It hadn’t worked.

Fresh tears ran down Scarlett’s cheeks. She could have held Tella until they dried up and she and her sister both turned to dust, a warning to any others who dared to get too swept away in the deception of Caraval.

The story could have ended there. In a storm of tears and muttered words. But just as the sun was about to rise, in the black instant before dawn, the darkest moment of the night, a dark brown hand gently rocked Scarlett’s shoulder.

Scarlett looked up to find Jovan. The candles and lanterns had almost turned to smoke, so Scarlett could barely see her, but she recognized the light lilt of her voice. “The game’s about to officially end. Soon the morning bells will toll, and people will start packing up. I thought you might want to collect your sister’s things.”

Scarlett craned her neck toward Tella’s rimless balcony—no, Legend’s rimless balcony. “Whatever is up there, I don’t want it.”

“Oh, but you may want these items,” said Jo.

When Scarlett arrived at Tella’s balcony room she imagined it was a ploy, another way to torment her. The possessions in the suite were all newly acquired. Dresses. Furs. Gloves. None of it truly felt like Tella. The only thing that felt like her sister was Scarlett’s memory of the periwinkle gown Tella had died in. The gown that had failed to bring her a happy ending.

Whatever Jo thought—

Scarlett paused at the sight of something. On Tella’s vanity sat a long rectangular box made of etched glass and silver edges with a clasp that made Scarlett’s heart trip a beat. It was a sun with a star inside and a teardrop inside of the star.

The symbol of Caraval.

Scarlett now hated that crest more than the color purple, but she distinctly knew that box, with its wretched emblem, had not been there before.

Slowly Scarlett raised the lid.

A slip of paper. Carefully, she unfolded the note. It was dated almost a year ago.

Scarlett reread the letter, again and again. Each time she believed it a little more and a little more, until at last she believed it without a doubt.

The game was not over yet. And it seemed Scarlett was right: this year’s Caraval really was about more than just Legend and her grandmother. In fact, it appeared her sister had made some sort of bargain with the master of Caraval himself.

“Jo!” she called. “Jovan!”

The girl appeared with a peculiar bounce to her step the second time her name was shouted.

“Take me to Master Legend,” Scarlett said.

What’s the meaning of this?” Scarlett demanded.

Across from her Legend sat in a tufted champagne chair looking out an oval window. There was no balcony, not in this room. Scarlett imagined these quarters were sick—if it were possible for a room to be ill. The large stretch of space was covered in dull shades of beige, with only two faded chairs.

Scarlett waved the letter in front of Legend, who’d yet to look away from the view. He peered down on all the people below, dragging trunks and carpetbags, as they began their exodus back into the “real” world.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” he said airily.

“What type of deal did you make with my sister?” Scarlett asked.

A sigh. “I didn’t make any deal.”

“Then why did you leave this letter?”

“I didn’t do that, either.” The master of Caraval finally looked away from the window, yet something about his placid expression was off-kilter—or rather missing.

“Think. Who would want you to have that letter?” he asked.

Again, Legend was her first thought.

“It was not me,” he repeated. “And here’s a hint, it shouldn’t be hard to figure out. Imagine who could have left it for you.”

“Donatella?” Scarlett breathed. She could have moved the box when she’d gone to fetch the rope. “But why?”

Ignoring her question, Legend handed Scarlett a short stack of letters. “I’m supposed to give you these, as well.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?” Scarlett said.

“Because that’s not my role.” Legend rose from his chair, moving so close to Scarlett he might have touched her. He was back in his velvet top hat and tailcoat. But he didn’t grin, or laugh, or do any of the mad things she’d begun to associate with him. He looked at her not as if he was trying see her, but as if he was trying to show her something about himself.

Again, Scarlett prickled with the feeling something was missing from him, as if the clouds had parted to reveal the sun, only there was nothing but more clouds. In Tella’s room, it seemed he’d wanted her to see how unhinged he was; he’d made her believe he might do something crazed at any moment. Now it appeared as if the opposite was true.

The words my role replayed in Scarlett’s thoughts.

“You’re not really Legend, are you?”

A faint smile.

“Does that mean yes or no?” Scarlett was in no mood for riddles.

“My name is Caspar.”

“That’s still not an answer,” Scarlett said. But even as she glared at him, puzzle pieces were clicking together inside her head, creating a complete picture of something she’d been unable to see until that moment. Around her neck, the pocket watch felt hot as she recalled the way Julian’s confession had cut off, as if he’d been physically unable to speak the words. The same thing had happened to him on the carousel, right before Scarlett had jumped.

“As a performer, magic prevents you from saying certain things,” Scarlett guessed aloud. She remembered something else then, words from a dream she’d been told she would not forget. They say Legend wears a different face every game.