“Even if you don’t know two coins about sailing, it shouldn’t take you long to get picked up by someone else and returned to your precious Trisda. Or”—Julian paused and nodded toward the misty white isle—“if you’re as brave as your sister keeps telling me, you can let me keep rowing. You spend this week with her on this isle, and see if she’s right about some things being worth more than safety.”
A wave rocked the boat, lapping turquoise water against its sides as they drifted into the isle’s ring of chilly clouds. Scarlett’s hair stuck to the back of her neck as Julian’s dark locks curled into waves.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “If I wait to go back to Trisda, my father will destroy me. I’m supposed to wed a count in one week, and this marriage is our opportunity at another life. I’d love to experience Caraval, but I’m not willing to risk my only chance at happiness.”
“That’s a very dramatic way of looking at things.” The side of Julian’s mouth twitched, as if he were suppressing a smirk. “I might be wrong, but most marriages aren’t pure bliss.”
“That’s not what I said.” Scarlett hated how he kept twisting her words.
Julian dipped his oar in the water, just enough to splash her again.
“Stop doing that!”
“I’ll stop when you tell me where you want to go.” He splashed her once more as the boat sailed closer to the shore, and the brassy clouds began to tarnish, turning shades of green and chilly blue.
There was a scent in the air Scarlett had never experienced. Trisda always stank of fish, but the air here was mostly sweet with a bit of tangy citrus. She wondered if it was drugged, for although she knew what she needed to do—get to the isle, find Tella, and then return home as soon as possible—she was having a difficult time telling Julian this. Suddenly she was nine years old again, naive and hopeful enough to believe a letter could make her wishes come true.
She’d first written after her mother, Paloma, had abandoned them. She’d wanted to give Tella a happy birthday. Her sister had been the most devastated when their mother left. Scarlett had tried to make up for Paloma’s absence. But Scarlett was young, and Tella wasn’t the only one who desperately missed their mother.
It would have been easier to let her go if she’d at least said good-bye, written a note, or left a tiny hint as to where or why she’d gone. But Paloma had simply vanished, taking nothing with her. She’d disappeared like a broken star, leaving the world untouched, save for the bits of missing light that no one would ever see again.
Scarlett might have wondered if her father had harmed her mother, but he’d gone rabid once Paloma had left him. Torn up the entire estate looking for her. Had his guards raid the towns under the guise of searching for a criminal, since he’d not wanted anyone to discover his wife had run away. If she’d been kidnapped, there were no signs of struggle, and no ransom note ever arrived. It seemed she’d chosen to leave, which made it all the worse.
Yet despite everything, Scarlett always thought of her mother as a magical person, full of glittering smiles, musical laughter, and dulcet words; when she’d been on Trisda there’d been joy in Scarlett’s world, and her father had been softer. Governor Dragna had not been violent toward his family before Paloma had left him.
Scarlett’s nana had taken more of an interest in the girls after that. She wasn’t particularly warm. Scarlett always suspected she didn’t actually like small children, but she told exquisite stories. She enchanted both Tella and Scarlett with her tales of Caraval. She said it was a place where magic lived, and Scarlett fell in love with the idea of it, daring to believe that if Legend and his players came to the isle of Trisda, they would return some of the joy to her life, at least for a handful of days.
Momentarily, Scarlett entertained the idea of experiencing not only a little happiness, but magic. She thought of what it would be like to enjoy Caraval just for a day, to explore Legend’s private isle, before closing the door on her fantasies completely.
There was one week until Scarlett’s wedding. This was not the time to embark on a foolhardy adventure. Tella had plundered Scarlett’s room, and Julian said she’d also left a ransom note, but Scarlett’s father would eventually figure out it was all a hoax. Staying here was the worst idea possible.
But if Scarlett and Tella stayed only for the first day of Caraval, they could make it back in time for Scarlett’s wedding. Scarlett doubted her father would figure out the truth about where they’d been that soon. They’d be safe, as long as she and Tella remained for only the first twenty-four hours, and their father never found out where they’d really been.
