Page 222 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Her magic was so attuned to Fately power, especially these recent weeks, she was certain if Dryvius did something final to Anphrosia using her Fate ties, she’d feel it.

Lola was still alive.

For now.

She forced herself to split her focus, listening to Rocarri’s speech for further clues about what Roremar might be facing. Maybe she could help him through their Fatesworn bond.

“The competitors have been distributed to various points around the city, and each will have to conquer something personal. The first task was physical strength, the second mental and magical agility, the third will be a culmination that proves the heart of who they truly are and who their magic makes them.” The smile in his voice was sinister, but the crowd only cheered louder. “If we are lucky, we will see something truly magnificent occur.”

Rocarri raised his hands to the skies as if he was responsible for the stars above, their silver glow cracking across the arena like lightning strikes.

But Emmeline’s mind was stuck on one thing the Chancellor had said: The competitors had been distributed to various points around the city.

Emmeline envisioned the map of Valyn in her mind, its circular walls and sprawling vineyards. When she’d been in Valyrie’s seeing chamber, the reading had pulled her back, given her a bird’s-eye view of the capital. It spotlighted where she’d stood, beneath the ground, both her and the Angel occupying that space thousands of years apart.

A handful of places scattered around the districts like its own constellation.

And—

A towering room, with monuments and silver etchings on the floor. Where a shadowed figure prepared an altar⁠—

“Oh my Fates,” Emmeline gasped beneath her breath.

“What?” Myrella hissed. “Do you know where the competitors are?”

“No,” Emmeline whispered. “No, it’s not Roremar. But I think I know where Dryvius took Lola.”

Her gaze slashed to Rocarri, who was still talking boastfully into his horn, then to Graves who stood by the door.

“We need to get out of here. We might be able to find her before it’s too late.”

Myrella rolled her lips together, reminding her, “If we go, we won’t be able to get clues about the trial.”

Emmeline’s eyes slipped closed, her fingers curving around Roremar’s ring. She felt it deep inside her, where the Fatesworn bond had lived dormant for so long. Where she’d stuffed it as soon as she started to realize what it was, where she had to keep it now if she wanted to survive what came next.

Because she loved Roremar, he was the second half of her soul, and his greatest treasure in life was his siblings.

If she knew of a way to help Lola, she had to do it. For him.

Even if it risked his life in turn.

“I know,” Emmeline whispered, forcing the words past the thickness in her throat. “I know, but it’s what he would want. I need to believe that he’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Myrella agreed, so trusting of her. “What’s the plan?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have time for much of one.” Emmeline’s gaze flicked across the group, landing first on Cyren, who was already watching her curiously. Emmeline looked from the General to the door.

Cyren tilted their head.

Emmeline nodded, a silent plea to help.

Slowly pulling a dagger through the slit in her skirt, Emmeline whispered, “Run.”

As soon as they broke for the door, all heads whipped their way. Rocarri paused, one of his personal guards surging after Emmeline and Myrella as they bound into the corridor. Turning as she ran, she launched her dagger at him.

It landed firmly in his shoulder, and she had to thank Rocarri’s vain decision that tonight’s ceremonial garb didn’t require bulky armor.

But she wasn’t relieved for long. Another guard lunged after them.