Page 118 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“Why do you think I’m here?”

Even being this starsdamned close to her feels like the broken cracks inside me are sealed over.

“You can’t be here,” Lola whispered. Her voice was somewhere between breathy and harsh, and he knew exactly what it meant. Restraint.

“Well, too bad, sweetheart. I am.”

“But—” Somewhere down the hall, footsteps echoed. “Oh, Fate’s tits. Come on.”

Her fingers locked around his bare wrist and tugged him up the stairs. Desmond had never been so grateful he’d gotten overheated in one of the poor excuses for an incense den earlier and needed to roll his sleeves up.

He tried to memorize every turn, but this manor seemed as large as the Academy back on Lyra. He did his best, though. He needed to know where Lola was living. Fuck, where she had been living.

It had been years since he’d spoken to her; that was their rule. And now, he did everything in his power not to get distracted by how her silk robe draped her waist and ass so perfectly, her long legs stretching beneath it despite the cold night.

Fates Fucks. He had to look anywhere else.

Lola led him to a bedchamber in what he thought was the west wing of the manor, and he knew immediately it was hers. The rich violet bedding trimmed in lace, the gowns thrown over chairs indecisively, and the fluffiest rug imaginable that she currently had all the poison research spread across…that was all her. Color and chaos, that was who Lola Silventa had always been.

But most importantly, it was the dramatic paintings adorning the walls that told him this was her haven.

Desmond wandered over, taking in the various sized canvases. The bold lines and rich, contrasting colors. A clouded, emerald landscape overshadowed by rolling maroon clouds, a lone figure in the center looking up at them. A stormy sea with a capsized boat, the lighthouse in the distance dim. A pair of silhouettes entwined and outlined by gold and teal stars that formed ropes around their limbs and waists, wrenching them apart.

“You did these?” Desmond asked.

Lola wandered to his side. “Most of them when I was working in the galleries in Oriana. A few once I moved to head liaison at a museum in Valyn.” She gestured to a small canvas in the bottom corner. One that looked like a pair of constellations bleeding through the sky, warped pastel flower petals melting into the bottom of the canvas. “That one is the most recent.”

Desmond studied it, not sure what was so familiar about the piece. He memorized it to pick apart later.

“These are all beautiful, Lols.” He looked at that last piece again, at the way the softer colors melted but upheld the rest of the darker night. “I think that’s my favorite.”

“Why that one?” she asked, perking up.

“I don’t know. It’s haunting, but in a way that I can’t look away from.” Her work was always evocative, deep emotions splattered across the canvas. Lola had a way of capturing thoughts in the outlines of shapes and angles of bodies that most artists aspired to. She saw the world differently, and it had mesmerized Desmond as long as he could remember, always making her art identifiable.

She snickered, ducking her head. “Not sure I ever considered haunting a complement before.”

“You know I love art you feel in your spirit.” You know I think about your art every day.

Lola hummed thoughtfully, meeting his eyes. Fucking finally. “That piece is my favorite, too.”

Desmond held her stare, not letting her look away this time. Not after the hell he’d been through these past few days worrying about her after the latest murder. Or the hell he’d been through the past few years not hearing a fucking word from her at all, living off the scraps her brothers shared.

Not after wondering how she was after she learned of Nico’s death and that Anphrosia Fate ties were the targets.

He wanted so badly to touch her, but he asked, “Where’s your guard tonight?”

“He’s technically Emmeline’s guard,” Lola corrected.

“He seems rather intent on following you around like a pup,” Desmond grumbled.

Lola called him out, “You really want to talk about that?” When Desmond grunted, she added, “I sent him home rather than having him stand outside my door all night in a manor where there’s a number of other guards on the grounds.”

“Good.”

Lola sighed. “Desmond, why are you here? For real this time.”

He scoffed, facing her but keeping his arms crossed. “Because, Lola, someone died a few days ago.”