“Time’s almost up, Crimson.”
The cloud encasing them thinned, and the rim of the isle came into view. Scarlett saw sand so fluffy and white, from the distance, it looked like icing on a cake. She could almost picture Tella running her fingers along it—and coaxing Scarlett to join her—to see if the sand tasted as sugary as it looked.
“If I go with you, do you promise there will be no more kidnapping attempts if I try to return to Trisda with Tella tomorrow?”
Julian put a hand to his heart. “On my honor.”
Scarlett wasn’t sure she believed Julian had much honor. But once they all made it inside Caraval, he’d probably abandon them anyway.
“You can start your rowing back up again. Just be careful with the splashing.”
The corner of Julian’s lips curved as he dipped his oars back in the water, this time soaking Scarlett’s slippers with cold.
“I told you to stop splashing me.”
“That wasn’t me.” Julian rowed again, more carefully this time, but water still soaked her feet. It was colder than even Trisda’s crisp coast.
“I think there’s a hole in the boat.”
Julian cursed as water moved up to their ankles. “You know how to swim?”
“I live on an island. Of course I know how to swim.”
Julian shucked his coat and tossed it over the side of the boat. “If you take off your clothes it will be easier. You’re wearing some sort of undergarment, right?”
“Are you sure we can’t just row to shore?” Scarlett argued. Although cold drenched her feet, her hands were sweating. Isla de los Sueños appeared to be about one hundred yards away; it was farther than she’d ever swum.
“We can give it a go, but this boat is not going to make it.” Julian removed his boots. “We’re better off using the time we have to undress. The water’s cold; it’ll be impossible to make it fully clothed.”
Scarlett scanned the cloud-covered water for another sign of a boat or raft. “But what will we wear when we’re on the island?”
“I think we just need to worry about making it to the island. And by ‘we,’ I mean you.” Julian unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a row of brown muscles that made it clear he’d have no problems in the water.
Then without another word, he dove into the ocean.
He didn’t look back. His strong arms cut through the icy current with ease, while arctic water rose around Scarlett until the bottom half of her dress floated about her calves. She attempted to row, but only succeeded in sinking the boat deeper.
She had no choice but to jump.
The air rushed out of her lungs, something cold and unbreathable taking its place. All she could see was the color white. Everything was white. Even the tones of the water had shifted from swirls of pink and turquoise to frightening shades of icy white. Scarlett bobbed her head to the surface, gasping for air that seared as it went down.
She tried to push against the current with the same ease as Julian, but he’d been right. The corset binding her chest was too tight; the heavy fabric around her legs kept tangling. She frantically kicked, but it did no good. The more Scarlett fought, the more the ocean battled back. She could barely keep above the surface. A wave of cold splashed over her head, dragging her all the way down. So cold and heavy. Her lungs burned as she battled to reach the surface again. This must have been how Feli
pe felt when her father drowned him. You deserve this, said a part of her. Like hands, the water pressed her down
down
down.…
“I thought you could swim.” Julian wrenched Scarlett up until her head broke the surface of the water.
“Breathe. Slowly,” he coaxed. “Don’t try to take in too much at once.”
The air still burned, but Scarlett managed the words: “You left me.”
“Because I thought you could swim.”
“It’s my dress—” Scarlett broke off as she felt it dragging her down once more.
Julian took a sharp breath. “You think you can stay afloat for a minute without my help?”
He brandished a knife with his free hand, and before Scarlett could agree or protest, he darted under the water.
Scarlett felt as if forever went by before she felt the pressure of Julian’s arm wrapping around her waist. Then, the tip of his knife pressed against her breasts. Scarlett’s breath caught as the sailor cut away her corset, drawing a decisive line down her stomach to the center of her hips. The arm around her waist tightened, and so did something in Scarlett’s chest. She’d never been in such a position with a boy. She tried not to think about what Julian was seeing or feeling as he finished slicing the heavy dress and pulled it off her body, leaving only her wet chemise clinging to her skin.
