Page 189 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Three days until twelve of the thirteen remaining competitors could die.

Three days until Emmeline would be given to the victor, if whoever was threatening her didn’t get to her first.

Roremar, unfortunately, couldn’t be at her side at all times. But since they’d realized the meaning of those threats yesterday morning, she hadn’t left the manor alone. This meeting was the first free time any of them even had with all of Rocarri’s events, and Emmeline’s personal guards were outside the door.

There hadn’t been anyone watching his cell since Rocarri came to taunt him, though Roremar couldn’t figure out why, but it made getting here easier.

“During the joint reading at the vineyard party, they said falls and feathers,” Emmeline reminded the group as they stood in a receiving chamber in the Council House with Desmond, Lola, Myrella, and, to some of their hesitation, Perry.

Roremar had been the one to suggest he be invited, and Emmeline agreed. If he was Rocarri’s plant in the Races, Roremar wanted to see what he’d let slip. He’d seemed so eager to help the other night, and didn’t appear to be the Chancellor’s biggest fan, but they weren’t sure what to make of him.

Emmeline went on, “We visited the falls. And she speaks Endasi, so even if this isn’t what the reading meant, she can help us with the third trial.”

“I still can’t believe you executed that vineyard scheme without anyone noticing,” Perry said, impressed. He leaned against a wooden writing table set between two pillars.

Twelve stone columns wrapped the circular room, and between each sat a different small desk, marble bench, or sculpture before a window or painting. It was a rare sunny day in Valyn, light streaming through the glass and dappling the tiled floors.

Desmond and Lola were studying the art, bickering beneath their breath, and Myrella gazed out a window overlooking the busy streets of the First District. She’d been awfully quiet lately, and guilt scratched at Roremar’s throat as he tried and failed once again to figure out what to say to her.

Instead, he joined Emmeline and Perry. “I agree.”

“Underestimating me?” Emmeline asked, hiking a brow from her seat on the marble bench a few feet away.

“Never.”

Her cheeks flushed, the sight sending a shot of victory through Roremar’s veins, but she looked away. “I think Starsearchers likely noticed something was different about their readings, but they’d never guess what. I hope it was worth it.”

“Do you truly think she’ll answer your letter?” Myrella’s fingers twisted in the butter yellow sleeves of her dress.

“She’s intrigued with Emmeline. She will,” Roremar said.

No sooner had he said it than a thud sounded on the terrace, and the doors flew open on a breeze shimmering with lilac ether. Valyrie entered gracefully, lavender gossamer gown billowing around her. On the balcony, looking in the door with pitch dark eyes⁠—

“Holy fucking Fates,” Desmond swore with a whistle.

A gryphon, white as moonlight with feathered wings tipped in silver, blinked at them.

Valyrie hummed contentedly as if nothing was out of the ordinary and shut the glass doors behind her. Desmond continued to stare at the beast, but Roremar shifted his attention to the Angel.

Exactly as it had during her cataclysmic crash into the arena, her very presence ebbed across the artfully tiled floors. It wasn’t visible, but something that trickled along Roremar’s skin, that made the mystlights gleam brighter. From the way everyone straightened before bowing, Roremar was certain it called to the magic tying Starsearchers to the Fates.

Emmeline stood, stepping forward when Valyrie stopped in the center of the room. “Prime Warrior.”

Valyrie offered a kind nod, silver hair rippling with the motion. “Emmeline.”

The Angel looked around the room, and Roremar had the distinct impression she knew each of their names and personal facets of their magic, though she didn’t say anything. Her stare lingered on him the longest, turning hazy for a brief moment, and he recalled Emmeline explaining Valyrie couldn’t read definitively of either of their futures.

A shiver worked down his spine.

“Thank you for answering the request,” Emmeline said.

“It sounds like a pressing matter.” Valyrie folded her hands before her. With the light beaming down from above, she looked for all the realms like she was a statue carved to perfectly fit this space. “What may I answer exactly?”

Emmeline fidgeted, the only tell that admitting any of this to the Angel and asking for help made her uncomfortable, but they’d all agreed Valyrie was the best tool at their disposal.

“Two nights ago, I spoke with Serchus, and there’s more we need to clarify.”

“You spoke with the Fate of Secrets and Greed?” Valyrie asked.