Page 31 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

She twisted her opal ring around her finger impatiently as Rocarri greeted each of the council members, District Governors, and other notable Starsearchers who lined the rows. Emmeline tried to pull up what she had learned about each—who had worked for the previous Chancellor, who favored the perimeter versus the spotlight, who might have access to classified records based on their status—but after yesterday, their names and faces blended together in her mind.

Regardless of how little she spoke to any of them, everyone knew her. At least a dozen people stopped her on her way in to say hello, another few doing a very poor job of hiding the fact that they were whispering about her.

“You all right?” Alana whispered as they were once again handed glasses of sparkling wine. As if the first stage of her forced bonding was an event to toast to, the crystal delicately carved with the most careful hand.

It matched the fanciful image of her lilac gown, so pale it looked white in certain lighting. With dainty straps and tiny jewels sprinkled around the skirt that resembled far off stars, every inch of her appeared delicate. Even the silk cloak around her shoulders was thin, a chill following her every time she remembered why they were here.

“Fine,” Emmeline whispered, plastering on a brilliant smile she was certain didn’t reach her eyes and ignoring the other attendees, only allowing them to see what she wanted them to after Rocarri reminded her yesterday how closely his people were watching. “Let’s see my bonding options, shall we?”

“Welcome, all!” Rocarri called through the silver horn, stealing Emmeline’s attention. He grinned into the crowd as they roared at his words. “Today, we begin the hunt for our elite champion. The warrior with the greatest daring!”

Another raucous cheer, feet stomping, and Emmeline’s heart pounded as if she were an animal being hunted.

“The most dauntless cunning!”

The ground beneath her thin heels shook, and her grip tightened on her glass.

“And the fairest fate!”

Emmeline’s pulse tripped at the phrase. The Fates were no part of this—not where she was involved. And it certainly wasn’t fair.

“The first challenge of our competitors will be the same that inaugurated the Angel’s own tournament thousands of years ago: The duel.” So Rocarri was modeling this event after Valyrie’s. Maybe she could find a piece of old governance that stated how the Angel felt about forced bondings. “Since last night, we have had nearly four dozen more warriors volunteer to enter our esteemed tournament. Today, all contestants have been randomly paired based on drawings completed in the seeing chamber of the Angel’s Sacred Temple.”

Emmeline inhaled sharply at the casual mention of a seeing chamber, but even more shocking was the number. “Four dozen? There are sixty men trying to win me?” Her stomach twisted.

“They turned out in droves last night,” Cyren said, gripping the ornamental dagger on their belt tightly enough Emmeline would wager the General wasn’t pleased with this arrangement. “I was stuck going through applicants late into the night with a few council members. I can promise you, some of them don’t stand a chance.”

The sparkling silver gate across the dusty arena groaned opened, every eye snapping to the Angel wings in the center as they parted.

The competitors didn’t ride in chariots this time. Sixty men jogged across the dirt, many of them waving to the adoring crowd. Flags swung rapidly, and coins, flowers, and numerous symbols of Fates were tossed into the ring, the men flashing jubilant smiles. Some wore full chest plates, others simple vambraces or spaulders, a variety of weapons strung on their belts and baldrics.

Very specific chants rose from the crowd, names she recognized from the opening ceremonies and even more she didn’t. The colored banners they waved were more uniform than yesterday, entire rows with matching sets.

“They already have favorites?” Emmeline asked as the voices carried across the arena.

“A bit presumptuous, I’d think,” Alana said. “We haven’t seen them do anything.”

Perry’s name was one of the loudest, and Emmeline quickly found his smug expression among the front of the pack, smiling up at a section of at least fifty warriors. The mossy green scarf peeking above his armor matched the hue of the flags they waved, a helmet topped with bronzed carvings tucked beneath his arm.

“Many of them have earned reputations in various battles or at prestigious academies,” Cyren whispered as Rocarri called out pairs by number, not name. “A few of the newer entrants are untested, but a lot of them—especially the original twelve—are from notable families who bargained to get them here. They’re all fairly young. Though, if you ask me, that makes some of them more arrogant.”

Emmeline’s chest panged for Roremar the Reckless and the arrogance she’d once—mistakenly—thought of him. The many true sides she’d seen since.

“Their families want the prestige that badly? Don’t some of them already have wealth and titles? Why go through this?” Emmeline asked as she watched Perry cross to his opponent.

Cyren hummed. “It’s never enough.”

With the final pairings established, Rocarri called for silence. “With this duel, you will notice there are fewer guardrails than some.”

What did that mean? Emmeline’s spine prickled at the mischief in the Chancellor’s tone. She twirled her opal ring around her finger.

“The Angel devised this tournament to unveil her most ruthless and loyal, but that was many years ago. As time has evolved, the council has decided the rules of the games must evolve to meet the grander consequences of all the difficulties we have seen recently.”

Nothing he was saying seemed to surprise the competitors. Though many of them wore helmets or masks, Emmeline could tell by their fixed stances and grips on their weapons they were preparing for combat, slipping into some other self as warriors did on a battlefield.

“There’s an odd number,” Emmeline muttered to Alana as Rocarri explained how the obscenely large hourglass at the head of the arena would be tipped over to time the first round. Emmeline pointed to the center of the back row of fighters where one slight man stood alone. “See, there. He doesn’t have a partner.”

Alana craned her neck to see around the pennants waving in the breeze at the front of the platform. “I guess they’ll have the others fight to first blood then pair him with a winner.”