For a tense moment they both lingered near the door—narrow and pointed. Scarlett feared that despite his word Dante was going to try to go inside with her. But he merely waited for her to make sure the key worked before whispering, “Sleep well.”

Scarlett started to say good-bye, but she broke off as she entered the room. An oil lamp sat on the short wardrobe, illuminating the mirror above it. Even in the dim, Scarlett’s image was clear. Dark hair fell past shoulders barely covered in thin ruffles of gauzy white fabric.

She gasped. The evil gown had transformed again, turning sheer and lacy and far too scandalous to be worn in a public hall or while talking to a strange young man.

Scarlett slammed the door without finishing her good-bye. No wonder Dante had been unable to take his eyes off her.

Scarlett did not dream well.

As she slumbered, she dreamed of Legend. She was back in the gilded balcony, wearing little more than an exposed black corset with a red petticoat and trying to cover up with the curtains.

“What are you doing?” Legend swaggered in, sporting his signature blue velvet top hat and a gaze full of wayward intent.

“I was just trying to watch the game.” Scarlett wrapped herself deeper into the curtains, but Legend pulled her away. His hand was as cold as snow, his youthful face concealed by a shadow.

Frost nipped Scarlett’s naked shoulders.

Legend laughed and wrapped both hands around her waist. “I didn’t invite you here to watch, precious.” His mouth moved closer to hers, as if he was about to kiss her. “I want you to play the game,” he whispered.

Then he threw her off the balcony.

Scarlett woke up covered in cold sweat. It drenched her hairline and the space underneath her knees.

She knew it was only a dream, but for a moment she wondered if the magic of Caraval—if Legend’s magic—had somehow sneaked into her thoughts.

Or maybe the dream was made of her thoughts? Twice she’d been told these experiences were all just a game, yet she was behaving as if everything were real. As if her every action would be discovered and judged and punished.

I didn’t invite you here so you could watch.

Scarlett wasn’t even doing that, though.

Yesterday she’d seen incredible things, but the entire time she’d been controlled by fear. She reminded herself her father wasn’t there. And if she were only going to stay for one night, she would regret it later if she spent the entire time too frightened to enjoy anything. Tella would probably sleep for another hour at least; Scarlett could go that long without worrying about her. And it wouldn’t kill Scarlett to have a little fun in the meantime.

Her thoughts fled back to Dante, to the black rose tattoo on his hand and the warm, wanted way he’d made her feel. She should have said yes. It was only a dinner—not nearly as scandalous as talking with him in a darkened hall while only in a nightdress. And even that had not turned out as terribly as she would have imagined.

Her borrowed room had only one tiny octagonal window, but it was enough to see the sun leisurely setting, and the canals and streets returning to life. The world was on the cusp of nightfall. The hour of smoke before everything turned fully dark. Perhaps if she headed to the Glass Tavern fast enough it wouldn’t be too late to find Dante and accept his dinner invitation. Though she felt as if she should be eating breakfast. She’d adjusted to sleeping during the day with surprising ease, but the idea of waking up and going to supper still felt unnatural.

Before leaving she gave her appearance a quick check in the mirror. As she’d washed her face, she’d felt her gown shifting, the thin fabric of her nightdress turning to heavy layers of silk.

She’d hoped for something less noticeable, a dress that would blend into the night, but this gown definitely had a mind of its own.

A giant wine-red bow sat atop her bustle, its two thick ties streaming down her backside to the floor. The rest of her dress was pure white, except for the bodice, which was wrapped in red ribbons, leaving only glimpses of the snowy fabric beneath. Her shoulders were bare, though long sleeves covered her arms. Like the bodice, they were threaded with ruby ribbons, which tied on top of her hands, leaving their ends to dance between her slender fingers.

Tella would love it. Scarlett could already imagine how her sister would squeal at the sight of Scarlett in such a bold gown.

Even though Scarlett had vowed not to worry about her sister for the first hour of the night, she still could not help but think of Tella as she passed by room five.

The door was cracked. Emerald-green light, the color of the gem-shaped doorknob, seeped from the other side like fog.

Scarlett told herself to keep walking. To find Dante, who actually wanted to spend time with her. But something about the light and the crack and the ever-present pull of her sister drew Scarlett closer.

“Tella—” Scarlett knocked quietly. The door creaked open a little farther, spilling out more green light, the color of malevolent things. Scarlett’s ill feeling from before returned.

“Tella?” She pushed open the door the rest of the way. “Oh my—” Scarlett covered her mouth.

Tella’s room was a shambles. Feathers covered the carnage, as if a rebel angel had gone mad. They mixed with the splinters of wood that snapped under Scarlett’s boots and the clothes ripped from the torn-apart wardrobe. The bed was damaged as well. Its quilt was torn in half, and one of its posts had been completely removed, like a roughly severed limb.

This was all Scarlett’s fault. Tella had been in her room with a man, but not for the reasons Scarlett thought. She should have known. She should have gone in despite Tella’s protests. It was Scarlett’s job to take care of her sister. Tella was far too reckless with men. And Scarlett had been foolish to think they could stay here, even for a day. She should have departed the island with Tella the moment she’d found her. If Scarlett had left right away, this—