother!”
“I’m fine.” Her eyes cracked open again. “I just feel so weak and hungry.”
“I’ll be right back with something to eat,” Tella promised.
She hated to leave her mother, but she didn’t want to make her wait for a maid to plod up and down the stairs. It was fortunate she didn’t wait, because as Tella raced to the kitchen, there didn’t appear to be any maids at all. They must have all taken off for the Sun Festival.
The cooking galley was abandoned. No one stopped Tella as she grabbed a tray and began piling food on top of it. She pilfered the best-looking fruits from a mound of plump peaches and sun-bright apricots. Then she took a hunk of hard cheese and half a loaf of sage bread. She munched on the food as she grabbed it, her appetite returning with excitement. Her mother was finally awake, and she was going to be fine as soon as she ate.
Tella thought about brewing some tea, but she didn’t want to wait for the water to boil. She searched for a bottle of wine instead. They never served alcohol here, but she was certain they had some. Tella located a bottle of burgundy in a cupboard and then she grabbed a couple of chocolate hand-pies for dessert.
She was proud of her feast as she carefully marched it up the steps.
She remembered closing the door behind her, but it seemed she’d left it cracked. Tella pushed it the rest of the way open with her elbow, losing a runaway peach in the process. It hit the ground with a dull thud as Tella stepped inside.
The room was colder than it had been when she left, and quiet. Too quiet. The only sound came from a fly buzzing toward the stolen feast in her hands.
“I’m back!” Tella tried not to be nervous at the lack of her mother’s response. Being anxious was her sister’s role. But Tella couldn’t stop her sense of growing unease.
An apricot fell onto the floor as Tella quickened her pace.
And then the entire tray threatened to fall from her trembling hands.
The bed was vacant.
The room was empty.
“Paloma?” Tella called. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word Mother. It hurt too much to cry out the way she had as a child and to hear no response. She’d vowed never to do it again. But it ached just as much to call her mother’s formal name with no reply.
Her throat tighter than before, Tella tried yelling both her mother’s names. “Paloma! Paradise!”
Absolutely nothing.
Tella thrust the tray onto the bed and ran into the other bedroom and then into the bathing room. Both were empty.
Her mother was gone.
Tella’s legs forgot how to work. They stumbled clumsily back into the bedroom before her knees completely quit, forcing her arms to find a nearby bedpost for support.
All Tella could hear was the fly buzzing around her abandoned food, as she tried to make sense of what could have happened. Her mother was weak. Confused. Maybe she’d gone to look for Tella and gotten lost? Tella just needed to find her and—
Her thoughts cut off at the sight of something atop the dresser by the bed. A note.
Tella clumsily pushed away from the bed. Her fingers trembled as she picked the message up. The handwriting was rushed, shaking.
* * *
My loves,
I’m so sorry to leave you, but I knew that if I waited any longer, it would be too hard for me to go. Please forgive me, and do not look for me again. All I ever wanted was to protect you, but my presence will only put the two of you in more danger.
If I am awake, then the Fates are waking up as well, and all of Valenda is in peril. As long as you are in this city, you are not safe. You must get as far away from the Fates as possible. Leave Valenda immediately.
The Fates are as vicious as the stories say. They were created out of fear, and fear is part of what fuels their power, so they will try to inflict as much as possible. Fight against being afraid if you encounter them and be safe, my loves.
If I can, I will make my way back to you both.
With more love than you can imagine,
Your mother
* * *
“No!” Tella ripped the sheets from the bed and pressed them to her eyes like a handkerchief. Her tears were angry and hot. They didn’t last, but they hurt. How could her mother do this? It wasn’t just that she’d left, but that she’d tricked Tella to do it. She hadn’t been hungry or weak. She’d wanted to get away—to leave again.
Tella crumpled the note in her fist, and instantly regretted it. If she didn’t find her mother, this was all she’d have.
No. Tella couldn’t think like that. She’d conquered death. She would find her mother and bring her back. She didn’t care what the message said. Tella had decided long ago to never make decisions ruled by fear. Fear was a poison that people mistook as protection. Making choices to stay safe could be just as treacherous. Her father had hired horrible guards to keep himself, his money, and his estates safe. Her sister had almost married someone she’d never met to keep Tella safe. Tella didn’t care how safe she was—as long as she had her mother.
A voice in the back of Tella’s head warned this was a hazardous idea. Her mother had told her to leave the city to avoid the Fates. But Tella was partly responsible for the Fates being free.
And she had not sacrificed so much, and worked so hard, just to be left by her mother again.
