Page 232 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“I’m done hiding.”

This city and its rulers had tried to turn her into a shell of herself, so she’d tucked her strength away. She’d fought from within their walls, and they’d called her unsound.

They’d pushed and pushed her—taken and taken. They’d stripped her of so much, she had nothing left to hide. And only reasons to fight.

Bracing her feet in the wet earth, Emmeline gripped her dagger tighter, picking apart the grey trees through the drizzle, the unkempt grass rustling in the breeze.

Water droplets flecked her bare arms as the footsteps grew louder up the path, slicked the handle of her dagger, but she didn’t retreat. Their pursuers drew closer, and she recognized the cadence. Not footsteps—horses. Two of them, if she heard correctly.

Shadows loomed up the path.

She ripped her arm back, prepared to aim high enough not to hit the animal, and was about to let it fly when⁠—

“I thought we were past this,” Desmond called as he tore into the clearing, ducking low to his mare’s back.

Myrella panted, “Oh, thank Artrinias it’s you.”

“Desmond,” Emmeline gasped, dropping her weapon. Her blood was still pounding with anticipation as he and Eston slid off their horses. “What’s happened? Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” he repeated. “You’re supposed to be at the arena.”

Myrella immediately spilled, like Desmond’s arrival released all the questions she’d been boarding up. “We were, but Emmeline thinks she figured out where Dryvius took Lola, and it involves going underground into those crypts she and Roremar found. We snuck away—well, it wasn’t exactly sneaking as it was fleeing. Rocarri’s guards came after us but Cyren—the General, you remember—and Graves jumped in to defend us. We don’t know what’s happened to them, but they told us to go quickly. Fates, I hope they’re okay.”

Desmond soothed, “Take a breath, little dreamer.”

Myrella hiccupped, her eyes overflowing with worry. The rain picked up, steadily slicking her hair to her face, and Desmond studied her with thoughtful wariness.

“Graves stayed to defend you?” Eston asked, face ashen.

“He did,” Emmeline confirmed with a tightlipped nod. Her magic was still pounding through her entire body, eager to get moving. “If you want to go check on him, you may. We won’t tell anyone why you weren’t there or that you were helping us.”

Eston looked between them all. “No. Graves would only call me a cowardly ass if I left. He’d tell me I can be more proactive doing my job. At this point, whatever’s happened”—he swallowed—“has happened. I’m with you.”

Desmond looked reluctantly impressed by that, and Emmeline couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired between them since she left them earlier. Maybe they were getting along better for Lola’s sake.

“How did you find this place?” she asked, leading them all under the cover of the mausoleum. Rain pattered against stone, picking up fast.

Following, Desmond said, “Valyrie showed us.”

“Valyrie?” Emmeline repeated.

She scanned the skies, as if the Angel would drop from them, but Desmond said, “She has no Fatesforsaken clue what Dryvius is doing, but she thinks this is the place to be.”

“Where is she?”

Desmond glowered. “She also said she couldn’t interfere.”

“She said a lot of other fucking weird stuff,” Eston added beneath his breath.

Desmond cracked his tattooed knuckles, looking like he was resisting throwing a punch. Perhaps not as much had changed between them as Emmeline had thought.

“We’ll deal with the rest of it later,” Desmond told Eston with a slicing glare. The guard shut his mouth.

Emmeline waved their drama off. They didn’t have time for it.

“We need to hurry,” she said, turning and shoving all her weight against the door to the mausoleum. “Des, help me with this.”

The wood scraped over the ground, disturbing the dirt and brush Roremar had so carefully replaced last time they were here. Emmeline eyed the wings carved into the stone surrounding Valyrie.