In fairy tales, sixteen was always the age when girls either learned they had magical powers, were truly princesses in disguise, or were cursed and needed a handsome prince to help them break the dark enchantment. Tella didn’t know what would await her during her seventeenth year, but whatever it was, it would be more spectacular than any of those things.
With all the sorrow of Elantine’s Day, she’d nearly forgotten her birthday. Yet she’d magically woken at midnight, at the very first moment.
Her heart was still a little heavy, but she’d decided carrying it around would only make her stronger.
Two nights before, when she’d taken her mother’s place in that card, Tella had feared that was her true ending. But she was too young for endings. Her adventures were only beginning. They would be bigger than promises, and brighter than constellations. By the end of them, Tella would be the legendary one.
Legend would regret leaving her on those steps without so much as a good-bye.
Or perhaps he already did regret it.…
Tella quietly sat up in bed. The room was dark, full of night and shadows, and yet Tella saw the gift as clear as if it were daylight. A single red rose with a flawless white stem sat on the table beside her bed. Beneath it a silver envelope managed to shine, because, of course, everything about Legend shone in the dark.
Tella took the card and crept out of the bed toward the window.
She was still furious with him. She was going to make him regret walking away from her. But her heart seemed to have forgotten that. It tripped and skipped and beat out an unwieldy rhythm as she opened the note he’d left for her.
It smelled like him, of ink and secrets and wicked magic. His writing was all thick, dark strokes. As she read she refused to smile, but something like hope began to grow in her heart.
Donatella,
I believe it’s your birthday. I also believe we have unfinished business; I still owe you a prize for winning Caraval. Find me whenever you wish to collect.
I’ll be waiting.
—Legend
