Page 59 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“Just in case,” she whispered.

Their subtle yellow light illuminated the worn rug in the entryway running between crowded shelves. Tiny glass bottles of various shapes, sizes, and pastel colors were haphazardly stacked on every available surface.

She moved among the rows quietly. The owner of the shop likely lived upstairs, and the last thing she needed was to be found breaking and entering. Though she had to admit, it gave her a familiar thrill she hadn’t felt since Lyra.

After a quick scan of the nearest shelves, it was clear what this shop’s specialty was: aphrodisiac tonics. Heat flared through her body at the memory of Roremar on his knees last night, his hands firm on her body.

Fates, she couldn’t get distracted by that right now.

But…Aphrodisiacs. The perfume maker next door, and the embroidery on the opposite side with swaths of lace hanging in the window.

“All signs of Anphrosia,” Emmeline breathed.

The Ninth District was dedicated to the Fate of Cruelty and Adoration.

The Fate tie Dryvius had targeted on Lyra.

There is much to speak of regarding your family. Seek the riches of nine, and you shall unveil truths.

Metrina had made it sound like this reading would reveal a clue as to where her sister was, but perhaps the Fates had another plan after all. Defeat sank through her at the loss of a lead.

But if the Fates told her to come here, even if it wasn’t to do with Addie, it was for a reason. She reminded herself of that as she crept through the shop.

With steps lighter than a jungle cat, Emmeline hopped over the front counter and scanned the shelves of delicacies. Wines, tonics, and lotions, all meant to heighten arousal. All in pastel-dyed glass bottles or rich purples and pinks.

All except one at the end of the row, a dark-red glass that didn’t match the rest.

She lifted the bottle.

The moment the base parted with the wood, a soft groaning sounded across the shop.

Emmeline’s breath caught in her throat. Bottle clutched tightly in hand, she followed the noise past a set of silk curtains and shelves lined with luxury products. There, in the back corner, a stone door was sliding open.

Do not overlook that which lies beneath your feet, the history written in the walls around you.

Was Metrina perhaps more literal than Emmeline thought?

She glanced at the bottle still in her grip, then listened to ensure no one upstairs had heard the secret entrance being revealed.

When only silence greeted her, Emmeline set the bottle down, whispered, “Anphrosia guide me,” and disappeared down the tunnel.

Emmeline lost track of how deep beneath the ground she’d gone since leaving Crushing Petals. She’d taken to marking shape in the dusty base of the walls to mark her path so she could find her way back out, but aside from that, every turn was so similar.

The only light was the mystlight torches flickering every few yards, spotlighting wilted flower petals littering the base of the rocky walls and hairline cracks and crevices carved into their surfaces. In certain paths, veins of minerals sculpted the walls. In others, symbols and things that resembled ancient languages were carved.

Her magic pulsed dramatically in her chest with every step, more insistent down here, but she shoved it down as best she could.

Eventually, the ground started sloping upward beneath her. Emmeline’s thighs burned as she hiked, holding tighter to her satchel and thanking the Fates she’d had the foresight to tuck her reading supplies into leather pouches instead of glass vials.

Especially as the floor bottomed out into a shallow, circular room and voices floated down through a wooden hatch overhead.

One very familiar voice, she realized as she stood in the thin slices of light cutting between the planks. Where exactly had she ended up, and what was Balmour Rocarri doing here?

“People will riot either way,” the Chancellor was saying.

“Then control what they riot about,” his companion replied. The hatch creaked as he paced overhead, but his footsteps were silent.

Emmeline couldn’t place the voice. She didn’t think she recognized it, but it was low enough it was impossible to be sure.