A damp chill wrapped around Scarlett’s exposed calves as she started down. Even though she was very much awake, her dress remained thin as a nightgown and fell barely past her knees. Two flights of smooth stairs led to three diverging pathways. On the right a trail of petal-pink sand. In the middle, one of polished glowing stones creating dim puddles of light. To her left, brick.
Torches covered in white flames lit the open mouths of all her options. Each route contained multiple sets of boot prints in a variety of sizes. She imagined any tunnel could hide her from her father, but only one could lead to Julian—and possibly to Tella, if Julian really was Legend.
The tunnels could also lead to madness, Scarlett thought. But she would rather face that possibility than her father.
Closing her eyes, Scarlett listened. To her left, trapped wind beat against walls. To her right, water rushed. Then, down the middle, larger, heavier steps beat forward. Julian!
Quickly, she followed, relying on the steady press of his footfalls to guide her. They seemed to grow louder as the temperature of the path became colder.
Until the footsteps stopped.
Vanished.
Wet chills licked the back of her neck. Scarlett spun, afraid someone was behind her, but it was only the silent corridor, full of stones that were rapidly losing their glow. Scarlett started running faster, but her foot caught on something. Tripping forward, she reached out to steady herself against a damp wall, only to lose her balance once more as she caught sight of the object she’d stumbled upon.
A human hand.
Bile rose in her throat. Acid and acrid.
Five tattooed fingers stretched out as if reaching for her.
Somehow she managed to hold back her scream, until she looked down the hall and saw Dante’s twisted dead body, and Julian standing over it.
23
Scarlett tried to convince herself what she was seeing wasn’t real. The tunnels were trying to drive her mad. She told herself the putrid smell was manufactured. The hand wasn’t Dante’s; it was someone else’s. But even if somehow a body had been stolen and tattoos had been carved into it as part of a game, there was no mistaking the rest of Dante, the pallor of his skin, or the angle of head, only barely attached to his bloody neck.
Julian’s head whipped around. “Crimson, it’s not what it looks—”
Scarlett started to run, but he was faster. Sprinting forward, he caught her in a heartbeat, banding one strong arm across her chest and another around her waist.
“Let me go!” She squirmed.
“Scarlett, stop! These tunnels intensify fear—don’t let yours control you. I swear, Dante and I were working together, and if you stop fighting me I can prove it.” Julian adjusted his grip, pinning her hands behind her. “I’ve been dead for the past day. You really think I killed him?”
If he was Legend, he could have had someone else murder him. “Why did you pretend you didn’t know Dante if you were working together?”
“Because we were afraid something like this would happen. We knew Legend would recognize Dante and Valentina from the last time they played, but I mostly watched, so Legend doesn’t know me. We thought it wise to keep our partnership a secret in case Legend figured out what Dante was really here to do.”
Julian cut two eyes farther down the corridor toward Dante’s dead body, but his face remained emotionless. Not the look of someone who’d just found a murdered friend. The same cold look he had worn at the funeral. Legend.
Scarlett smothered a whimper, and though each of her instincts battled against it she forced her body to go limp. Not to scream as she felt the press of Julian’s chest. Not to hit as he slowly released her wrists. The only thing she fought against was her growing fear, until Julian removed his arm from around her waist.
And then she—
Julian pressed her up against the wall, a few short feet after she attempted to run. “You’re going to get both of us killed if you don’t stop this,” he growled.
Then he ripped open the buttons of his shirt. They skittered across the ground as he arched back and stepped away, just enough for the torchlight to reveal what Scarlett had thought was a scar above his heart. But it wasn’t. Fainter than year-old memories, a tattoo in white ink curled near the top of his ribs. A rose.
“It’s a different color, but I’m sure you’ve seen this on Dante,” said Julian.
“That doesn’t prove anything. I’ve seen roses all over Caraval.” Legend was obsessed with them. Further proof the dream sent by Aiko was right. A distant part of Scarlett warned it wasn’t wise to reveal her last card to the player holding all the cards. But Scarlett was done playing games. A few feet away lay the body of a dead man; this game had gone far enough. “You can stop lying to me. I saw you at the funeral. I know you’re really Legend!”
Julian’s dark expression froze. For a moment he looked stunned, then his features softened into subtle amusement. “I don’t know what funeral you think you saw, but I’ve only ever attended one funeral, for my sister Rosa: Dante’s fiancée. I’m not Legend. I’m here because I want to stop him from destroying anyone else the way he destroyed her.”
Rosa was his sister? Scarlett’s conviction wavered. But had she begun to believe him because she desperately wanted to, or because Julian really was telling the truth? She tried to see the color of his emotions, but there was nothing over his heart. Her connection to his feelings must have already faded.
“I saw pictures,” Scarlett said. “If she was your sister, why were you just standing there? I saw you wearing a top hat.”
“You think I’m Legend because you looked at pictures and saw me wearing a top hat?” Julian sounded as if he wanted to laugh.
“It wasn’t just the top hat!” Though that might have been most of it. But there were still other things he wasn’t telling her. “How did you know what to do when I was dying?”
“Because I heard people talk about it when I watched the game before. It’s not any secret, but most people aren’t willing to give up their life for someone else, even small pieces of it.” He gave Scarlett a pointed look. “I get that you have problems with trust,” Julian went on roughly. “After meeting your father, I don’t blame you. But I swear, I’m not Legend.”
“Then how did you get back to La Serpiente the other day after you’d been hurt? And why didn’t you meet me in the tavern when you were supposed to?”
Julian let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t know how this will prove that I’m not Legend, but I didn’t meet you at the tavern because the night before I’d been bashed in the head. I slept in, and when I got to the tavern you were already gone.” He smirked, but something about it was off. Too forced.
Even if Julian wasn’t Legend, he wasn’t being entirely honest. His hands were clenched, holding his secrets the way Scarlett so often clutched her fear, as if letting go would unravel him.
“If you’re really here to stop Legend, I can’t imagine you’d just sleep in one night. And it still doesn’t explain how you got back into La Serpiente that day.”
“Why are you so obsessed with that?” A frustrated shake of his head. “All right, fine. You want to know the truth?” Julian leaned in close, until his cool breath was on her neck, the cool scent of him all over her skin, and the tunnel seemed to be made of nothing but him.
“I didn’t sleep at all. I left you sitting in the tavern on purpose because after being with you in the room the day before I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to see you again.” His eyes dropped to her lips, and Scarlett shivered. In the dim tunnels it was too dark to make out their color, but when he looked back up she pictured two hungry pools of liquid amber fringed by dark lashes. It was the exact same way he’d stared at her before, when his back had been against the door and she’d been pressed against him.