Page 251 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

The rituals and the tournament were connected. One a research project, the other a means of harnessing the results.

If that was true, then the third trial involved more than conquering fears. He’d tethered them all to the ritual. It wasn’t over yet. It was building toward something. Building toward⁠—

As if in answer, the ground shuddered. A pulse of power ripped through the cave, so strong Roremar thought it went through the entire city.

Emmeline cried out, folding over in pain. A demolishing strength pulsed from her end of the bond, burning as bright as the heart of a star.

A second wave hit, and this time, as it nearly took Roremar to his knees along with Perry and Rian, he understood.

They’d moved the constellations when they’d accepted their Fatesworn bond tonight, and it had given Rocarri the key he needed for his rituals. And thanks to their Fatesworn bond, this was the largest attempt of all.

The final trial in the tournament…it was about breaking down their defenses to try to take advantage of the magic he’d primed in the poison task. It had all been building to the Chancellor’s final goal.

Not to fabricate another Fate.

Not to study their bond.

To create Fatesworn bonds.

Roremar feared what would remain of the competitors when it was over.

Another of Dryvius’s cool laughs rolled through the room on the heels of the blast.

“We should be thanking you, Emmeline,” the Fate said, watching them squirm. “So much of this wouldn’t have been possible without you. You tipped me off about what could finally return me to my body. Or should I thank Metrina for telling you to protect secrets and greed? I knew Serchus was a meddlesome fool—they all are. It is what we were trained to be. But I didn’t know what it would do exactly when I killed him. I thought perhaps it would harm Serchus across the realms, that I would finally see him suffer.” Dryvius waved a hand down his body. “This was better than anything I could have imagined. Got me out of that forsaken ring’s compression, too.”

Dryvius’s attention shifted to Emmeline’s necklace, her fingers curling around the blackened steel as she panted.

From the back of the cavern, Falliare cleared his throat. “Was it the Fatalium? Is that the resin imbued in the blackened steel?”

Roremar glared at his uncle as ripples of power washed through the chamber, but Dryvius’s wry laugh trickled on the air. “Why would I confirm that for you? I prefer letting you mortals spin your games.”

For different reasons, Roremar agreed with shutting Aldryn Falliare the fuck up.

“What if you hadn’t killed Nico?” Roremar asked Dryvius, panting over the words. Hunger burned through his blood with every answer, with every blank filled in. As much as he longed to lunge at the Fate now, to take him out with his bare hands, he needed to remedy those gaps. “What if you hadn’t gotten your body back and this—every life you took—was for nothing?”

“I did not need my body to get what I want,” Dryvius said, scoffing as if it was common sense. “Yours would have worked just fine. You would have killed a few more and ended with her.” His eyes sliced to Lola, who was staring daggers at the Fate despite her weak state.

The fucking Fate. That was who stood before them. The Fate of Chaos and Revelry, in all the glory of his name. Roremar had always known the Fates embodied their spectrums. Anphrosia birthed cruelty and adoration, Arenothos was wrought of wrath and redemption.

And here before them now, he finally understood how Dryvius worked. He had an end goal—one Roremar was desperate to learn and put a stop to—and every decision the Fate made in this city was to encourage the most chaotic paths to it.

He could have found all his Anphrosia ties so easily, people who didn’t have family or friends looking out for them. Could have killed them down here without alerting anyone.

But no. He displayed the Valyn victims on the face of the city’s largest temple, at the vineyard party, and in his sister’s own suite. All places that would be noticed.

And for his final act, he took the person who would hurt Roremar most.

The crashing waves of Rocarri’s rituals ebbed. Beside him, Emmeline straightened, shaking her head. Roremar could practically hear her mind racing, but he didn’t know what pieces she was collecting. His was still slower than usual.

“Why?” Emmeline blurted out. She spun her opal ring around her finger, and Roremar prayed to all the Fates but the one standing before them she was thinking up a way out of this. “Why were you killing women tied to Anphrosia in the first place?”

She phrased her questions precisely. To remind Dryvius how much they already knew and lead him pointedly toward the answers they didn’t. This Huntress was always so clever in the face of ruin, and he loved her even more for it when words failed him.

“That was a very fun thing to watch you all puzzle over,” Dryvius said.

Slime coated Roremar’s skin. “You were there for all of it.”

“I was trapped in your head, was I not?” He said it as if it was so obvious. A smiled crept back onto Dryvius’s lips. He straightened, taking lazy strides around the altar, his attention locked on Roremar. “I heard every thought you had, Heir of Chaos. Every false lead. Every miscalculated conclusion. Had I not wanted my body back, I do not think you ever would have realized.”