* * *
The sun still shined too bright, merchants still filled the sidewalks, and the roads were still coated in a carnival of half-eaten holiday treats when Tella stepped outside. But beneath the aroma of heated sugar and lost pieces of celebrations, Tella picked up another scent, far sweeter than inexpensive pleasures: magic.
Tella recognized the aroma from the dreams she’d shared with Legend. It had also clung to her mother when Tella had held her. The magical scent was faint, but it left enough of a trail for Tella to follow through the crowds.
“’Scuse me…”
“Sorry, miss.”
More than one inebriated person stumbled into Tella as she followed the magical scented trail through the packed streets, until she found herself near University Circle at another set of Valenda’s ruins.
Tella didn’t actually spend much time in this part of the city. She didn’t know these ruins. They were far more intricate than the ancient arena she’d followed Legend into earlier. These passageways, arches, and arcades appeared to have been used for commerce. She really
hoped they didn’t lead to more portals as she started climbing the steep trail that led to them.
She probably should have changed into fresh shoes. Her thin slippers were completely ruined from the snow and then darting through the hot city; it was easier to walk once she took them off.
The granite stairs were warm from the sun, and yet Tella felt a brush of something cold running down her nape like spiders’ legs.
She hazarded a glance over her shoulder.
No one was behind her. No guards stood between the trees to her sides. In fact, there didn’t appear to be any guards at all.
But the slick sensation of being watched increased, along with the throbbing sensation of magic. Tella couldn’t just smell the magic now, she could feel it, stronger than when she’d followed Legend. It pulsed around her as if the steps had a beating heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Magic pounded beneath her bare feet as she continued to climb the ruins—except, suddenly, they no longer appeared so ruined.
Instead of crumbling arches, Tella saw pristine curves covered in brightly painted carvings of red chimeras reminiscent of the ones she’d spied at the Fated Ball. There were silver lambs with heads like wolves, blue horses with green-veined dragon wings, hawks with black ram horns. And—
Tella jolted back at the sight of Legend’s royal guards. Seven of them. All strewn across the top of the stairs like knocked-over toy soldiers.
She stubbed her heel on a rock as she stumbled back another step. Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to her that maybe the magic-scented trail she had been chasing didn’t belong to her mother. If all the Fates were awake, one of them might have done this.
But these guards didn’t look dead.
Maybe Tella was tricking herself, but they appeared to be sleeping.
She crept closer and cautiously pressed her finger to one guard’s neck. She thought she felt a pulse, when a rushed set of footfalls broke the quiet.
Did they belong to her mother, or a Fate?
Tella’s stomach tied into a knot. Before the Fates had been freed from the cards, the spell had begun to crack and ghostly versions of the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens had temporarily slipped out of the cards and almost killed her. But Tella had survived, and she’d rather face them all over again than risk losing her mother again.
Tella chased the footfalls down narrow stairs into a poorly lit labyrinth of cells with pearly white bars. They were almost pretty, but she hated cages; the sight of each one made her bare feet sprint faster.
Her bruising pace didn’t slow until the hallway opened into a brilliantly torch-lit cavern that reeked of sulfur and dank running water. It could have easily been an elaborate set for a historical play, the prettiest of torture chambers, or a training room for an ancient circus.
Red tightropes crisscrossed above Tella’s head, with no net beneath. Painted circles that looked like wheels of death, all decorated with knives, spun around the edges. Beyond the wheels were pits of vibrant orange-tipped flames that burned like lakes of fire beneath narrow suspension bridges. In a corner, a granite carousel covered in decorative spikes whirled.
Cutting through the center of it all was a river of red. Tella’s mother stood on the other side of it. But she looked nothing like the weak woman Tella had left lying in a bed.
11
Donatella
Paloma looked like a wicked version of Scarlett. Tella didn’t know where her mother had found new clothes, but she now wore a floor-length black leather coat with short sleeves that showed off long garnet-red gloves. They were the same color as her corset top. On her legs, Paloma wore fitted bone-white breeches, which tucked into black leather boots that went over her knees. A dagger rested in a sheath, snug against her calf, while a thin silver rope wrapped around her opposite thigh like a pet snake.
She looked brutal and beautiful, like a criminal who’d just escaped from a Wanted poster—a myth who’d ripped herself free from a story to give it a different ending. And Tella desperately wanted to be a part of that ending.
“Please, don’t leave again!” Tella cried.
Then she was running, barreling through the cavern, leaping over the stream of red and into her mother’s arms. Tella hugged her with everything she had. Maybe if she held on tight enough she wouldn’t have to let go this time. Tella wanted a different ending, too. She wanted one with her mother and Scarlett, smiling and laughing and making wondrous plans for the future.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Paloma said, her voice sharp, and yet she didn’t release Tella. She stroked her ratted curls with a tenderness Tella had never been able to capture in her memories.
