Page 252 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Fates, before Nico, Dryvius had been there for every day with his family. Every moment with Emmeline.

Roremar was betrayed by his own mind again.

He was going to be sick.

“And you were right about something,” Dryvius said. Pausing, he brushed his long silky hair over his shoulder and gazed up at the veiled Fate monument in line with the others. His eyes shone with worship. “The Fate of Cruelty and Adoration is at the heart of this. As she is at the heart of everything worthwhile.”

“Fates, you are in love with her,” Roremar grumbled at the infatuation rolling off Dryvius’s tongue.

“Is every Angelsdamned Fate in love with Anphrosia?” Desmond grunted. First Arenothos and Aevollon, now Dryvius, too.

The Fate chuckled. “You are so much like him, Angelblessed.”

Desmond growled at the name, though Roremar wasn’t sure which him the Fate was referring to.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roremar saw Rocarri straighten on the outskirts of the confrontation. His hand fisted against the marble plinth.

“It is a complex history,” Dryvius went on, pulling their attention back to his relationship with Anphrosia. And despite his easygoing, carefree nature, for a brief moment, his full lips twisted into a sneer.

“You want revenge,” Emmeline guessed. “It’s not love, it’s vengeance.”

“As I said,” Dryvius repeated. “It is complex.”

“But how does any of this help that? Anphrosia isn’t here,” Emmeline said. “She’s in the Fate Realm. I’ve spoken to her recently, and the bond is as normal as ever.”

“Mine, too,” Lola said hoarsely, hands tightening on the sharp stone corner of the altar.

“Mine, three,” Perry interjected.

Roremar balked. He’d never known Perry’s Fate tie.

There was so much about Perry he hadn’t bothered to find out, never fully trusting him, and yet he wasn’t the one who had been masquerading as his ally. If anything, hatred burned in Perry’s eyes as he sneered at Dryvius, the betrayal blatant. Of them all, he’d been the closest with Khasson.

Dryvius gave them all an approving nod as they laid out the pieces, all his little puppets performing their show as he’d orchestrated. That’s all they were to him. Ironic, given that Khasson had been the one to encourage Roremar to stop acting like a pawn for the Chancellor.

Just another way to sew more discord. More entertainment for him while he ruined Roremar’s life.

Fates, he’d even brought Roremar red wine when he visited him in his cell. He’d been taunting him right out in the open, so on display, no one would think twice.

“You are all correct. Anphrosia is not in this realm, and that is why I needed you.”

Dryvius’s attention didn’t land on Roremar or Lola.

It didn’t even land on Emmeline.

His elated stare looked past all of them—all the way to the back of the chamber, in the mouth of the tunnel, beyond all the monuments and the Warder Mark shining silver in the stone floor. Past Perry, Rian, and Eston.

To Myrella.

And Dryvius’s lips curled into that feline smile as he said, “Realmspinner.”

Chapter Eighty-Four

Roremar

“Realmspinner?” Emmeline gasped. “Like the cult?”

Myrella shook her head, frame still trembling violently. “No. I-I don’t know what he’s talking about. I swear.” Her eyes were so wide, so horrified, and it triggered every one of Roremar’s protective reactions.