Page 253 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

But before he could snap at Dryvius, Desmond said, “It’s not a cult. Valyrie told us tonight. A Realmspinner isn’t a cult—it’s a rare magical being that can open the bridges between realms.”

“No,” Myrella exhaled, her shock stinging Roremar, making her appear so vulnerable. “I can’t—that’s not me. I’m not—that.”

Fates, this poor girl. First she’d lost Nico, and now she was accused of being this rare magical being? Of having a coveted power she’d never even known about?

Dress ruffling over the floor, Emmeline rushed to Myrella and tucked her arm around her. She was still wincing from whatever Rocarri’s ritual was doing above ground, but Roremar could tell she was fighting through it to defend her friend.

“It is you, little dreamer,” Desmond said softly as Emmeline walked Myrella back toward Roremar. “Valyrie figured it out. She can’t read Realmspinner magic, but she read other things about you and connected it. It’s why she sought me out tonight. She thought you’d be with me, and when you weren’t, she sent me to find you.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Myrella hissed. She bunched her hands in her skirt, taking trembling breaths.

Desmond’s gaze dropped to Lola. “Little busy. And I didn’t know the fucking Fate was involved.”

“Why were you looking for her?” Roremar directed the question at Dryvius, stepping in his line of sight to Myrella.

“You do not need to guard her. I already have what I need.” Dryvius laughed, waving them off as if their fury was the most hilarious thing he’d seen all day.

“You broke into their room at the tavern,” Emmeline accused. “You were looking for Myrella.”

Dryvius didn’t confirm, but he didn’t need to. Khasson had always been around, had likely seen Myrella with them, sensed whatever this Realmspinner magic was, and wanted to do some reconnaissance.

They’d thought it was his uncle, or someone he hired, looking for the imbued carving Desmond and Myrella bought at the sanctuary.

They’d been so fucking wrong. About all of this.

“As your Angelblessed friend said,” Dryvius explained, seeming overjoyed with their questions, “a Realmspinner holds the power to cleave open the bridges between realms. It is a power not even the gods wield, the Balance of Power gifting it to this one type of being to check them. However, the gods slew all Realmspinners many, many centuries ago. Or so they thought.” Dryvius shook his head mockingly. “That part of history is very chaotic, obscenely bloody, rewritten many times to please he who holds the pen. But what the gods didn’t know at the time is that Realmspinner magic is impossible to contain for good. It will find a new home.”

“You’re saying this magic reincarnates?” Rocarri asked. The glee in his voice made Roremar sick. He wanted him and his uncle gone now. He wanted everyone gone but him and Dryvius, but he had a feeling if anyone moved too quickly, the Fate would snap.

Impatience sent Roremar’s blood pounding.

“In a sense. It plays by a unique branch of rules, as dictated by the Balance.” Dryvius’s attention lit on Myrella. “I thought it would take me decades to track down one of you. You’re practically impossible to source. I had been researching for quite some time on Lyra. I figured with the Constellation Isles’ predestined proclivity for magic, it was a likely place for a Realmspinner to resurface, but you fell into my—well, Roremar’s—lap when Emmeline brought you in on their investigation.”

“You won’t touch her, Dryvius,” Emmeline seethed, the ferocity of eleven Fates lacing every word. The silver glowing in the Warder Mark flared, Roremar’s heart pounding with her fury.

“You act as if I haven’t already.”

Myrella whimpered, and Emmeline whipped toward her friend. “What happened?” she asked softly, reaching for her hand.

Roremar’s heart thudded with stark terror.

“I-I don’t know.” Myrella’s teeth chattered. “There are days I don’t remember. I was dizzy, tired. Some days are cloudy. I didn’t—I didn’t think anything…”

She grabbed her arm, as if an instinct, and Emmeline’s gaze followed the movement.

“That scar,” she whispered. Roremar wasn’t sure what she meant, but worry washed down the Fatesworn bond, a douse of cold water, followed by understanding. “Right before the second trial. You said you slept through it, but those days—after Roremar was attacked, we were all sequestered to the manor with our supposed illness, but you’d been at the apartment working on the scroll translation. And then you didn’t remember anything that happened with Valyrie’s arrival. You’ve been different since. More subdued. I thought you were grieving.”

Myrella nodded, tears gathering along her lashes. “I don’t remember any of those days.”

Her fear was so potent, it made Roremar shiver.

“What did you do to her?” Roremar snapped at Dryvius, not sure he really wanted the answer.

“I barely touched her. I just needed to extract a little of that Realmspinner magic.”

He wasn’t foolish enough to tell them where he’d hidden it. To flaunt it. No, while Dryvius thrived on chaos, he orchestrated it to his liking.

“And why are you here now?” Emmeline asked, clearly diverting attention away from Myrella as she processed this all. “Why this place?”