Page 28 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

And he didn’t want to be the cause of his worry.

“No.” Roremar shook his head, the word sounding weird over the feeling in his chest.

His father gave him that look that always got the kids to tell the truth. The only one it didn’t work on was his sister—his father’s Angel was immune. But it made Roremar cave every time.

“Yes,” he admitted, gaze dropping back to the rolling waves. “I don’t understand why it’s me. Just me.”

Deacon pressed his hand to Roremar’s shoulder, squeezing once, and Roremar looked at his father. “It’s okay to be scared of what you don’t yet understand. Being scared means you’re smart enough to know there are things in the world that are bigger than you and things you love enough to want to hold on to. But being brave? Being brave means facing what you’re afraid of, and that’s what you’ve been doing every day we try to find answers for this unexpected magic.”

“It doesn’t feel like magic,” Roremar grumbled, his dark hair flopping over his eyes. “It feels like a dirty secret. Everyone at the Academy loves their Fate ties. I have to hide mine.”

“I know it’s not fair.” His father squeezed his shoulder again, and Roremar felt his chest unknotting, his father’s words chasing off the fearful chill. “Just because you hide it doesn’t make it dirty. Remember, things are rarely black and white. None of us are entirely bad or entirely good, and the Fate you’re tied to doesn’t determine who you are, despite their influence over your magic. Now, hold out your hand.”

Roremar did as he was told, and his father placed a cool metal object in his palm.

“What is it?” Roremar asked, holding it up so the sun glinted off the blackened steel, turning it a rainbow of colors. Small divots and carvings indented the metal, but he didn’t know what the design meant.

“It’s a ring. It’s made of a type of metal that’s delicate to work with but nearly indestructible once forged—two things at once.” Roremar slipped it around his finger, the band gaping. Deacon laughed. “It’ll be a bit big for now, but one day it’ll fit. Until then, you can put it on that chain you wear.”

Roremar did as his father suggested and watched the dark metal swing against his chest next to the amulet engraved with his siblings’ initials. Instantly, the ring made him feel at bit warmer.

“Thank you, Father,” Roremar whispered.

Deacon wrapped an arm around him, kissing the top of Roremar’s head. “I love you, Son. It’s all going to be okay. You’ll see.”

“I love you, too,” Roremar said, distracted by watching the blackened steel rock with the boat.

Two things at once.

He may be tied to the Fate of Chaos and Revelry, but maybe he could be two things at once, too.

A wave crashed over the side of the boat, sending Roremar spluttering.

Only he wasn’t eleven years old and on a boat with his father, and it wasn’t salty ocean water sticking his tunic to his chest.

He was thirty-two, his father had been dead for a decade, he’d killed his brother, the Fate of Chaos and Revelry used him for some ritualistic scheme, he was chained in a musty cargo ship, and someone had poured ice cold water over him.

Well, at least it guaranteed he got somewhat clean today since it was always a wager whether or not he’d be allowed to wash.

“Are you up?” The guard tossed the wooden bucket aside, the resulting clatter ringing through Roremar’s ears. He shook his head to clear it, blinking into the dim cabin.

“How could I not be when your beautiful face is looking down on me?” Roremar asked as the guard wavered into view, thick eyebrows and a beard shadowing the grumpy set of his lips. Truly a pleasant sight to wake up to.

“Cut the jokes, Reckless. Stand up.”

Roremar knew he shouldn’t needle them, but he was growing restless down here. It took everything in him not to snap as he rolled to his feet, head light from how little food they’d given him. His bones creaked, back and neck muscles feeling the effects of the thin mattress.

As he steadied himself and they slapped manacles back around his wrists, he realized the boat wasn’t rocking as harshly as it had been. A gentle ebb and flow had taken up rhythm. Almost like…

“We’ve docked?” Roremar asked, discomfort forgotten.

“Hurry up,” was all the guard said before exiting the cabin. Roremar fell into step behind him, two more waiting outside the door flanking them.

They’d been on this damn ship for so long, he had no idea where they’d taken him. He’d assumed he’d be sentenced on Lyra, but unless they’d circled the entirety of the Constellation Isles, he was damn well wrong.

His chest ached as he thought of home. He hadn’t only been dreaming of his father but of Leo and Vivienne, of Siena and his mother. How were they all coping?

His vision tunneled beneath the crushing defeat, but he banished all thoughts of his family when he emerged onto the upper deck, blinking rapidly to adjust to the blinding sun, white rays struggling to pierce the marine layer that hadn’t quite burned away yet. It was still morning, then.