Julian gasped as he resurfaced, splashing Scarlett’s face with water.
“Can you swim now?” His words were more labored than before.
“Can you?” Scarlett asked hoarsely, her ability to speak strained as well. It felt as if something very intimate had just happened, or maybe it was intense only for her. She imagined the sailor had seen lots of girls in various states of undress.
“We’re wasting our energy with talk.” Julian started swimming, this time staying close to her side, though she couldn’t tell if it was because he worried about her safety, or if he was weak from helping her.
Scarlett could still feel the ocean working to drag her under, but without her heavy gown, she could fight it. She neared Sueños’s gleaming white shore at the same time as Julian. Up close the sand looked fluffier. Fluffier, and now that she thought about it, much more like snow. More than she’d ever seen on Trisda. Resting clouds of magical white, a cold carpet stretched across the entire shore.
All eerily untouched.
“Don’t give up on me now.” Julian grabbed Scarlett’s hand, tugging her toward the perfect tufts of white. “Come on, we need to keep moving.”
“Wait—” Scarlett scanned the crisp snow a second time. Again it reminded her of a frosted cake. The kind she’d seen in bakery windows, perfect and smooth, without so much as a Tella-size footprint in the snow.
“Where’s my sister?”
7
The island’s gauzy clouds had sailed into a position covering the sun and casting the coastline in a haze of gray-blue shadows. No longer white, the untouched snow at Scarlett’s feet winked up at her with periwinkle sparkles, as if it were in on some private joke.
“Where’s Tella?” Scarlett repeated.
“I must have dropped her off on a different part of the beach.” Julian reached for Scarlett’s hand again, but she pulled away. “We need to keep moving or we’re both going to freeze. Once we warm up, we can find your sister.”
“But what if she’s freezing too? Dona—tella!” Scarlett yelled between chattering teeth. The snow beneath her toes and the wet fabric clinging to her icy skin left her colder than she had been the night her father made her sleep outside after he discovered Tella had kissed her first boy. Still, Scarlett was not going to leave without finding her sister. “Donatella!”
“You’re wasting your breath.” Dripping wet and shirtless, Julian looked more dangerous than usual as he glared at Scarlett. “When I dropped your sister off, she was dry. She had on a coat and gloves. Wherever she is, she’s not going to freeze, but we will if we stay here. We should head for whatever’s between those trees.”
Past where the beach’s mantle of snow met lines of thick green trees, a spire of sunset-orange smoke twisted into the sky. Scarlett could have sworn it hadn’t been there a minute ago. She didn’t even remember seeing the trees. Different from the bony shrubs on Trisda, all of these trunks looked like thick braids, twisted together and covered in snowy blue-and-green moss.
“No—” Scarlett shivered. “We—”
“We can’t keep walking around like this,” Julian cut her off. “Your lips are turning purple. We need to locate the smoke.”
“I don’t care. If my sister is still out there—”
“Your sister probably left to find the entrance to the game. We have only until the end of the day to make it inside Caraval, which means we should follow the smoke, and then do the same.” He marched ahead, bare feet crunching the snow.
Scarlett’s eyes darted around the untouched beach a final time. Tella had never been good at patiently waiting—or even impatiently waiting. But if she had gone into Caraval, why were there no signs of her?
Reluctantly, Scarlett followed Julian into the forest. Bits of piney needles stuck to toes she could no longer feel as a chestnut dirt path replaced the snow. But while her feet left damp footprints, she saw no marks from Tella’s heeled boots.
“She probably took a different route from the beach.” Julian’s teeth didn’t chatter, yet his brown skin was taking on an indigo hue, matching the trees’ distorted shadows.
Scarlett wanted to argue, but the wet fabric of her clothes was turning to ice. The forest was colder than the coastline had been. She wrapped frigid arms across her chest, but all that did was add to her chill.
