Page 65 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

She didn’t venture over to the cage until the dancing was in full swing. She’d given them a handful of dances, upbeat pieces with a smile plastered on her face, each with a different competitor, and a number of conversations with governors and contestants alike before excusing herself to get another glass of sparkling wine.

Starsearchers spun gracefully around the room like they were pulled on strings, as if the Fates overhead were puppeteers guiding them through each deadly waltz. Rich silk slid over marble floors and laughter peeled from women’s lips when they were dipped and twirled.

Gems adorned their wrists and necks, and trains of feathers or beads or velvet lingered in their steps. With the music lacing the air and the celestial decor in arrays of deep blues and purples, beneath the chandelier and the story of the Fates’ Dawn, it was a scene from a fairytale she’d dreamed of as a girl.

But it was all wrong.

Twisted and taking a forsaken piece of her to be here. The smiles held pointed teeth that wished to rip into her skin, and the diamonds were shards of broken glass poised at her throat.

And she would bear it, this haunted, dark fairytale she’d found her way into.

Finally, with an air of boredom, she approached the silver bars, appraising their sturdy build and the intricate carvings lining the base. Her stomach flipped when she realized they were constellations—all those linked to Dryvius, telling a tale of the Fate of Chaos and Revelry, the arch of his Major constellation forming the top of the cage.

She didn’t look at him, though.

Couldn’t.

Fighting to keep her mask in place, Emmeline gazed out the window beside Roremar’s cage, staring blankly over the city as she hummed along to the string quartet at the other end of the room.

“They’ve fed you,” she commented, voice low.

He scoffed. “They can’t be seen starving their pet, or the searchers betting on me will scream it’s unfair.”

“There’s people betting on you?”

“That’s what I’m told. Probably fanatics of Dryvius or other, similarly deranged freaks.”

Though Roremar’s skepticism of the Fates was clear, it was good he had support. It meant Rocarri had to treat him at least somewhat well in the public eye.

It was a soft balm to one worry, but soothing one only left room for more to sprout.

“Have they given you any information about the second⁠—”

“The trials aren’t really my priority,” he bit out, voice closer than it had been a moment ago; close enough to touch. But she knew if she did, it would be nothing like last night. Not the intimacy, not the burning desire.

It would feel too much like a goodbye she wasn’t ready to say.

“They need to be,” Emmeline asserted. “I’ve been told nothing of what to expect from the next two, but I think the duel was only a set up.” And according to what Anphrosia said today, the Fates couldn’t give her any information either. She swallowed the fear lodged in her throat. “The duel was an easy solution to get so many contestants out in a clean sweep. The real challenges are coming.”

“I’ll worry about them when they come,” Roremar said.

Emmeline swallowed, looking up at the high drapes framing the window, fingers tightening on her wine glass. “I’ll find out what I can. Have Lola get you the information somehow.”

“Why not yourself?”

Dammit, there was a hint of his sleuthing tone in that question. She knew if she looked, he’d be giving her that narrow-eyed stare that picked apart all her deepest wounds.

“They keep me rather busy,” she lied.

“Right.” His dry tone implied he wasn’t fooled, even if he didn’t know why she was avoiding him. “Lola needs to stay safe, though. I can’t—” He cleared his throat. “Nothing can happen to her.”

He couldn’t lose another one of them.

While he thought it was best for his family if he died, he still clung to their safety from afar. He hadn’t entirely given up.

“I’ll keep her safe.”

“Thank you,” Roremar said.