Page 13 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Well, it appeared she had a semblance of a place to begin her research. A bead of hope lit in her chest at the promise.

Light rain sprinkled the roof, and Emmeline sighed. She needed to head back to the First District, and she was pretty sure this street had a direct route, but the gaps between the buildings were wider than she felt like jumping after that session had wrung her dry.

Tugging her mask up over her mouth, Emmeline scaled the trellis against the building, her hands tangling in the thick vines. Her boots hit the street as silent as the jungle cats she used to prowl the isles with.

The impending storm sent a shiver up her spine, but Emmeline paused in the shadow of two buildings, head tipping toward the skies to collect herself. Cold drizzle flecked her face above her mask, but she forced herself to feel the rain instead of fear it, instead of allowing it to drag up the memories of the night her mother died.

Numerous constellations looked down on the city, but the twelve prime constellations were the brightest, faintly visible even during the day. The twelve that had been rearranged by her magic on Lyra.

Including Dryvius’s, the lone celestial being she wasn’t aligned to, whose constellation had been carved from the sky upon his execution thousands of years ago. Though she knew every other Starsearcher was cursing Roremar for its presence, she welcomed the connection to him.

It was a sign of what they’d endured together, a reminder that though everyone told her otherwise—though they all insisted he was a reckless, murderous threat—he was out there somewhere, reeling with the grief of what Dryvius had used him for.

And Emmeline would find him.

With the presence of the constellation warming her, Emmeline stepped out of the shadows.

But she’d barely moved when an arm latched around her waist.

Chapter Five

Emmeline

A sickly-sweet silk handkerchief pressed over her mask as that arm banded around her waist. Something familiar and floral clouded her mind. She knew the scent, but she couldn’t place it through the haze, could barely remember where she was.

Reflexively, Emmeline’s hand shot to the wrist of her attacker, pulling to keep them—him, based on the size and feel of his arm around her waist—from pressing it tighter against her face, drugged liquid seeping beneath her mask.

She held her breath to keep from inhaling any more of the venom and dug her nails into his forearm.

“Ah-ah, Fateblessed.” He tutted, snickering in her ear, but it wasn’t a laugh she recognized, at least not now. Not like this.

But from the way his voice curled around the word Fateblessed, he knew exactly who she was.

Desperation beating through her, Emmeline curved her nails in deeper, ripping down until he was bleeding. Maniacal laughter rolled from his chest into her spine as he relished the pain, his breath warming her neck.

The florals made her head spin, his amusement echoing in her ears.

“You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you?”

She couldn’t answer. Her tongue was thick, her limbs leaden, but she lifted her foot as best she could and slammed it down, driving her heel into the top of her attacker’s arch. Though his boots were thick, he grunted, clever insults and more strained laughter spilling from clenched teeth.

Down the way, the door of Angel Brew opened, music and cheers wafting over the cobblestones.

Footsteps. Those were footsteps, right? They grew fainter, though, pattering away as her attacker pulled her back against the apartment building, deeper into the shadows.

Emmeline’s vision was hazy. Magic swarmed her mind, the readings drenched in longing and tears and crazed glee, but she was lucid enough to know she shouldn’t let this man get her somewhere dark. Somewhere others wouldn’t be able to see them.

The tavern. She needed to get closer to the tavern. Into those warm pools of mystlight spilling across the stones—pools that rippled as the lanterns swung out front.

Emmeline shoved an elbow into the man’s gut. It was a weak attempt, but it surprised him enough that his body curved forward. She used what strength she retained to brace her stance, twisting to send his cloaked form stumbling around her.

And all the while she kept those nails digging into his skin. Ensured his blood continued to spill. As he steadied himself, he ripped his arm from her grasp, flesh tearing. Her exhale was the only satisfaction she could show as she scraped out long claw marks, deep enough to scar.

The cloth fell from her face as he staggered back a step.

Emmeline shoved aside her mask, gulped down clean air, and screamed.

Or she tried to.