Page 21 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

They had the competitors, the secretive tasks they’d need to conquer, the enhancement of the city’s infrastructure for purpose, but they were lacking…

A prize.

Perry had mentioned land and wealth, but if the other contestants were from families like his, they didn’t need that. Why were they entering?

“At the conclusion of the tournament, we will host a grand closing parade in honor of our winner, who, I’m sure, will be a warrior of the highest valor and merit.” Wind whipped the hem of Rocarri’s cloak around his ankles, the chill biting at Emmeline’s skin. “Then, we can enter the new year together, as a clan with a bright direction for our future, and a symbol of hope among us!”

The crowd’s cheers paused briefly—only the beat of a wing—but the confused murmurs asked the same thing Emmeline wondered.

The fervor in the private box swelled. The hungry gleams cast her way transformed into sharpened teeth, scratching against her skin.

Magic pounded in her veins, voices screaming through her mind.

The thread in Emmeline’s chest tugged, a hook behind her navel, pulling her breath in tight, begging to whisk her from here.

Rocarri looked over his shoulder, gesturing Emmeline forward.

“What?” Alana whispered.

But Emmeline couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t speak because that missing piece was clicking into place, and horror washed through her.

“Many of you have heard the magnificent rumors of what occurred on an island northwest of Gallantia recently. So far, it has been only that—rumor. But I have before you today, the woman at the heart of that tale. And let me tell you, the stories you have heard do not do justice to the strength of her power. For she is blessed by not one”—he held up a tattooed finger dramatically, and the crowd stirred—“not two”—a second finger, and they roared—“but all eleven of the living Fates!”

Emmeline begged, screamed for any of those Fates to tell her she had the wrong conclusion.

That the Chancellor wasn’t about to say what she thought he was.

“As a way to bolster the Starsearcher clan, the victor of our tournament will be bonded to Emmeline DeLeoste.”

Chapter Eight

Emmeline

It wasn’t only Emmeline screaming for the Chancellor to take back those words, it was the very core of her Fate ties. Eleven voices protested, magic barreling down her veins and burning like pure starfire.

What did Rocarri mean she would be bonded to the victor? He couldn’t do that—he couldn’t offer her up like a piece of meat.

Emmeline’s jaw popped open to object, but a hand squeezed her wrist, right over the chain holding Roremar’s ring.

Alana.

Had she known? Was this the reason she’d been assigned to Emmeline? To ensure she didn’t dissent? From Alana’s shuttered expression, she couldn’t tell, but her walls slid up even higher than before.

And Emmeline stood there, stunned, every ounce of attention turned toward her.

More than ever—more than the many glamorous dinners in Rocarri’s manor—eyes were on her. Trained on her expression, her body, trying to peel out the magic the entire realm now knew lived beneath her skin. The magic she’d gone to lengths to hide for over twenty years.

Each set of eyes may as well have been a pair of claws sinking ownership into her.

“No,” she exhaled, the breath ragged.

No, she couldn’t be so on display.

Alana squeezed her wrist again, and Emmeline couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be comforting or threatening. The entire realm was tilting, more so with each word the Chancellor spoke, and Emmeline was already melting beneath the attention. She didn’t want to give them any more reason to talk, so she trained her gaze on the silver pennants whipping in the wind at the top of the arena. Expression neutral, posture relaxed, she presented an unflappable mask, as if she’d been in on Rocarri’s plan this entire time.

As if she was content to be the darling they proclaimed her to be and hadn’t just been told she was going to be forced to bond to a stranger.