Page 39 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“And now, before we all depart for the debauchery fitting of this grand affair, I would like to welcome the final contestant of our tournament,” Rocarri’s voice boomed through the horn. Emmeline’s stomach turned at the malice slithering beneath his tone. “Roremar the Reckless!”

And it was clear from the silence hanging in the air, as the people of Valyn knew who Emmeline was, they knew who Roremar was, too. That rumors of what Fate he was tied to had spread, what he’d been forced to do.

And where Emmeline represented the promise of the Fates to the city of Valyn, Roremar was the death of them.

The crowd erupted into chants and jeers. A bottle of ale went sailing through the air and shattered near Roremar’s feet.

He jumped back, jolting as if he finally realized where he was.

“No!” Emmeline’s heart pounded as she stepped to the edge of the platform, clenching the post like she’d fall right over without it.

Guards rushed forward, gripping Roremar’s biceps and dragging him away before Emmeline even got the chance to see him up close—to speak to him or touch him. His head whipped around, arms wrenching from their grasp, searching for an explanation. She felt that echoing confusion pinching her own chest, the endless well of grief.

And with every step Roremar was dragged out of the arena, Emmeline felt like a curtain was falling on their story before the first act had fully started.

The other competitors stared after Roremar with murder glowing in their eyes. The councilors’ and governors’ disdain shrouded her as they whispered of her instability, her disobedience. And Emmeline’s heart sank through her feet to the city streets far below.

In a way, she had Roremar back—for a blink—but this place, these people, would do everything in their power to keep them apart.

Part Two

Secrets and Greed

Chapter Fifteen

Emmeline

Emmeline stormed into the Chancellor’s office, panic lacing her voice. “What in the Fates happened today?”

She could still smell the blood on the air, hear the cries of the men as they fell. Was still burning from the Fates in her veins and their screaming fortunes as she watched Roremar fight for his life.

“Emmeline,” Rocarri said from behind his desk, an observatory at his back. A cigar was propped on an ashtray beside him as he reviewed correspondence, a thin column of smoke gently curling up. Apparently he wasn’t out indulging in the debauchery he offered his warriors. “We knock in my household.”

His household. The silent scolding in those words was a slap to the face. The way the advisors and governors had whispered about her today roared in her memory, doubling the blow.

Disobedient, disorderly. Unstable. Out of line.

“Come,” Rocarri said as if hearing those thoughts. “Let’s have a drink.”

Cigar in hand, he rose from his desk and crossed to the fireplace. Two wingback leather chairs sat before it, an open bottle of wine and two dirty glasses on the little round table. Rocarri grabbed two clean ones and poured.

Emmeline crossed her arms, forcing all the wild magic roaring inside of her to settle. She had to be in control to play their game.

As calmly as possible, she strode to one of the chairs, her steps muffled in the thick rug, and took a seat. Rocarri handed her a glass of deep red wine, and she took a small testing sip, rich cherries melting on her tongue.

A fire flickered in the hearth, casting a homey glow against the stone mantle decorated with handmade trinkets. She siphoned off that warmth to relax. On either side of the mantle, shelves were weighed down with thick files and well-loved history books. A portrait of Rocarri, the woman he was bonded to, and their two daughters sat above it.

“What happened during the trial?” Emmeline repeated.

Rocarri circled the chair opposite hers, the leather groaning as he sank into it, and he brought his cigar to his lips. He exhaled the smoke so slowly, Emmeline thought her patience may snap.

Finally, the Chancellor said, “You know the nature of the tournament.”

“I was told it was dangerous to enter, but I didn’t expect a massacre. Given that it’s my hand being wagered, don’t you think I deserve a say as to how the winner is determined?”

Rocarri lifted his dark brows, leaning back in his chair. “And what is your say?”

Emmeline assessed him. He likely thought she’d beg, fall to her knees and request mercy. Her soft heart was no secret after how affected she’d been today. And she wouldn’t hide it, but instead of letting him lord that nature over her, she used logic. “The men that entered the tournament after the opening ceremonies are of lower status than your initial twelve recruits, correct?”