“No! That’s not what it said before. It was an invitation to a funeral, your funeral.” Scarlett looked at Tella, her eyes pleading. “I’m not crazy,” she insisted. “This note was different when I read it in the tunnels.”

“The ones beneath the game?” Tella interrupted. “Aren’t the tunnels where people go mad?”

“It was a different set. Tella, I swear, I’m not insane. The note said you would die tomorrow unless I could stop it. Please, even if you don’t believe me, I need you to try.”

Tella must have seen her desperation. “Let me see the paper again.”

Scarlett handed it back. Her sister examined the invite with particular care this time, holding it close to one of the fire pits. But no matter what, the script didn’t change.

“Tella, I swear, it was for a funeral, not a party.”

“I believe you,” Tella said.

“You do?”

“Well, I’m guessing it’s like the tickets you received on Trisda, it changes in certain lights. But, Scar …” That painfully careful voice once more. “Couldn’t it be just another part of the game, a device to get you up here, because it was taking you so long, and now that you are here: ta-da! The note has changed from a threat to a reward. Tell me, which makes more sense?”

The way Tella said it sounded so very reasonable. And oh, how Scarlett wanted her to be right. She knew how deceiving the tunnels—and Legend—could be. But Legend was not the only threat.

“Tella, even if you don’t believe me about this, I swear, Father’s here. He’s looking for you, for us both, right now. And trust me when I say his presence is not a magical mirage of Caraval. He’s here with Count Nicolas d’Arcy, my fiancé. To escape, I had to knock d’Arcy out with a protection elixir and then tie him to a bed—I’m sure you can imagine how furious Father will be if he finds us now.”

“You tied your fiancé to a bed?” Tella snickered.

“This isn’t a joke! Did you miss what I said about what will happen if Father finds us?”

“Scar, I didn’t know you had it in you! I wonder what else the game has changed about you.” Tella grinned wider, looking truly awed and impressed, which might have pleased Scarlett if she hadn’t hoped her sister might grow frightened and panicked instead.

“You’re missing the point. I had to do that because Father was going to make me—” Shame choked her throat as she tried to get the words out. Thinking of what her father had attempted to force upon her made her feel like not quite a person. More like a thing.

Tella’s expression softened. She wrapped her arms around Scarlett, hugging her in a way only a sister could. Fierce as a kitten who’d just gotten claws, willing to shred the whole world to make this right. And for a moment Scarlett thought it would be.

“Do you believe me now?” she asked.

“I believe you’ve been through a bit of madness this week, but it’s over now. None of that was real.” Tella gently smoothed a dark lock of hair from Scarlett’s face. “You don’t have to worry, sister. And,” she added, “someday, Father will pay for all his sins. Every night I pray an angel will come down and cut off his hands so he won’t hurt anyone again.”

“I don’t think that’s what angels do,” Scarlett mumbled.

“Maybe not the kind up in heaven, but there are different kinds of angels.” Tella pulled away, pink lips parting into a smile made of hopes and dreams and other treacherous things.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning to cut off Father’s hands yourself.”

“After tonight I don’t think Father’s hands will be a problem anymore, at least not for us.” Tella’s eyes twinkled with the same dangerous glint as her smile. “I haven’t been up here alone this whole time. I’ve met someone. He knows all about our father and he’s promised to take care of us. Both of us.” Tella beamed, brighter than candlelight and glass-cut glitter, the type of joy that could only mean one terrible thing.

When Tella had first said the word bored, Scarlett dared to hope Legend hadn’t gotten to her. But from the pitch of Tella’s voice and the way she looked just then, it made Scarlett fear he had—every ounce of reason had left her eyes. Tella’s expression had turned dreamy in a way that said she was either in love or insane.

“You can’t trust him,” Scarlett blurted. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve said? Legend hates us. He’s a murderer!”

“Who said anything about Legend?”

“Isn’t that who you were talking about?”

Tella made a funny face. “I’ve never even met him.”

“But you’ve been up in this tower. His tower.”

“I know,” Tella said. “And you have no idea how vexing it’s been watching everyone down below, while I’ve been stuck up here.” With a huff, she cast her gaze over the rimless balcony.

They were a good twelve feet away from the edge, but Scarlett did not feel safe. It would still be far too easy to jump. Tella might not have been seduced by Legend, but knowing the master of Caraval had placed both Dante and Julian in Scarlett’s path, she could not imagine Tella’s new suitor was any different—the perfect boy to drive her mad.

“What’s his name?” Scarlett asked.

“Daniel DeEngl,” Tella announced. “He’s a bastard lord from the Far Northern Empire. Isn’t that terribly delicious? You’ll love it, Scar, they have castles up there, with moats and towers and all sorts of dramatic things.”