Page 163 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“Emmeline,” Myrella gasped.

But before Emmeline could answer, eleven flashes of light flared in a circle around her, forming a wall of starfire between her and her friends.

“Myrella? Desmond?” Emmeline called.

“We’re still here,” Desmond’s deep voice answered.

“Emmeline,” Myrella called, “try to build the star map. Like we saw before.”

Emmeline reached out to their Fate ties again, grounding herself in the connections of everyone contributing in this joint reading.

Eleven faceless Fates hovered in starfire before her, their bodies more solid the longer they remained. They weren’t quite as whole as Serchus had been, but more so than usual. She had to be on the right track then.

Siphoning power from Starsearchers across the vineyard, Emmeline envisioned the constellations aligning above. One by one, the map was reforged.

Anphrosia, Arenothos, Aevollon, and Dryvius.

The serpent and shooting star that symbolized Falliare and Rocarri.

More came this time, too. Those stars that had beat on an invisible boundary swooshed across the skies, speeding to their places.

As everything gathered, the Fates’ words poured from the voids, jumbling together. Her skull ached, her brain threatening to split in half as she tried to figure out who was saying what.

This is unwise, a voice boomed.

She is unprecedented, another responded.

Serchus’s boyish laugh.

What is it you want, child?

Her. That question was for her. “I need answers. I need to know what Dryvius is doing, and how. And I need to figure out how to clear Roremar’s name. What Rocarri and Falliare are after.”

We cannot speak of Chaos and Revelry more than we already have, one Fate said.

“All you’ve said is that he’s still meddling,” Emmeline argued. Overhead, a mask formed in the stars beside the five-starred constellation that was Serchus’s Coin.

Brighter and brighter the mask glowed.

“Is it the lock and key? Is that what you want me to look closer at?”

Tension crawled across Emmeline’s shoulders, thickening with every passing second, and she had the distinct impression the Fates were speaking to one another.

More stars formed a rippling train in the sky, stopping at the center of her map. Connections stretched out to each Fate.

Beside that web, two triangular constellations, a symbol she knew.

The falls, Reignarria. We cannot divulge more, but you will find an answer in feathers and falls.

Feathers and falls. That rippling train of stars—it was a waterfall.

Emmeline pulled harder against every bit of magic she could grasp. The stars above vibrated with the force. The Fates’ voices exploded.

Star’s Reign and Star’s Ruin.

The Golden Forge.

A foretold death of bridges.