Page 42 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

She couldn’t leave now, couldn’t refuse to be a part of this tournament. Not if willingly participating and engaging with the other contestants could save Roremar.

Rocarri had her. And based on his smirk as he puffed smoke into the air, he knew it.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it, so Emmeline focused on another part of the Chancellor’s argument.

Like all those lives he took.

“Roremar didn’t kill anyone,” Emmeline argued.

“That isn’t what the public believes.”

“He didn’t.” Every bit of carefully contained fury seeped into those words. Magic rushed through her veins, heady and burning with the voices of the Fates. “Roremar was a victim, forced to do Dryvius’s bidding with no recollection of the events. I showed everyone that when my readings projected across the skies. I showed them how Roremar’s future can unfold peacefully. He’s not a threat to anyone!”

She’d shown the entire Fatesdamned isle that Roremar’s future needn’t hold bloodshed. It was why she’d gone into that seeing chamber and relinquished all her secrets. How was that not enough for them?

They esteemed her magic but they didn’t listen to the very heart of it.

“You’ll find you’ll have a hard time convincing anyone of his innocence. The way rumors spread.” Rocarri extinguished the cigar in the ashtray, turning a knowing smile on her. “Oh, and I’d keep this conversation between us. You wouldn’t want to be the reason he faces anymore hardship, would you? Think of what it would do to him.”

The threat snaked across her skin, coiled around her heart.

Everyone close to her wound up dead. She wouldn’t let Roremar be the next.

“In fact, I’d suggest you don’t engage with him at all if you truly want to ensure he’s safe. Remember, this is my city you’re in.” Next time you want to venture out of the manor, use the front door. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that he’d seen her the other night—that guards or advisors or spies had eyes on her.

The promise Valyn was supposed to hold shrank in tighter around her at Rocarri’s final words.

“Stay in line, Emmeline. Play your role, and inspire the territory, or you may forfeit Roremar the Reckless’s life.”

You may forfeit Roremar the Reckless’s life.

Dizzying stars popped behind Emmeline’s vision all the way back to her bed chamber, magic exploding in her veins at Rocarri’s threat.

If there was even a chance she could protect Roremar by agreeing to be the prize and bond to the victor of the tournament, she’d do it. She’d do whatever it took to give him a second chance at the life he deserved.

Back on Lyra, Anphrosia had told her she’d have to risk losing herself in order to save him, and she had. She’d used every tool at her disposal, exposed every secret.

Now, she been given another, an advantage she’d never expected nor thought she deserved, but something to manipulate all the same.

Her reputation.

After all, if the rulers of this capital were going to use her, why shouldn’t she do the same?

She had this identity, this influence that could be twisted, and if it could rescue Roremar, she’d exhaust it. Be the darling, save his life, and convince all those around her that Roremar was innocent, all while staying away from him.

Even if it trapped her within these walls and shredded her heart to do so.

She swore that vow to the Fates as she shoved open the door to her bed chamber.

“There you are!” Alana groaned, pausing her pacing before the balcony doors.

“What are you doing in here?” Emmeline asked, composing herself as best she could.

Alana strode across the room, a pitch-black cloak in hand. She was already wearing a matching one, the hood draping down her back.

“Change into your leathers and put this on. We have somewhere to be.”

Chapter Sixteen