Page 40 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“For the most part.”

“They have families in this city. Families who either watched them die today or are now fearful they will. Families you need to support your rule. By challenging the competitors to slaughter one another, you risk isolating the very people you wish to win over.”

After all, Rocarri hadn’t officially been inducted as Chancellor yet. In the past two years, numerous candidates had been appointed interim rulers, but none had been officiated. He was the closest, but there was still room to misstep.

She flicked a gaze up to the family portrait over the mantle. While she had much at stake, Rocarri did, too.

“They know what they volunteered for,” Rocarri assured her with the air of someone who couldn’t lose.

Emmeline doused her frustration with another sip of wine. “I won’t watch them die for me. It’s not worth it.”

“It’s not our fault if they didn’t take the lethality seriously.”

Our fault. As if they were a team.

“Why does it need to be serious, though?” Emmeline turned pleading eyes on him. “Thirty men died today. Innocent men. No more need to. Change the rules. Tell them they can’t fatally harm one another.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

She shifted to face him fully, crossing her legs and draping her hands across the arms of her chair as if she sat atop a throne. She still wore that Fatesdamned gown, the skirt taking up the large cushion, but she held herself taller and embodied all the power she was trying to wield. The power people like Balmour Rocarri showcased.

Why was he so insistent upon these races anyway? Why was this his method to earning favor and solution to discord?

Emmeline scanned the crowded shelves. The portrait above the mantle. Where had the Chancellor risen from to get here, and what made the rules so impossible to change?

“What if a contestant withdraws?” she asked, tabling her curiosity about Rocarri and thinking of one competitor in particular. She didn’t want anyone to die for her, but she had a feral, bone-deep need to stop this tournament before Roremar suffered.

“At this stage, withdrawal means death. They signed a contract,” Rocarri said plainly, stretching forward to tap his cigar against a clay ashtray. “There’s no use trying to change it. This is how the original tournament ran, as well.”

Emmeline almost argued, but the disdainful, judgmental comments from the councillors and governors echoed in her mind, and she snapped her mouth shut. If Rocarri insisted the tournament must proceed due to historical precedent and nothing else, she could work with that. She had a week until the next trial to find something that solidified her argument that the Angel wouldn’t want this and change his mind.

Perhaps she could even sway council members who didn’t think her unstable.

“I see,” Emmeline said, pushing up from the chair as her plan took shape. “Thank you for the drink. I won’t keep you from your work.”

She hastened for the door, but as she grabbed the knob, Rocarri called, “You may want to be a bit more careful.”

She froze, the quiet taunt lacing his words prickling every nerve along her spine. Slowly turning back around, she arranged her expression into something peaceful. “Careful?”

Rocarri rose from his seat, setting down his cigar and taking long, strolling steps in her direction. His boots thudded lazily on the rug, each spurring on her nervous heartbeats.

“You see, with the exposure of your magic, you’ve become desirable.”

“I’d say that’s more your doing than mine,” Emmeline said, shrugging.

“I have had a hand in painting the image, but you are the subject. And you’re one people now wish to obtain.”

Her restraint snapped. “I’m not an object⁠—”

“It doesn’t matter. People crave power, and you contain so much. After today—after seeing the massacre that occurred in your honor—any reservations I had about the lengths our competitors will go to win are completely alleviated. And not one of them was thinking of how their minds would cope with the lives they took.”

Rocarri looked at her expectantly.

Horror-stricken, the pieces clicked.

These competitors willingly killed one another today. Emmeline knew from experience that each death, once settled, took a part of the killer. She was willing to sacrifice those parts of herself to avenge her sister, but did these men realize what they were doing to themselves? Were they prepared to give up their morals piece by piece, like chips handed to a masterful god?

Not only would she be bonded to one of them, shackled with him for the rest of their long lives, she would be the reason they became that way.