Page 82 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Lola offered, “I’m planning to stop by the barracks later. I’ll take it to him.”

The contestants had been broken into two groups today, alternating training sessions and different appearances throughout the city. Emmeline was grateful none of them required her attendance. A day without the city breathing down her neck.

“I hate to be the one to say it,” Myrella chimed in, a quiver in her voice, “but if Dryvius has a link to Roremar, should we really be giving him any information? What if the Fate uses it against us?”

The rest of them were quiet for a beat. Emmeline hated the doubt that warred through her. She trusted Roremar—when he was making his own decisions.

But she swore something happened in the seeing chamber, a fundamental change to the two of them. She’d seen how much the power had ravaged Roremar. That had to be an explanation for why he couldn’t communicate with the Fate anymore, and maybe Dryvius couldn’t hear him either.

Emmeline looked between Lola and Desmond before shaking her head. “We can trust Roremar.”

They had to. If they started doubting him, how could they convince the realm of his innocence?

Emmeline kept her hood up the entire walk to the Temple Archives in the Second District, Graves and Eston only a few feet behind them. It wasn’t far from the Chancellor’s manor, passing the tavern Lola had helped Desmond and Myrella secure a room in on the way, but the air in Valyn was ravenous.

For her.

Rumors about her magic, conversations about which contestant to bet on and who they wanted her bonded to floated down each street. With every step her humanity slipped away further, no more than a prop.

It wasn’t until they were closed in a private room in the Archives, their guards outside, that she fully exhaled.

Lola rubbed her arm, stepping around her to light the odorless candles decorating the shelves. Myrella gave her a wide-eyed stare while Desmond tensely unpacked books on the low table in the center of the room.

Emmeline shook off his discomfort. “Let’s get to work.”

The only way she was going to stop being choked by this city was to find answers. The tournament, Roremar, and her sister. Those were her priorities.

Myrella agreed to take point on translating the Endasi scroll, having a preference for languages when she was in school. Emmeline handed over the reference books she’d gathered and the few translations she’d been able to parse out so far.

From the patterns and the commonalities to languages Endasi had informed, she hypothesized it was about the original tournament, a section about each trial, perhaps the purpose.

The word certa, which in some languages referred to competitions, had been used repeatedly, as was the Angel’s name. Fatorum was used often, too, a Fate connection Emmeline hadn’t been able to figure out yet.

“These Archives are normally reserved for temple acolytes,” Lola explained. “The different levels are organized by subject.”

“How did we get in then?” Desmond asked.

Two floors below ground and with its windowless walls and locked doors, this room was exactly what they needed. Privacy.

And Emmeline was hoping she’d be able to slip into the Archives before they left to hunt down some historical information on the temple trades.

“Same way I do everything,” Lola said. “Through my extensive network of friends.”

“You’ve got this whole city wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?” Desmond asked, his attention so fiercely on Lola, Emmeline almost felt like she was intruding.

Lola blinked sweetly at him. “Just a few people in the right places who are happy to do my bidding. I am my uncle’s niece after all.” She tacked on that last sentence sourly, tossing a stack of flat cushions on the floor around the table for them to sit on.

“No,” Desmond corrected, “you’re your father’s daughter.”

Lola gave him a grateful smile, ducking her head.

“Okay,” Emmeline cut in as she finished arranging her various strains of incense. “I’m ready.”

Hours.

She spent hours in and out of readings, alternating with Desmond, the two trying every different type of incense or herb imaginable. Lola had even run out earlier to grab them more options.

Still, Emmeline’s readings were producing no concrete answers. She heard the same words over and over, in the same cadence, but no questions she asked prodded the Fates to explain more of them.