A flicker of concern crossed Julian’s features. “We need to get you somewhere warm.”
“But my sister—”
“—is smart enough to already be inside the game. If you freeze out here you’re not going to find her.” Julian’s arm wrapped around Scarlett’s shoulders.
She stiffened.
His dark brows formed an offended line. “I’m just trying to keep you warm.”
“But you’re freezing too—” And practically naked.
Scarlett pulled away, half stumbling, as the forest of trees came to an end and the soft dirt floor transformed into a firmer road paved with opalescent stones, smooth as polished sea glass. The cobbled road stretched farther than she could see, multiplying into a maze of twisting streets. All were lined with mismatched, rounded shops, painted shades of jewels or pastels, and piled on top of one another like sloppily stacked hatboxes.
It was charming and enchanting, but it was also unnaturally still. The shops were all closed and the snow on their rooftops rested like dust on abandoned storybooks. Scarlett didn’t know what sort of place this was, but it was not how she imagined Caraval.
Sunset smoke still streamed in the air, but it looked as far away as when they were on the beach.
“Crimson, we need to keep moving.” Julian urged her down the curious street.
Scarlett didn’t know if it was possible for the cold to make her hallucinate, or if there was just something wrong with her head. On top of being strangely quiet, none of the signs on the hatbox-shaped shops made any sense. Each was printed in a variety of languages. Some said Open: Sometime Around Midnight. Other signs said Come Back Yesterday.
“Why is everything closed?” she asked. Her words came out in fragile puffs. “And where is everyone?”
“We just need to keep going. Don’t stop walking. We need to find somewhere warm.” Julian pressed forward, past the most peculiar shops Scarlett had ever seen.
There were bowler hats covered in taxidermy crows. Parasol holsters. Women’s headbands studded with human teeth. Mirrors that could reflect the darkness in a person’s soul. The cold was definitely toying with her vision. She hoped Julian was right and Tella was someplace warm. Scarlett continued searching for glimpses of her sister’s honey-blond hair, listening for echoes of her vibrant giggles, but every store
was empty, silent.
Julian tried a few doorknobs; nothing budged.
The following row of abandoned shops boasted a series of fantastical things. Fallen stars. Seeds to grow wishes. Odette’s Ocular sold eyeglasses that saw the future. (Available in four colors.) “Those would be nice,” Scarlett muttered.
Next door to Odette’s, a banner claimed its shop proprietor could fix broken imaginations. That message floated above bottles of dreams and nightmares and something called daymares, which Scarlett imagined she was experiencing that moment as icicles formed in her dark hair.
Beside her Julian cursed. Beyond several more blocks of hatbox-shaped shops, they could almost see where the smoke came from, and now it was twisting into a sun with a star inside and a teardrop inside of the star—the symbol for Caraval. But the cold had reached into Scarlett’s bones and her teeth; even her eyelids were turning frosty.
“Wait—what—about there!” With a trembling hand, Scarlett waved Julian toward Casabian’s Clocks. At first she thought it was just the brass window lining, but behind the glass, past a forest of pendulums and weights and shiny wooden cabinets, a fireplace blazed. And a sign on the door said Always Open.
A chorus of tick-tocks, cuckoos, second hands, and windup gears greeted the frozen couple as they dashed inside. Limbs Scarlett had stopped feeling prickled from the sudden warmth, while the heated air scorched her lungs as it went down.
Her frozen vocal chords cracked as she called, “Hello?”
Tick-tock.
Tock-tick.
Only gears and cogs answered back.
The shop was round, like a clock’s face. The floor was tiled in a mosaic of different styles of numbers, while various timepieces covered almost every surface. Some ran backward; others were full of exposed wheels and levers. On the back wall several moved like puzzles with their pieces drawing together as the hour approached. A heavy glass locked box in the center of the open room claimed that the pocket watch inside wound back time. Another day Scarlett would have been curious, but all she cared about was getting closer to the roaring circle of warmth coming from the fireplace.