Page 220 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

She wouldn’t forget what she stood for. And that was why she looked at Myrella and said, “Positive.”

And then, in her wine-red gown, tiny rubies glinting where they studded the bodice’s full skirt, Emmeline strode into Balmour Rocarri’s box.

Voices clucked as she entered, as one by one heads turned. Some muttered about her sanity and other’s questioned how she’d challenge the Chancellor now. But they all fell into a hush as they realized what she was wearing, the image she was painting.

Who this dress was representing.

She’d tried to get them to listen to her before, tried to prove to them that Roremar was innocent, tried to fight for him from beneath them.

No more.

Tonight, Emmeline would make them listen. She would announce her claim on the man they tried to rip her away from again and again. She’d do so proudly, before the entire city that wanted to devour her value.

And she’d do so without even uttering a word.

Emmeline kept her chin high as she walked to the edge of the platform. Silver pennants slapped in the breeze, and twelve constellations spun in a dark navy sky, shining down on her.

She scanned the crowd, finding the fanatics waving crimson flags. She no longer cared why they supported Roremar.

Only that they did.

And that they’d back him now.

Emmeline lifted a hand to them, and they roared, chanting the name of their competitor with a fervor that outshone the masses gathered in the ancient stone arena.

Then, Emmeline turned back to the box, to the esteemed individuals responsible for this entire tournament, and she waited for one of them to dare criticize her.

Cyren smiled subtly from the second row, a few other lips tipping up, but Rocarri⁠—

From behind the podium, the Chancellor glowered.

“I don’t recall that dress being in your chamber,” he commented.

“I don’t suppose you would.” Most everything he’d gifted her in that dressing chamber was in the colors of this city. The pale blues, silvers, and lilacs that made her look delicate and malleable, slotting right into their vision of who she should be. That made it so much easier for them to see her not as a person, but as a prop.

But this…the wine red with deep purples tinting the very edges of the skirt, the glittering rubies that spoke of luxury, the sheer, strapless bodice and slits up the thigh that said untamed, and the dark liner around her eyes that said decadent…

Her appearance was entirely Chaos and Revelry.

This was a pledge of her loyalty, made before Rocarri, his advisors, and the Fates themselves.

This was Emmeline declaring the truths of her heart that Valyn had tried to convince her she didn’t belong to.

This was her choosing Roremar, her Fatesworn, no matter who stood between them, it was her telling the stars she claimed him across all the realms, and it was her vow to love him, broken, scarred, and all.

And with those promises ringing through her, Emmeline smiled at the Chancellor. “I thought it was time I showed everyone where my true allegiance lies.”

This time, instead of Lola, it was Myrella clutching Emmeline’s hand as the crowd cheered for Rocarri when he stepped to the horn to call the night to order. Beneath their breath, they tried to work out the pieces of this puzzle.

“Why did Dryvius say midnight?” Emmeline asked as Rocarri waved a hand and started his introduction.

Overhead, the twelve constellations spun, each shift pulling at her magic, setting her more on edge.

“A lot of the other disappearances happened overnight. It’s possible midnight was always the killing hour,” Myrella suggested.

Emmeline ticked back through each death on Lyra. “There’s at least one that we know occurred after midnight because she’d been on shift at the Mezzanine before she was killed.”

Myrella hummed as she thought.