“No,” Tella said. “I don’t want him following me, and I don’t need a guard.”
Legend pierced her with a look that was hotter than the flames at his back. “I didn’t free you from the cards just to see you killed by the Fates.”
Tella opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find the proper response. Legend never talked about what he’d done to free her from the cards. The only time he’d acknowledged it at all had been that same night, when he’d told her that he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice her. But then, after she’d called him her hero, he’d walked away, making her question everything.
“You’re welcome to stay here in the palace.” Legend pushed off the fireplace mantel and picked up his jacket from the clamshell chair. “Your old room in the golden tower is still yours if you want it, and your sister’s old room is hers, too.”
Tella narrowed her eyes. “What do you want in return?”
“I never wanted you to leave in the first place.” Legend turned and walked through the walls of the illusion, as if he’d just said too much.
Although to Tella, it didn’t feel like nearly enough.
17
Scarlett
While Tella and Legend talked about Fates and illusions, Scarlett wished she were only experiencing an illusion.
Everyone’s feelings were everywhere. They came in too many colors for Scarlett to keep track of or ignore. Scarlett had never felt anything like it. It was far more intense than the brief flashes she’d seen with Nicolas and Julian. Mournful nevermore gray covered the ground like deathly fog. Anxious violet vines licked the palace hallway. And dark, fearful greens turned everything else sickly and toxic.
Scarlett couldn’t breathe.
She could barely even tell Jovan and Julian she needed air before she stumbled toward the heavy door leading to the stairs. Although Scarlett and the others had left Tella and Legend alone in the dungeon so they could talk, Scarlett could still feel the crushing weight of Tella’s heavy-gray grief and the spiky rage of her burning-red anger at the Fates. Scarlett hadn’t been able to see Legend’s emotions, but she swore they were the ones making it so hard to breathe. Or maybe it was Scarlett’s own unexpected grief at the loss of her mother.
“Crimson.” Julian rushed to her side.
“Don’t.” Scarlett shook his hand away. His concern was more than she could take. Stormy, stormy, stormy blue, swirling and fierce and—
Scarlett’s vision filled with black.
“Crimson!”
18
Donatella
Legend hadn’t just moved into the palace, he’d taken it over. Servants covered every inch of the place, buzzing around like worker bees as they either prepared for Legend’s upcoming coronation or worked on the massive renovation he’d commissioned.
During Elantine’s reign, her palace had been a thing made of dust and history. It had been grand in the way old stories were grand, full of curving details, threaded tapestries, and delicate artistry. But Tella imagined Legend’s palace would be none of those things.
Legend possessed a fallen angel’s beauty that commanded attention. He was tailored suits over inked tattoos, and lies that people wanted to believe. His palace would be breathtaking in the way that only powerful things could be.
Tella knocked against her sister’s door in the sapphire wing once more. Scaffolding covered both sides of the entry, but there were no workers in sight at the moment, so Scarlett should have heard the knocks.
“Either she’s not there, or she’s not answering,” Armando said.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Tella knocked again, just to be obnoxious, since she was certain Legend was just being obnoxious when he’d chosen to assign Armando—whom he knew she despised—as her personal guard.
Tella wondered if Scarlett was with Julian. In the dungeon they’d looked closer than Tella had expected. In a dream a week ago, Legend had told her when Julian had returned to Valenda, but as far as Tella knew, he hadn’t come to visit Scarlett until after Tella had left. Whatever reunion they’d had must have been magnificent, or maybe Scarlett hadn’t been quite as over him as she’d claimed—something both sisters had in common.
Tella knocked on the door a final time, but Armando was right—Scarlett wasn’t there or she wasn’t answering the door. Either way, Tella couldn’t stand here and do nothing, not as long as the Fates were out there.
Tella had bathed and scrubbed off the dirt from the cavern, and changed into a slender ice-blue gown with tiered skirts that she must have left in the palace. But she would never wash away what had happened in those