“I knew you’d be fierce,” Paloma said. “But, Donatella, this is a fight that will destroy you if you don’t walk away.” She dropped her arms.
“No!” Tella grabbed her mother’s wrists; she’d hold on for the rest of her life if she had to. “You belong with Scarlett and me. I don’t know what you think you need to do, but please come back to us.”
“I can’t.” Paloma tried to shake free, but Tella refused to let go. “You need to get out of here—it’s not safe.”
“My life hasn’t been safe since you left!”
Paloma’s hazel eyes turned glassy, and her voice gentled at last. “I hate that you’ve experienced so much pain. But I’m only going to bring you more. I’m the one who’s dangerous tonight, Donatella. I’m here because I need to kill someone.”
“No,” Tella argued, even as she felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re just saying that to make me leave.”
“I wish I were. But there are things from my past that I need to make right, and I won’t risk letting you and Scarlett get involved. I’ve made countless mistakes, but you and your sister are the only things I’ve made that have brought something better into this world.” Her daring smile returned, giving Tella hope that maybe her mother didn’t really want to do this. Tella only had to convince her of that.
“Just come back with me to say good-bye to Scarlett,” Tella pled. “She’s missed you too!”
“I wish I could.” Paloma reached up and cupped Tella’s jaw. “I would go with you, but I have to do this, or you and your sister will never be safe.”
She stroked Tella’s cheek, one gentle touch, before she slipped her gloved fingers to the back of Tella’s neck and pulled her closer. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry.”
Something sharp poked out from the tips of Paloma’s gloves and pricked Tella’s nape. She felt a bite of cold and a sense of liquid being injected into her veins.
“Wh—what—” Her tongue felt suddenly heavy and useless. She wanted to ask what her mother had done. She wanted to ask why she suddenly couldn’t move her arms or legs. She wanted to say so much more. But nothing came out except that one powerless what.
Her mother had only pulled her close so she could paralyze Tella with the tips of the gloves. This must have been what she’d done to the knocked-out guards.
“It will be all right,” Paloma soothed. Her hands hooked beneath Tella’s arms.
But nothing felt fine.
Tella couldn’t believe her mother had left her, then drugged her, or that she was now dragging Tella’s body toward the mouth of the cavern. Tella tried to fight, but her limbs wouldn’t obey—she could barely even feel them.
Her mother finally stopped at one of the cracked wheels of death—the kind circus performers strapped women to and then threw knives at while the wheel spun and spun. Her mother didn’t strap Tella to it, but she did tuck her behind it, hiding Tella between the circle and the granite wall.
No! Don’t do this! Tella tried to object, but her tongue was so thick and heavy she couldn’t even manage a squeak.
“You should fall asleep soon. Once you wake up, leave this city with your sister. I’ll find you when I can.” Paloma kissed Tella on the cheek, her lips lingering longer than before. But despite what she said, this did not feel like
an I’ll find you later kiss. This was an I’m planning on never seeing you again kiss.
Mother! Tella tried to shake the numb from her limbs. She wasn’t passing out like the guards—her mother must have used up most of her poison on them. Tella could feel tingling in her toes, but she couldn’t get them to move. She couldn’t even crawl after her mother as she walked away. All Tella accomplished was a ragged breath, but the sound was so pathetic, it was muffled by the grate of footsteps entering the cavern. Heavy and pounding, the sort of footsteps that wanted to make an entrance.
Tella didn’t know if it was her mother’s drugs, but the air grew hotter as the menacing sound became louder. The intruder moved close enough for Tella to see a pair of masculine boots caked in dust. But the figure continued past, not even pausing as he spun the cracked circus wheel in front of her. It groaned alive, ticking like an off-kilter clock as it rotated.
Click.
Click.
Clack.
Tella didn’t like the sound, but it allowed her to view the cavern when the fractured wedge of the wheel rotated her way. Her first peek between the broken crack only lasted long enough to see that sparks now filled the cavern, as if the air was on the verge of catching fire. The tiny flames danced around the man, making the gold on his red military coat sparkle. He stood right in front of her mother.
Paloma looked much smaller than before as she lifted her face toward him expectantly.
“I feared I’d seen you for the last time,” she said.
The wheel continued to rotate, obstructing Tella’s view once more. When the crack reached Tella again, the intruder was stroking her mother’s hair. And her mother was gazing up at him with adoration in her eyes, as if she’d been waiting for this clandestine meeting even more than Tella had been longing to reunite with her.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
“Gavriel.” Paloma said his name as if it were a secret that only she’d been told. “I’ve missed you so much. I hoped you’d come back to these ruins.”
Finale Page 6
