Page 183 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Emmeline stiffened, but she didn’t address Perry.

“This is how Rocarri operates,” she said to Roremar. “He wants them here to keep you in line, the same way he’s used you to control me.”

“Used you?” his mother asked.

Roremar’s gaze flashed to Leo, uncertain how much he wanted to shatter his youngest brother’s naivety. But Leo’s expression was impassive. Lola scooted closer to him, tucking her blanket around them both.

Roremar sighed. “The tournament is a death trap. The first task had sixty competitors, and only half survived. The second saw seventeen more dead. Thirteen of us remain.”

Color leeched from his mother’s face, a thick silence descending.

Leo, hands fisted atop his knees, finally broke it. “So, you’re going to die, too?”

“No,” Emmeline said immediately.

Fuck, Roremar’s heart shattered at Leo’s words. “The Chancellor entered me into this because…” He thought about what Rocarri claimed when he visited him in his cell. If you still think I want you dead, you aren’t as smart as you seem, Reckless. Roremar blew out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why. But he’s too cowardly to kill me himself. He thinks with how strong my tie to Dryvius is, it would upset the Fates.”

“Pussy,” Perry whispered. His eyes flashed to Roremar’s mother and widened. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

“It’s not untrue,” she said. Roremar pursed his lips at his mother’s unexpected—improper—response, but she looked him right in the eye and, as if needing to say it herself to understand, repeated, “This man is threatening you.”

Hearing those words cracked the lock Roremar had shoved his emotions behind for this conversation. His mother’s hands trembled. She’d lost her husband, had lost a son, and now this.

“I’m not letting him win,” Roremar swore.

Finding Lola’s eye, he knew she was thinking of their conversation, too. She nodded, scrubbing a tear from her cheek with the heel of her palm.

We’d only be grieving another brother.

A stifled sniffle sounded. Leo had his face turned to his shoulder, subtly wiping his cheek there, pretending to be entirely unaffected.

“Leo,” Roremar said, but his sheepish brother ignored him, clearly not wanting attention right now.

Roremar’s mother folded her hands in her lap and looked around at all of them. “There’s one more trial in this competition, correct?”

“It’s in four days,” Lola said. “There’re other events before then. Temple ceremonies later today, sparring competitions, an opera attendance for all the Chancellor’s guests.”

“Including us,” Emmeline groused.

“We’ve been told very little about what to expect in the third trial,” Perry added. “The first was brawn, the second brains…”

“Actually,” Emmeline said, sitting up straighter. “During the second trial, I started to think of them differently. Valyrie required more of her victors than the average warrior.”

Roremar could tell she was choosing her words carefully, not wanting to reveal to everyone in the room what they’d learned about the Angel’s creation of the Fates.

That they feared Balmour Rocarri was trying to create his own Fate now, too.

“She would have tested them beyond simple brawn and brains.” Emmeline bit her lip as she thought. “I think the first trial was about sacrifice. She was stripping them of their morals.” To forge them into the Fates. “And the second wasn’t typical poison. It bonded them to her. Gave her a piece of each of them. A magical focus, which is why Rocarri targeted your Fate ties.”

Partially true. He also was testing them for his own sick use.

Roremar watched Perry closely as Emmeline spoke, looked for any fidgeting, aversion. Any indication that Perry was in the Chancellor’s pocket and knew exactly what Rocarri’s motive was for hosting the Races.

He was entirely collected. Either Perry was a very good liar, or he wasn’t the competitor working with Rocarri. Roremar didn’t know which was worse.

“How do you know all this?” Perry asked, eyes narrowed on Emmeline.

“Eleven Fate ties,” was the only explanation she gave.