“No, I just—” Scarlett clamped her mouth shut before she accidentally said something she shouldn’t.
If it were truly a game, it didn’t matter what she asked. Whatever answers she received would be make-believe. But what if parts of it were real? For a moment Scarlett dared to let her thoughts tiptoe into that hazardous place. She’d already witnessed magic in the clock shop, via Algie’s clockwork door and the enchanted dress from Legend. And Nigel’s incense had made her speak the truth, which evidenced at least some more magic. If the man before her could truly tell the future, what would she want to know?
Her eyes returned to the heart at the corner of his mouth. Red. The color of love and heartache and other things both virtuous and vile. As she looked at it then, she thought of the count, of his lovely letters and whether or not she could believe all the things he’d said. “The person I’m going to marry, can you tell me what sort of man he is—is he a good, honest person?”
Scarlett immediately regretted not asking about her sister first. She should have been thinking only of Tella—that’s why she’d gone into the tent in the first place. But it was too late to snatch the question back.
“No one is truly honest,” Nigel answered. “Even if we don’t lie to others, we often lie to ourselves. And the word good means different things to different people.” Nigel leaned forward, close enough for Scarlett to feel as if all the scenes on his body were watching her as well. He stared so intently, she wondered if there were images painted on her face that only he could see. “I am sorry, but the man you will marry is not what you would call good. At one time, perhaps, but he has turned from that path, and it is not yet clear if he will turn back.”
“What do you mean? How can it not be clear? I thought you said the future was mostly fixed—that we’re like cats, always chasing after the same mouse.”
“Yes, but every so often there are two mice. It is not yet clear which one he will continue to chase. You would be wise to be careful.” Again, Nigel looked at Scarlett as if she were covered in pictures only he could see. Pictures that pulled his face into a frown, as if she too had a heart near her mouth, but it was shattered into pieces.
She tried to tell herself it was all in her head. He was attempting to trick her. To frighten her as part of the game. But her marriage to the count was in no way connected to the game. There was nothing she could gain by Nigel’s cryptic warning.
Nigel rose from his cushions and started toward the back of the tent.
“Wait,” Scarlett said. “I never asked my second question.”
“Actually you asked me three questions.”
“But two of those weren’t real questions. You never fully explained the rules. You owe me another question.”
Nigel looked back at Scarlett. A tower of motley images, topped off by a vicious smile. “I don’t owe you anything.”
16
Please!” Scarlett chased after him. “I’m not asking for a glimpse into the future. My sister has been taken as part of the game; can you tell me where I’ll find her?”
Nigel turned around. A flash of ink and color. “If you really care about this sister, why didn’t you ask about her first?”
“I don’t know,” Scarlett said. But that wasn’t quite true. She’d made a mistake yet again, just like in the clock shop. She’d been worried about her own future more than she had cared about finding her sister. But maybe she could fix this error. Nigel had said he’d uncover her future in proportion to what she gave him.
“Wait!” Scarlett called as he started walking again. “It was the heart,” she blurted. “Every time I looked at you I saw the heart around your lips and it made me think of my wedding, which is only a week away. I really want to get married, but I’ve never met my groom, so there are things I don’t know about him and—” Scarlett didn’t want to admit how she really felt, but she forced out the words: “I’m scared.”
Slowly Nigel turned once more. She wondered if he could see how deep her fear went, further down than Scarlett herself had realized. Her eyes found a link of chains around Nigel’s throat, and she imagined an invisible bind around her neck as well, always holding her back, formed from years of her father’s cruel punishments.
“If you want to win this game,” Nigel said, “you should forget about your wedding. And if you want to find your sister, you will not find her in this Castillo. Follow the boy with a heart made of black.”
“Is that the third clue?” Scarlett asked. But Nigel was already gone.
When she stepped back into the courtyard the brightness of the Castillo had dimmed. Its arches now looked dull bronze instead of bright gold, casting the palace in distended shadows. She’d used up almost all her time. But she dared to hope that by confessing her fears to Nigel she had earned the third clue. Maybe she was one step closer to Tella.
When Nigel said, Follow the boy with a heart made of black, her first thought was of Julian, selfish and deceitful. Scarlett could easily imagine his heart to be black.
Unfortunately, she could see no sign of the devious sailor, or the jade kissing tent where he told her to meet him. She saw a furry clover-green tent and a shimmery emerald-green one, but no jade-green anything.
Scarlett felt as if the isle was playing with her.
She crossed over to the emerald tent. Bottles covered every surface: floor, walls, the beams holding up the ceiling. Glass tinkled like fairy dust as she peered inside.
Aside from the female proprietor, the only other people in the tent were a pair of giddy young women. Both hovered in front of a locked glass box full of black bottles with ruby-red labels.
“Maybe if we get to that girl first and find Legend we can slip him some of this,” said one young woman to the other.
“They’re talking about my romance tonic,” said the proprietor. She stepped in front of Scarlett, greeting her with a spritz of something minty. “But I imagine that’s not what you’re here for. Are you looking for a new scent? We have oils that attract and perfumes that repel.”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Scarlett stepped back before the woman could spray her again. “What was in that bottle?”
“Just my way of saying hello.”
Scarlett doubted that. She turned to leave, yet something pulled her back into the tent, a voiceless call, drawing her to a crude bookshelf in the rear. Piled with burnt-orange apothecary bottles and vials, labeled with things like Tincture of Forgetting and Extract of Lost Tomorrows.
A voice in Scarlett’s head said she was wasting time—she needed to find Julian and follow his black heart. She started to turn to leave once more, but a celestial-blue ampoule on a high shelf caught her eye. Elixir of Protection.
For a second Scarlett swore the blue liquid inside pulsed like a heartbeat.
The tent’s proprietor retrieved it and handed it to Scarlett. “Do you have enemies?”
“No, just curious,” Scarlett hedged.
The woman’s eyes were bottle green, an intense concentration of color, and their crinkled edges said, I do not believe you. Yet she kindly pretended otherwise. “If someone is about to cause you harm,” she went on coolly, “this will stop them. All you need to do is spray a bit on their face.”
“Like you did to me?” Scarlett asked.
“My perfume merely opened your eyes so you would see what you might need.”
Scarlett rolled the tiny jar in her palm, barely larger than a vial, yet heavy. She imagined the solidly reassuring weight of it in her pocket. “What will this cost me?”
“For you?” The woman looked Scarlett over carefully, taking in her posture, the way she curled into herself or refused to have her back fully to the tent’s opening. “Tell me who you fear the most.”