Finale (Caraval, 3)

Every step Scarlett took from the palace felt like a move in the wrong direction.

To avoid the chaos of Legend’s Midnight Maze, which had taken over all of the outer palace grounds, Scarlett had asked Nicolas for another meeting spot. He’d responded by sending a hand-drawn map with clues. She imagined he was trying at romance, and if the map had been from Julian, it would have worked. But instead of feeling romanced, Scarlett felt as if she were making a mistake.

She should have told Tella that she was going to see Nicolas. She’d told Tella she was calling off the game. But she hadn’t confessed she was telling Nicolas this in person. Deep down, Scarlett knew it was a questionable choice to leave the safety of the palace grounds.

After yesterday’s incidents with the Poisoner, she’d not heard of any other Fates causing havoc for fun. But as Scarlett walked Valenda’s steep streets, she saw multiple Fates in the form of warnings and Wanted posters tacked up by Legend’s guards.

The flickering pages were all over the city. Some cautioned people not to accept drinks from strangers. Others had the word Wanted above sketches that resembled Tella’s description of the Fallen Star. But they didn’t explicitly say that they were actually Fates. The partygoers on the street just strolled by them.

Scarlett wanted to shake everyone that walked past and make them read the notices. She knew the Fates fed off of fear, but everyone looked far too vulnerable.

Scarlett reached into her pocket, checking once again to make sure the Reverie Key was still there. At least she was protected—if she wanted to escape all she needed to do was shove the key in the closest lock. And yet she couldn’t shrug off her unease.

Even her dress seemed uncertain.

As she followed the map to the docks at the edge of the city, Scarlett’s gown turned a wary shade of brown, perfect for being overlooked. A few more steps over rickety wood and her nose tickled with the familiar scents of salt and fish and forever wet wood.

Trisda, the tiny isle where she’d spent most of her life, had always smelled like this. Rather than making her homesick, it made her want to flee, the same way Trisda had always made her want to flee. But Scarlett had decided after Caraval that she would not let fear rule her.

She counted the docks, following the map Nicolas had drawn for her until she came upon a long wharf covered with a black-and-gold carpet that led to a ship that looked like a floating palace. Its hull was carved with ornate images of mermaids and mermen holding tridents and seashells. The masts were decorated as well—giants with crowns of stars around their heads as they held out sumptuous purple sails.

It was almost offensive in its finery. This ship belonged to someone who thought extremely highly of himself. That wasn’t the impression she’d had of Nicolas. He’d seemed more down-to-earth. But everyone wore their disguises.

Scarlett stopped just as she stepped onto the dock. She’d felt nervous about meeting him before, but now she felt a lick of fear that warned her to turn around. She didn’t owe Nicolas anything.

Most people did not take rejection well. And it seemed especially unwise to reject Nicolas on his boat, which he could easily toss her over the side of—or sail away with her still on board.

She turned around. Scarlett wanted to be brave, but she didn’t want to be foolish.

“Scarlett? Are you Scarlett Dragna?” The voice didn’t sound like Nicolas.

Run. Hide. Scream. Her feelings turned bright warning red. She started to run.

But it was already too late.

A black bag went over her head.

“Let me go!” Scarlett tried to rip the bag off as she screamed. But her hands were yanked behind her and roughly tied together.

“Be careful with her,” a new voice commanded. “He wants his daughter undamaged.”