The count’s breathing hitched, yet his voice was unnervingly even as he said, “I don’t think you realize what you’re doing, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that! I’m not yours, and I’m very aware of my actions. Now get on the bed.” Scarlett motioned with the poker, but already its red tip was losing color. She had thought she’d tie him to the bed, but there was no way it would work. The minute she set down her weapon, he would be upon her. And despite her threats, Scarlett didn’t know if she could bring herself to use it.
“I know you’re frightened,” the count said calmly. “But if you stop whatever it is you’re doing, I’ll forget this ever happened and no harm will be done.”
Harm.
The elixir of protection.
The vial she’d bought in the tent at the Castillo had slipped her mind. But it was still in the pocket of her enchanted gown. She just needed to get to the wardrobe.
“Back up all the way against the bedposts.” Scarlett backed away as he did as he was told. Then she bolted for the wardrobe. The count leaped up the moment she turned, but Scarlett was already opening the wooden doors.
With a loud tumble, Julian fell out. His skin was gray and bleeding. Scarlett’s heart cracked.
“What is he doing here?” The count froze long enough for her to reach inside and grab the elixir. She could do nothing for Julian unless she took care of d’Arcy first.
Scarlett ripped the top off the bottle and splashed its contents all over the count. The spray smelled of daisies and urine.
The count choked and sputtered. “What is this?” He dropped to his knees as he tried to grab Scarlett, but he looked like an infant attempting to catch a bird. The elixir worked fast, dimming his reflexes to a clumsy crawl.
“You’re making a mistake.” He continued wilting to the floor as Scarlett rushed to Julian’s side.
“This is exactly what Legend wants,” the count slurred, lips going numb like the rest of his body. “Your father told me the history … of your grandmother and Legend. I have no idea who he is.” The count cut a drooping eye to Julian. “But you’re playing right into Legend’s hands. He brought you to this isle to destroy our marriage, to ruin your life.”
“Well, then it seems he’s failed,” Scarlett said. “From where I’m standing, it looks as if Legend has done me a favor.”
Julian’s eyes fluttered open as Scarlett helped him up from the floor, and her ex-fiancé finished crumpling to the ground.
“Don’t be too sure about any of that,” the count mumbled. “Legend doesn’t do anyone favors.”
Can you walk?” Scarlett asked.
“Aren’t I doing that now?” Julian’s voice was playful. But there was nothing humorous about the wound that went from his jaw to his eye. Her arms were wrapped around him, keeping him steady.
“Crimson, don’t worry about me, we should get you to your sister.”
“You need stitches first.” Her eyes returned to the ragged gash on his cheek. It would scar, and while it did not make him any less handsome, it did make her ill to remember how fragile he’d appeared when he’d tumbled out of the wardrobe.
“You’re overreacting,” Julian said. “It’s not half bad. Your father barely scraped me. I doubt he enjoys it unless his victims remain conscious.”
“But you were passed out in the closet.”
“I’ve recovered. I’m a quick healer.” Julian pulled away from her, as if to prove it, when they reached the bottom floor. Light snuck in through the cracks around the doors, illuminating candles growing inside sconces, preparing for another treacherous night. On the floor, a small group of dedicated participants slept huddled together. Waiting for evening to fall and the doors to unlock.
“I still think we should find a way to bandage it up,” Scarlett whispered.
“It only needs a little alcohol.” Julian swaggered past the sleeping participants and into the tavern, though Scarlett swore he was still only half himself. His boots scraped the glass floor with an uneven gait as he went behind the bar and poured half a bottle of clear liquor over his cheek.
“See”—Julian winced, shaking his head, making drops of liquid fall to the floor—“not as bad as it looks.”
A line still went from near the corner of his eye to the edge of his jaw. It wasn’t as deep as Scarlett thought, yet she could not ignore the ill feeling she had.
Amid all that had happened she’d lost track of time, but she imagined the sun would set in about two hours, welcoming the final night of the game.
To win, Scarlett needed to find her sister before anyone else. And after what she’d just done to the count—not only had she knocked him out, she’d tied him to the bed before leaving—Scarlett could all too clearly imagine how furious her father would be when he woke, and the malicious punishments he would inflict on Tella if he found her before Scarlett. He wouldn’t just kill her; he’d torture her first.
“When I was in the room, I forgot to look at the roses,” Scarlett said.
Julian took a swig of the bottle before putting it away. “You’re the one who said they were all over Caraval.”
Meaning it would be impossible to figure out which roses were actually clues. There were probably hundreds of roses she’d never seen as well. The first clue she’d received said: And number five requires a leap of faith. But Scarlett had no idea how that connected to the flowers. Too many roses and not enough time.