Page 103 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“Anphrosia was entirely normal,” Lola said, a crease in her brows. “Perhaps a bit more prophetic than usual—distracted, not fully present—but she was her calm, sultry, charming self as I’ve always known her.”

“Distracted,” Emmeline repeated, chewing her lip. “She was so different the other day, though. Not just preoccupied but…mad.” She curled the pages of her journal, folding and unfolding as she considered everything Anphrosia had said to her recently.

Bonds do forge,

Intended yet scorned.

Forced not wanted,

Sacrifices born haunted.

There will be no stop to it. You are too powerful, too cherished and desired. The power must be used.

“She didn’t mention bonds of any sort?” Emmeline reiterated. An idea nagged at the back of her mind, but she didn’t dare unlock that box. She’d stuffed the theory of that particular bond so far down, it would be lost to the depths of herself.

Lola shook her head, scratching at a smudge of maroon paint smeared on the inside of her wrist from her work this morning. “She only spoke about the tumultuous path of my romantic future.”

Emmeline lifted a brow, gaze flicking to Eston. “Anyone intriguing?”

Lola rolled her eyes, and for a moment, Emmeline saw the youngest Silventa, Siena, in her dramatics. “I fear I’ll be alone in my art studio until the end of my days, telling the stories of other great loves and tragedies with a brush.”

“Cruelty and adoration in watercolor.”

Lola snickered. “Why bonds, though?”

“My readings have been more controlled since I read with Desmond,” Emmeline explained. “We didn’t intend to conduct a joint reading, but the Fates pulled us in. It’s how they answered when we asked about Dryvius and the tournament. What if that’s the point?”

“Joint readings?” Lola repeated.

“Bonding ceremonies maybe?” Emmeline fidgeted with her ring. “I don’t know, perhaps there’s another hint in the joint readings that we need to look at.”

She didn’t meet Lola’s eye, and eventually her friend let it drop, instead tilting her head toward Emmeline’s notes. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing,” she said, closing the journal. She’d told Lola she was looking for someone, but hadn’t given her anymore details. Lola had enough to worry about with her own family. Beneath her breath, Emmeline added, “At least nothing I’ve had time for given that Rocarri had me busy all week.”

“It’s his way of reminding you how little control you have.”

“Trust me, I know,” Emmeline swore, flipping to a blank page more aggressively than was necessary and pressing her pen into the surface so an angry ink blot bled out.

The door to the study groaned open, and Myrella raced in, her cheeks flushed and eyes more alight than Emmeline had seen in weeks.

“What is it?” Emmeline whispered as she approached, careful to hide too much enthusiasm when Graves and Eston looked their way.

Myrella pulled out a chair at the table and dropped her voice. “Poison.”

“What?” Emmeline breathed.

Myrella took out the scroll and a stack of notes, and Emmeline’s stomach plummeted when she realized what her friend meant. “I don’t know what exactly—the translations are messy—but the second trial involves poisons.”

Myrella spread papers across the table, a flutter of hurriedly scratched Endasi words she’d been deciphering and translation texts, flipping through the pages to point them all out.

“Remember all the patterns we highlighted?” Myrella reminded Emmeline, pointing to the section they’d worked on together earlier this week.

“The stuff on the Fates?”

They’d realized the last few paragraphs of the scroll used the same words in the same sequence repeatedly and hypothesized they translated to things such as Cruelty and Adoration, Wrath and Redemption.

Chaos and Revelry.