“These were private moments!” Thank the saints there were no compromising pictures of her in her room with Julian, but there was a very vivid piece of art showing her fleeing from Dante as every eye in the tavern looked on in judgment.
“How did you get these?” Red-faced, Scarlett turned back to the picture of her in the boat with Julian. She remembered an eerie feel of being watched when she’d first arrived on the isle. But this was far worse than that. “Why are there so many pictures of me? I don’t see drawings of other people.”
“This year’s game is not about other people.” Aiko’s gold-rimmed eyes met Scarlett’s. “Other participants aren’t missing their sister.”
When she’d first arrived to the isle, the idea of being Legend’s special guest had made Scarlett feel privileged. For the first time in her life, she’d felt special. Chosen. But once again, rather than feeling as if she were playing the game, it seemed as if the game were playing with her.
Sour shades of yellow-green made her stomach roil with trepidation. Scarlett didn’t like being toyed with, but what made her even more uneasy was the question why, out of all the people in the world, Legend would choose to make this game about her and her sister. The day in the clock shop Julian’s comment made it seem as if it had something to do with her appearance, but now Scarlett felt there was much more to it.
“In the tavern you started to ask me who I was,” Aiko went on. “I’m not a player. I’m a histographer. I record the history of Caraval through pictures.”
“I’ve never heard of a histographer.”
“Then you should feel lucky to have met me.” Aiko plucked back the journal.
Scarlett didn’t imagine luck had much to do with their meeting. She couldn’t deny that what she’d seen in the journal’s pages had been disturbingly accurate, but even if this girl really was a histographer, Scarlett wasn’t sure she believed she’d only come there to observe.
“Now you have seen a glimpse of my book,” Aiko went on, “and while I may show occasional peeks to vendors on the streets, what I offer you is a rare opportunity. I’m not the only artist who has stained its pages. Every true story from every Caraval in the past is in here. If you choose to examine all the stories inside, you will see who has won and how they did it.”
As Aiko spoke, Scarlett thought of Dante, then Julian. She wondered what had happened when they’d each played before. Other stories came to mind as well, like the woman who was killed years ago. Scarlett’s grandmother, who’d claimed to have charmed everyone with her purple dress. Scarlett doubted she’d actually find her nana in the book, but there was one person she did not doubt she would see. Legend.
If this book detailed the true history of Caraval, then Legend was certain to be pictured in it. Rupert, the boy from the first night, described the game as a mystery to be solved. And the first clue said: This girl was last seen with Legend. It made sense that if Scarlett found Legend, she would then find Tella as well, without having to search for the next two clues.
“All right,” Scarlett said. “Tell me what you want for another look in the journal.”
“Excellent.” Aiko appeared to sparkle a little more than usual. She guided Scarlett past a button-lined path leading to a hatter and haberdashery shaped like a top hat. Then she stopped in front of a dress shop.
Three stories high, made of all glass to better display brightly lit gowns in every material and shade. The color of late-night laughter, early-morning sunshine, and waves crashing around ankles. Each gown seemed to speak of its own rare adventure, with unique prices to match:
the thing you regret the most,
your worst fear,
a secret you’ve never told a soul.
One dress only cost a recent nightmare, but it was plum, the one color Scarlett couldn’t stand to wear.
“That’s your price, you want me to buy you a dress?”
“No. I want you to purchase three dresses for yourself. One for the next three evenings of the game.” Aiko pulled open the door, but Scarlett did not cross its threshold.
A funny thing happens when people feel as if they are paying less for something than they ought: suddenly the worth goes down. Scarlett had glimpsed the book so she knew it was valuable—this had to be some sort of trick. “What are you getting out of this? What do you really want from me?”
“I’m an artist. I don’t like that your gown has a mind of its own.” Aiko’s nose wrinkled as she looked over Scarlett’s dress, which appeared to still be in mourning: it had even managed to sprout a small dark train. “When it gets emotional, it changes, but anyone who opens the pages of my book might not know that. They’d just think I’d made a mistake, giving you a new gown mid-scene. I also despise the color black.”
Scarlett wasn’t a fan of black either. It reminded her of too many unpleasant emotions. And, it would be nice to have more control over her clothes. But since she could stay only two more nights, at the most, there was no need for three dresses.
“I’ll do it for two dresses,” Scarlett said.
Aiko’s eyes shined like black opals. “Done.”
Silver bells chimed as the girls stepped into the shop. They made it two feet before encountering a hanging, jewel-encrusted sign that said: Thieves Will Be Turned to Stone.
Below the beautiful warning, a young woman made of granite stood frozen in place, her long hair flowing behind as if she’d been trying to run.
“I know her,” Scarlett muttered. “She was pretending to be pregnant last night.”
“Don’t worry,” Aiko said. “She’ll be back to normal once Caraval is over.”
A piece of Scarlett felt as if she should pity the girl, but it was overshadowed by the thought that Legend had a sense of justice after all.
Beyond the granite girl, every creation in the shop glimmered with Caraval magic. Even the garish ones that looked like parrot feathers or holiday packages with too many bows.
Tella would adore this, thought Scarlett.
But it seemed the enchanted dress Scarlett wore didn’t like the shop at all. Every time she selected something, her gown would shift as if to say, I can look like that too.
Finally, she settled on a gown of cherry-blossom pink, oddly reminiscent of the first garment her magical dress had formed into. Full of tiered skirts, but with a bodice lined in buttons instead of bows.
At Aiko’s insistence she also chose a more modern, corsetless gown. Sleeves that dipped off her shoulders attached to a sweetheart neckline lined with champagne and pale-orchid beadwork—the colors of infatuation. The ornamentation grew denser as it trailed down a slightly flared skirt, which ended in a graceful train that was very impractical but terribly romantic.
“No returns or exchanges,” said the shopgirl, a shiny-haired brunette who looked no older than Scarlett. She made her statement without emotion, yet as Scarlett stepped closer she had a prickly sort of feeling that told her she’d reached the point in the game that marked no returns as well.
In front of her, a pincushion, along with an equal-arm brass scale, sat on the edge of a polished mahogany counter. The scale’s pan for the goods was empty but the tray for weights contained an object that looked disturbingly close to a human heart. Scarlett had the alarming vision of her own heart being taken from her chest and placed on the empty pan.
The shopgirl continued, “For the dresses, that will be your worst fear and your greatest desire. Or you can pay using time.”
“Time?” Scarlett asked.
“We’re having a deal. Tonight it’s only two days of your life per dress.” The brunette spoke matter-of-factly, the same as if she were asking for ordinary coins. But Scarlett felt sacrificing four days of her life was no simple matter. She knew she shouldn’t have been keen to give up her secrets, either, but her fear and desire had been used against her already.
“I’ll answer your questions,” Scarlett said.