Page 44 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Roremar said aloud this time, head tipping back toward the ceiling.

“Not a fan of the notoriety?” the competitor sitting across from Roremar asked as he took another hit. He exhaled slowly, crossing one ankle over his knee and smirking insufferably.

“Not a fan of how said notoriety came to be,” Roremar gritted out, fingers knotting. His chest was unbearably tight, breaths short. Vision hazy.

Not again, not again.

“Leave him alone,” the soft voice in the corner cut in.

Roremar whipped around, vision still blurry. The man with the dripping wet curls wasn’t looking at any of them, fingers flicking through a bag of coins as he counted them out quietly, a soft jingling filling the dormitory.

“Come on, Rian,” the smoking man said. “I’m getting to know our bunkmate.”

“Bunkmate?” Roremar echoed, trying to breathe properly again.

He smiled a salacious grin, hazel eyes glinting. The color was greener than Emmeline’s, though.

“We’re all yours,” he said, silver hoops in his ears swaying as he opened his arms.

“Should you really be smoking in here?” Roremar asked. He didn’t really care, but he was the one who was going to be stuck in this chamber with the lingering scent, and his head was fucked enough without drugs. “At least open a window.”

“Don’t you want to be a little reckless?” the man joked, but he stamped out the roll in a crescent-shaped clay ashtray on the bedside table.

Roremar bristled.

The man near the door picked up his wine again, taking a sip. “You don’t like your nickname?”

“Khasson,” Rian warned, separating a few of his coins into a small pouch on his belt.

“What?” Khasson asked, tucking a long strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s fair to get to know him if we’re all to share a room.” The mockery in his tone grated on Roremar, but he was still preoccupied thinking of Emmeline, he couldn’t bother with a clever retort. Instead, he tucked away details of his new bunkmates who, to their credit, didn’t seem afraid of him.

Rian straightened, kicking his pack under his bed. “You’re not getting to know him, you’re tormenting him. Come on, let’s go.”

He headed for the door without another glance in Roremar’s direction, presumably off to enjoy the city. Khasson shoved a hand into his pocket, broad frame vibrating with quiet laughter as he drained his wine glass and followed Rian from the room.

The final bunkmate didn’t stand, still atop the bed beside Roremar’s.

Roremar lifted a brow. “Can I help you?”

“Don’t let Khasson bother you,” he said. “He’s a bastard, but he’s trying to get a rise out of competitors. Find their weaknesses.”

“Right,” Roremar said sarcastically, jerking his chin toward the door. “You know those two well?”

“Met them a couple weeks ago when we all arrived in the capital. Rian was already here—a lot of the guys were—but Khasson and I are new. The pool became small quickly. Rian and I were in the original twelve. Khasson tagged along last night when the opportunity presented itself.”

Roremar didn’t know what most of that meant, but he didn’t want to reveal his lack of information about this entire situation to a stranger. He gathered all the details to assemble later.

“I’m Perry, by the way,” the man said, extending a hand. Roremar eyed it, finally shaking. “Looks like we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together.”

“Suppose we are.” Didn’t mean Roremar wanted to befriend him. He didn’t trust anyone from the arena.

Perry snorted another laugh, endlessly amused by him apparently. “Don’t sound too excited.”

“I’m not looking for friends.”

“None of us are,” Perry said, tone serious. “You saw what happened today. I don’t think any of us consider the others friends. But you should be looking for something.”

“What?” Roremar asked as Perry stood, straightening the rolled sleeves of his tunic, the laces tied tight at his chest.