Caraval (Caraval, #1)(2)

Tella giggled, but at least she had the grace to blush a little. “Scar, you know Julian, right?”

“Lovely seeing you, Scarlett.” Julian smiled, as cool and seductive as a slice of shade in the Hot Season.

Scarlett knew the polite response would be something along the lines of “Good to see you, too.” But all she could think about were his hands, still coiled around Tella’s periwinkle skirts, playing with the tassels on her bustle, as if she were a parcel he couldn’t wait to unwrap.

Julian had only been on the isle of Trisda about a month. When he’d swaggered off his ship, tall and handsome, with golden-brown skin, he’d drawn almost every woman’s eye. Even Scarlett’s head had turned briefly, but she’d known better than to look any longer.

“Tella, mind if I pull you away for a moment?” Scarlett managed to nod politely at Julian, but the instant they’d woven through enough barrels to be out of his hearing she said, “What are you doing?”

“Scar, you’re getting married; I would think you’d be aware of what occurs between a man and a woman.” Tella nudged her sister’s shoulder playfully.

“That’s not what I’m talking about. You know what will happen if Father catches you.”

“Which is why I don’t plan on getting caught.”

“Please be serious,” Scarlett said.

“I am being serious. If Father catches us, I’ll just find a way to blame it on you.” Tella gave a tart smile. “But I don’t think you came down here to talk about that.” Her eyes dropped to the letter in Scarlett’s hands.

The hazy glow of a lantern caught the metallic edges of the paper, making them blaze a shimmery gold, the color of magic and wishes and promises of things to come. The address on the envelope lit up with equal luster.

Miss Scarlett Dragna

Care of the priests’ confessional

Trisda

Conquered Isles of the Meridian Empire

Tella’s eyes sharpened as she took in the radiant script. Scarlett’s sister had always liked beautiful things, like the young man still waiting for her behind the barrels. Often, if Scarlett lost one of her prettier possessions, she could find it tucked away in her younger sister’s room.

But Tella didn’t reach out to take this note. Her hands remained at her sides, as if she wanted nothing to do with it. “Is this another letter from the count?” She spat out the title as if he were the devil.

Scarlett considered defending her fiancé, but her sister had already clearly expressed her thoughts on Scarlett’s engagement. It made no difference that arranged marriages were very much in fashion throughout the rest of the Meridian Empire, or that for months the count had faithfully sent Scarlett the kindest letters; Tella refused to understand how Scarlett could marry someone she’d never met in person. But wedding a man she’d never seen frightened Scarlett far less than the thought of staying on Trisda.

“Well,” Tella pressed, “are you going to tell me what it is, then?”

“It’s not from the count.” Scarlett spoke quietly, not wanting Tella’s sailor friend to overhear. “It’s from the master of Caraval.”

“He wrote you back?” Tella snatched the note. “God’s teeth!”

“Shhh!” Scarlett pushed her sister back toward the barrels. “Someone might hear you.”

“Am I not allowed to celebrate now?” Tella retrieved the three slips of paper hidden within the invite. Lamplight caught their water seals. For a moment they glowed gold, like the edges of the letter, before shifting to a dangerous shade of bloody crimson.

“Do you see that?” Tella gasped as swirls of silver letters materialized across the page, slowly dancing into words: Admit One: Donatella Dragna, of the Conquered Isles.

Scarlett’s name appeared on the other.

The third only contained the words Admit One. Like the other invites, this was printed above the name of an isle she’d never heard of: Isla de los Sue?os.

Scarlett imagined this nameless invitation was meant for her fiancé, and for a moment she thought of how romantic it could be to experience Caraval with him once they were married.

“Oh, look, there’s more!” Tella squealed as new lines of script appeared on the tickets.

To be used once, to gain entrance into Caraval.

Main gates close at midnight, on the thirteenth day of the Growing Season, during the 57th year of the Elantine Dynasty. Anyone who arrives later than this will not be able to participate in the game, or win this year’s prize of one wish.

“That’s only three days away,” Scarlett said, the bright colors she’d felt before turning to her usual dull shades of gray disappointment. She should have known better than to think, even for a moment, that this could work out. Maybe if Caraval were in three months, or even three weeks—sometime after she was married. Scarlett’s father had been secretive about the exact date of her wedding, but she knew it would not be in less than three days. Leaving before then would be impossible—and far too dangerous.

“But look at this year’s prize,” said Tella. “A wish.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in wishes.”

“And I thought you’d be happier about this,” Tella said. “You know people would kill to get their hands on these?”