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