Page 134 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Emmeline focused on the reading, on the half of Valyrie in her seeing chamber. Power tumbled off the Angel, too much for even her almighty being to consume.

Images flickered in the mirrored dome again, the force of them crackling across Emmeline’s skin.

It was the conclusion of the tournament that had chosen Valyrie’s twelve Fates. Now that Emmeline knew that was what she was seeing, she picked it apart.

The Angel poured her magic into the last men and women standing, naming each of their Fately spectrums. The memory was as shattered as it had been the other night, the Angel’s magic too much to handle.

In her seeing chamber, Valyrie spoke, words bouncing off the glass. “Righteous constellations forged from fears. Eternal fortunes stronger than human foibles.”

Light and star-dusted ether snapped around her as Emmeline’s attention whipped back to the present.

In the arena, as the crowd fell to awed silence and shocked murmurs broke across the Chancellor’s box, the Angel held Emmeline’s eye.

“Are you all right?” Lola asked again, crouched next to her.

“I’m okay,” Emmeline gritted out.

Hands trembling and clammy, she gripped Lola’s arms and forced herself to her feet.

Only a moment had passed. Lightning still cleaved her vision, her skull throbbed, and magic screamed through her, but Emmeline kept her focus on the Angel.

On the lilac and silver ether that swirled around her wings, born of the stars itself. On her white feathers catching the pale light, translucent at the edges. On the power and might that rolled out from her with every breath.

Valyrie.

The first Starsearcher Warrior. The founder of their clan and creator of the Fates, commander of their ruthless ways.

The inventor of this tournament so many centuries ago.

In some ways, the reason they were in this Fatesdamned mess. Anger tore through her. Emmeline’s fingers curved into the snake bite scars on her thighs.

Every Fate she was tied to lifted their head, eleven age-old stars screaming down bone deep connections at the presence of their mistress, at the discovery of their origins, yelling out bits of fortunes for Emmeline to recover.

Valyrie looked at Emmeline with a curiosity that bit into her fury.

But Emmeline only lifted her chin higher and looked right back.

The arena and the remainder of the second trial descended into madness as Valyrie nodded at the Chancellor, then took to the air with a mighty flap of her wings. Dirt and ether swirled in her wake, stardust falling on the arena. Rocarri called for order, but the commands went unheard amid the stomping feet and cheers.

From what Emmeline understood, it wasn’t the first time many of Valyn’s citizens had seen the Angel—she’d been in the capital occasionally over the past few years—but they were no less mesmerized.

It fueled the hunger buzzing through the air—their dire need for power in a city that had been lacking structure, for revelry in a time that had been uncertain.

With Valyrie in the skies, Emmeline didn’t wait for Rocarri to tell them what to do. She shoved her magic down inside of herself, compressed it back in the vial she’d kept it corked in for years, and grabbed Lola’s hand. Vision still rimmed in white flames, the Fates rattling in her chest, they tore from the box.

Graves and Eston were on their heels, ever attentive. They shrouded them when Emmeline pulled Lola to the side of the corridor. Sunlight streamed through an exterior archway, dappling Lola’s cheeks and highlighting her shocked, pale complexion.

“Find Desmond.” Emmeline’s gaze flicked out the glassless arch, searching the skies.

“What? Why?”

“Find Des, please. Find him and Myrella and ensure Roremar is checked on,” she wheezed over the pressure still clamping her chest, the magic fighting to break from its cage. But her readings had been so volatile, and she needed control right now.

Roremar had been arrested.

The tournament had Fately stakes none of them had even thought to consider.

And the Angel was here.