Page 145 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“It is not always that easy to bend fate. Trust me, Emmeline. I have tried many a time.”

Meaning even if she did stop Rocarri, the fortune that was written would still occur. These men would die. Roremar would die. And Emmeline would be bonded to another.

Unless she changed Fate herself.

Valyrie looked back at the city, starry eyes tracing the patterns of the winding streets. “I cannot read anything of your fortune nor the Reckless’s, but I have lived a great many years, and I have learned this: Do not push away those whom you truly love. It will only result in your own suffering in the end.”

“That’s fine,” Emmeline deadpanned. “So long as it’s not his, that’s fine.”

Valyrie looked at her in a way that made Emmeline feel translucent. “And if the two are so entwined?”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Desmond

“Are you seeing who I’m seeing, Lols?” Desmond asked.

“High enough that you can’t see?” Lola teased as she twirled a roll between her fingers, smoke gently spiraling from the lit end.

They’d been in this cigar den, Smoker’s Star, for two hours already. The city was in disarray after Valyrie’s arrival, everyone either using it as an excuse to get heinously drunk and high or rushing to a temple to pray to the Angel.

Rocarri had disappeared to a back room with his friends, so Desmond and Lola had perched at a pair of high seats lining the wisteria-trimmed front windows. Shimmering teal curtains dangling with silver beads cast colorful pools of mystlights over the chipped wooden tabletop extending from the brick wall.

With only one exit in and out, they would see Rocarri if he left. The Chancellor, though, wasn’t who had caught Desmond’s eye.

“Absolutely falling asleep,” Desmond joked. “No, look.”

He nudged her chin, turning her gaze to the street.

Aldryn Falliare was stepping out of the unmarked establishment across the way, and though the Temple Master looked right at home in this affluent area of the city, the quick flick up of his hood and sharp steps down the street was anything but natural.

Lola stiffened, blue eyes snapping to Desmond. “Follow him.”

“We have to watch⁠—”

“I’ll stay here. You go after him.”

“No.”

“Desmond.” Lola’s mouth set in that stubborn way that both antagonized and frustrated him.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he said, leaning closer, his arm draped across the back of her chair.

Lola swallowed at his proximity. “Eston is waiting outside.”

“Great. Doesn’t change my answer.”

“Desmond, please.” Her eyes softened—his weakness. It made him want to lean closer, taste every secret off her lips like he’d never been able to. As if hearing that thought, Lola cleared her throat, shifting back. “We need to know what my uncle is doing. I promise I won’t go anywhere other than this seat, or back to the manor escorted by Eston. But you need to hurry before he gets too far.”

Desmond groaned, but she was right. Before he could second guess it, he was fastening his own cloak and tugging the hood up. “Fine, but if you see Myrella, tell her I’ll meet her there to walk her home.”

Not that he thought Lola would, given Myrella had been back at the apartment last he checked, but it gave him an excuse to stop by the manor.

With an affirmative nod and a shove, Lola sent him out the door. Desmond spared Eston one threatening glare, then he left, chasing Aldryn Falliare through the capital once again, and he had to question how Temple Master stalker had become his role.

Desmond spent the entire time he tracked Falliare to the outskirts of Valyn trying to map the stars. At the last ritual, the cloaked men had been talking about alignments and having the right positions and coordinates.

From what Desmond could make out, the twelve major Fate constellations were still a bright halo overhead, ever since Emmeline had spun them around.