Page 188 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Roremar tsked. “Violent, Huntress.”

Emmeline shrugged. “I don’t recall you having a problem with violence when you broke the Snake Charmer’s fingers for what he’d done to me.”

Roremar’s blood heated at the reminder. “Not a single problem with maiming anyone in either of these situations.” He forced himself to focus on the street and not how much he liked the idea of harming someone who hurt Emmeline. “It’s good you left a mark. It gives us something to look for. And you were on the roof before?”

“I was reading up there.” Her chin tilted to an apartment building, the top lined with potted plants.

Checking that the alley was empty, Roremar scaled the trellis, getting a look at the city from a different vantage point. Emmeline followed without question.

They weren’t high enough to see too far. Morning mist clung to the grey skies, giving the mystlight bulbs framing the signage a hazy effect. The sound of bakeries opening and delivery carts wheeling through the streets echoed from a few blocks over.

Nothing was unusual, though.

Roremar stalked the roof’s edge, searching for anything that would indicate why this street bore a symbol of the Warders of Selene. What the Fates wanted⁠—

His eyes dropped, and he halted. Roremar crouched, brushing his fingers over the identical sigil staining the roof. Like the one on the street, it wasn’t painted or carved. It simply existed, marking this spot.

“Em.”

She was at his side instantly. “What in the Fates?”

“I’m guessing this wasn’t here before?”

“Not that I recall.”

Nothing else about the rooftop was disturbed. Nothing that hinted this was a site of a murder or attempted kidnapping.

“I don’t think this was Dryvius—or whoever is recreating his rituals,” Roremar said. “It’s too discreet.”

Emmeline nodded in agreement. “After how the two bodies we know of were displayed, I believe it.”

“So, there’s a sigil in the spot you read, and on the street where you were nearly taken.”

“You think…” Emmeline’s gaze dropped to the winged symbol. “You think it’s me? That these symbols are following me now?”

Maybe they weren’t following Emmeline, but taunting her, claiming her…

Evidence clicked together in Roremar’s minded, blood chilling.

“I found a note in my bunk before the second trial. I thought it was Svalla messing with my head about winning the Races; it said he will have her. What if—” Emmeline gripped his arm. “What?”

“That was written on the temple with the body. To tempt the Fates and realms will wrest. He will have her.”

Roremar swore he stopped breathing.

The note wasn’t a reference to the tournament or someone claiming Emmeline. It was about the murders, and he never put it together because he’d brushed off the note as a stupid scare tactic. Plus, every time Desmond tried to force him to look at evidence from the scene, he turned it away. He’d never known those words were on the temple.

“Then whoever left that note isn’t a competitor threatening to win you in the tournament. It was the person recreating Dryvius’s rituals.”

The same person who attacked Emmeline. And they wanted⁠—

“And whoever’s killing…” Emmeline said, gaze dropping to the winged sigil. “They’re after me.”

Chapter Sixty-One

Roremar

Three days until the final trial.