Page 139 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

A love for chaos and revelry.

Emmeline’s throat thickened.

She knew Dryvius was interfering in the Races somehow. Was Balmour Rocarri the one working in the Fate’s favor? Were they working together? She’d thought it impossible there was another Fate tie to Dryvius out there, but perhaps she’d been mistaken.

“Your connection to the Reckless is strong, Miss DeLeoste.”

Emmeline swallowed all of those burning theories for later. “Is it so wrong to want to prove a man is innocent?”

“It is mystifying to do so with such fervor when there aren’t personal stakes involved. Unless you lied to me when Roremar was first brought here.”

“Roremar is nothing to me.” Her chest splintered in defiance, eleven Fates protesting. “I only met him when we were assigned to the murder case.” Her heart screamed. “I do not wish for an innocent man to be charged with a crime we both know he’s not guilty of.”

They were empty words, especially now that she’d so emphatically defended him. She knew Rocarri was aware she was lying, but she swore by her ruse.

Rocarri grinned, and it was a conniving, disturbing sort of smile that had Emmeline’s stomach flipping. How close was she to the influence of the Fate of Chaos and Revelry?

“Then I suggest you stop preaching of his innocence. After all, as you claimed, eleven Fate ties has not been seen before. How are we to know you don’t prove a threat, as well? How can we be certain your own magic has not driven you mad?”

Emmeline’s blood went cold at the cruelty in his words. At how easily he could spin a rumor to target her next. If he did, she’d never stand a chance of helping Roremar or finding her sister when this mess was over.

“I’m done here,” she said, taking the steps ahead of the City Guards. Graves followed, silently stewing, his clinking armor loud in the tense silence.

Rocarri called after her, “I think you’ll find the louder you scream, the less others will believe you.”

At the top of the stairs, Emmeline looked down at him. “I fear that is not a new plight to me, Chancellor.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Roremar

A Fatesdamned cell again.

He’d been dragged to a prison on the outskirts of the city this time. He hadn’t seen which district, but it was far from the arena. And from the barred window in his cell, Roremar could see the high city walls curving around the building, so they hadn’t taken him from Valyn.

Thank the Fates for that.

The rain had picked up shortly after they tossed him in here, and all he could think of as he watched it slip between the bars and sprinkle the grey stone floor was how Emmeline hated storms and how badly he wanted to comfort her now.

Roremar was starting to believe this was how he’d spend the rest of his days, which were certainly drawing shorter now that he was being accused of murder again. The same murders he’d already proved he wasn’t the decision-maker behind, except now, his Fate tie was…gone?

No. He was positive it wasn’t. Dryvius was still there, silent fucker he’d become, but for some reason, the poison hadn’t affected him.

And then he’d gone and thrown it all in the Chancellor’s fucking face.

Slumping to the floor, Roremar tried to distract himself by ripping up his tunic and rewrapping the wound to his side. He needed ointment for it, but he’d never be given that in here.

It throbbed each time he inhaled, the garish lines around it ebbing against his skin.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he grumbled.

Night fell quickly, and with every minute of pressing darkness, the walls of the stone cell closed tighter. The grief and blame he’d been trying to overcome followed.

All he heard was Rocarri’s accusation, punctured by Nico’s final, gargled breaths.

His father’s last words.

I didn’t do this, he insisted to himself when the memories melted together to drown him. When his lungs wanted to give out. When he thought jabbing his fingers into the wound at his side would hurt less.