Page 74 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Roremar came up gasping in the empty barracks, hands pressing to the cool glass in the dim blue glow of the mystlight lamps outside. Sweat clung to his brow, body aching after being stretched between two places. He took calming breaths.

Dryvius hadn’t even deigned to show himself.

But Roremar swore, as he closed off his connection with the Fate, it whined in protest. And he could still feel that wine on his cheek.

He was shaking off the sensation when a note flared beside the mystlight lamp on his bedside table. Grateful for the distraction, he strode across the room and grabbed it, stuffing the spiced citrus oil beneath his thin mattress.

He unfolded the crumpled parchment, four words looking up at him in his sister’s handwriting:

Get to the roof.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Roremar

For once, being the only contestant to spend so much time in the barracks today was a blessing. This morning, Roremar had investigated which windows squeaked when opened and which had bars on the outside. Which had easy access to ledges or ladders and which led to a steep drop below.

Unfortunately for him, the only panes that looked like they opened were sealed with rusted iron locks.

Fortunately for him, he was creative. And he’d stolen that dagger off Rian at the Presentation.

He kept half of his attention on the corridor, still shaking off the haze from his first intentional reading in years as he used the thin tip of the blade in combination with a pin he’d found in one of the drawers. They weren’t ideal tools for lock picking, but he wasn’t about to be selective.

When Lola had a plan, it was best to follow. His sister was born with a disobedient streak that, combined with his own recklessness, often ended in a heap of trouble.

Roremar wasn’t sure how they hadn’t given their mother a heart attack by the time he was ten, but Nico’s sweet countenance had always balanced out their mischief. His chest ached as he remembered the gap-toothed smile his brother flashed when he was six, Roremar twelve, and Lola eight, and they’d tried to lure a jungle cat into the attic.

Footsteps sounded down the corridor, and Roremar froze. He listened carefully, barely daring a breath, but they continued past this room, the owner whistling an off-key folksong.

No one should be coming back for hours—not with the festivals—but Roremar stacked chairs before the door to be sure. Enough that if he left the window open, he should hear the racket of someone returning before they got inside and, Fates forbid, sneak back in before they realized he was gone.

What he’d say about the chairs that would have to be broken to get through, he hadn’t decided. He’d figure that out later.

“Come on,” he whispered as he returned to the lock, working to trigger mechanisms that were so old and rusted, it was possible they wouldn’t⁠—

A resistant click reverberated through the metal.

His heart lurched as the lock popped open, flakes of rust dusting his hands. Roremar slipped the lock off the hooks and jammed it in his pocket. Quickly, he tied back one side of the bars so they couldn’t close on him and propped the window open with a chair leg.

He checked the courtyard and street beyond, but none of the festivities had made it to this neighborhood. With the echoes of revelry a steady beat in the distance, he shimmied out onto the ledge and used the carved ornaments on the barracks’ facade to climb the short distance to the roof. His arms and legs were strained from even that minimal lift. Despite how he’d performed in the duel yesterday, the weeks of being chained up without a regular training regimen were taking their toll on his body, and slaughtering that many men had left him sore.

Pitching himself over the ledge, he landed in a crouch less gracefully than he would have liked but still nearly silent.

“Out of practice?” The teasing voice was a beautiful melody that pulled every ache from his muscles.

Roremar’s head snapped up, gaze immediately finding Emmeline beneath the stars. He rose slowly, as if he’d spook her if he moved too quickly. “Haven’t had my Huntress to lead me around.”

She was dressed in those starscursed leathers that didn’t hide a damn curve, knives and triple blades strapped to her body, and Fates fuck him, did he want to reach for her. To pull her close and feel her heart beating against his, to seal their lips together and remind her that she didn’t belong to any of those men from the Presentation, regardless of what Balmour Rocarri said.

But Emmeline dropped his gaze.

We only ruin each other.

He took a step toward her, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her, but a second voice cut in, “We needed to have a little meeting.”

Lola emerged from the shadows beside the door leading to the roof. His sister. The note. The very real time crunch hanging over their heads.

Roremar rushed to Lola, wrapping his arms tight around her.