Page 120 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Desmond lifted his brows.

“For the restlessness.”

He took them, something in his chest threatening to combust at her recalling the tick he’d had since he was a kid. “Thanks, Lols.”

Picking up one of the research books from the floor, she climbed onto the enormous bed and crossed her legs. “I remember, too, Desmond.”

That sheepish smile was back, and melt him in Arenothos’s forge, it was the best sight he’d seen in four years.

“Tell me about the job, then we can work on the trial.”

He flipped open the journal, doing his best not to pry at her sketches on the first few pages. Settling on a blank sheet, he dragged the charcoal across the smooth surface, sketching his favorite subject. As if he hadn’t been drawing her from memory for years, faceless portraits hanging all over Fated Ink.

For the next few hours, Lola told him everything as she made notes about poisons. Her favorite paintings she’d featured in the galleries in Oriana. The ones of her own she’d sold while working there and the techniques she’d learned from the highest masters of their craft in Starsearcher Territory. The variety of art in the museums in Valyn, but how no place she’d visited valued artistry quite like the Constellation Isles.

She told him the stories behind a few of the pieces hanging on her walls and emphatically explained what attracted her to each. It was when she was getting to the canvas with two constellations breaking and bleeding across the sky that a commotion echoed through the neighboring wall. Glass broke, and a male voice grunted in agony.

A very familiar male voice.

Desmond’s eyes found Lola’s, the light from her artwork fading fast as she said, “Was that…”

“Sure was, sweetheart. And what in the fucking realms is your brother doing here?”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Emmeline

Emmeline barely held it together as she got Roremar into her room at the Chancellor’s manor. They’d had to ride here and evade the guards patrolling the grounds, all while he could barely hold himself upright. Luckily, as if the Fates had orchestrated this for her, Graves wasn’t waiting outside her door.

She dragged Roremar toward her bed, bumping into the dresser and sending a lantern shattering to the ground. Roremar groaned, his blood flowing steadily.

It wasn’t stopping.

Why wasn’t it stopping?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her throat cracking. “We’re almost there, Roremar. I need to get you on the bed. Please stay with me. Please. I need you.”

She didn’t know if he heard her desperate confessions as she laid him down, crimson stark against her ivory bedding. Coating her gown, rain and dirt mixing with it.

Roremar groaned again as she shifted him onto the pillow, louder this time.

“Shh,” she soothed. “You’re okay.” Her voice cracked, tears threatening to overflow as she took in his grimace, the sweat coating his face. “You’re going to be okay.”

The door flew open, and Emmeline spun, kneeling on the bed before Roremar and reaching for the dagger she kept beneath her pillow. But she froze when Lola and Desmond appeared in the frame.

She knew she looked crazed—hair soaked from the rain, cloaks abandoned on the floor, and blood, so much blood everywhere—but all she could force out was a whimpered, “Help.”

Lola and Desmond jolted into action, shutting the door and racing to her side.

“What happened?” Lola asked as she rolled her sleeves up, feeling her brother’s pulse.

“We were attacked. Someone followed us into underground catacombs, and we thought they were gone, but when we were leaving the graveyard, we got jumped.” Emmeline’s hands fluttered over Roremar’s chest, finally ripping a tear down the center of his tunic. He groaned as the material pressed into his skin, veins standing out in his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Emmeline whimpered again.

“He’s conscious,” Desmond rushed out as Lola disappeared into the bathing chamber to get fresh towels and a bowl of water. “That’s good—woah.” His words broke off when the garish slice to Roremar’s side came into view. But it wasn’t only the stab wound—it was the blue-black lines that webbed out from it.

“What the fuck is that?” Desmond breathed.