Page 197 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“Because you can trust me, Emmeline.” Cyren’s lips pressed together. “And because I’ve seen enough battles in my day to recognize a good cause. I wanted you to have a chance.”

“Where did you get the scroll from?”

Cyren smiled. “A friend.”

Something bloomed behind Emmeline’s ribs. She wasn’t entirely sure what to call it, but it almost felt like kinship.

Heartbeat pounding, Emmeline tucked the ledger against her chest.

“I may need to go a little further than two decades,” she admitted.

“Is there someone specific you’re looking for?” Cyren asked.

The words stuck in her throat. She desperately didn’t want to bring anyone else into this, but Cyren had been helping her for weeks without her even knowing. If she was selective, perhaps this could work.

“My sister,” Emmeline breathed. Cyren waited quietly, as if they could tell how difficult every word was, how many stitches she had to rip up for each. “She was taken when we were young. I don’t know what happened to her. Truthfully, I doubt I should try to find her with all the threats surrounding me, but I want to know if she’s okay.”

If she’s alive.

There was a frightfully high chance she wasn’t, but if that was the case, Emmeline would find out. Visit her grave with their mother’s ring and set it atop an unmarked tombstone.

“Your sister,” Cyren said, studying her. “No name?”

Emmeline shook her head. “No name.”

That was too much. If Cyren was swayed easily to give up information, a name was too direct of a link.

“City?”

“Near Lumin,” Emmeline said.

“Lumin,” they repeated, blinking a few times. “I’ll see what I can find.”

They swept around her toward the door, cloak flaring behind them. Hand on the knob, Cyren paused and looked at Emmeline, brow creasing.

“Have you been to the east wing?”

Emmeline mapped out the manor in her memory. A few times from what she recalled, as well as when she’d broken into Rocarri’s office, but she didn’t need to give the General details.

She nodded.

“I suggest you pay it another visit.” Cyren looked toward the balcony doors, the setting sun beyond. “There are hours yet until tonight’s event. If you go soon you’ll have plenty of time.”

“And what will I find there?”

“I don’t know,” Cyren admitted. “Perhaps nothing. But perhaps something revelatory.” With a wave, they left, the door thudding softly shut in their wake.

Emmeline’s skin prickled like starfire crackled beneath it. She clutched the ledger to her chest and studied the scroll on the table. Pressure constricted her throat, time ticking down to help Roremar, to uncover some sort of answer about her sister, to find Dryvius somewhere in this damned city before he killed again.

The weight of it all balanced with the sensation of freedom that came with revealing one tiny piece to Cyren, like wings unfurled in her chest.

It was so frustrating what this city had done to her. How they’d kept her from her personal goals. Ever since Wisteria Falls with Roremar, after pouring out their secrets, her patience was running thin.

And as much as she hated the idea, Emmeline knew there was someone else she could ask. At least for one piece of information. Someone who had made it very clear to her and Roremar that he knew something about the Averian.

Her vision drifted to the Mystique ink on the writing desk, its deep onyx jar a beacon. A sheen of slime coated her skin. Her scars twinged, cries lodging in her throat.

But it was time. Time to stop hiding from men like Rocarri, from the strength of her magic, from her past. Emboldened by the step she’d taken with Cyren, Emmeline strode to the writing desk and grabbed a piece of parchment.