Page 84 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Serchus was so whole.

About her height, his body was still made of swirling cosmos, but the edges were complete, and there was enough dimension for her to tell his clothing was finely tailored. She could even make out the elegant cut and detailing, every inch sharp.

As usual, the Fate of Secrets and Greed’s face wasn’t visible, but instead of it being a haunting, empty void, an elaborate mask covered half, flaring up and over his head, a feathered wing stretching around one side of his skull.

“Hello, Emmeline.” His voice was a laugh on the air, and his mouth. She could actually see the clear movements of the muscles in his cheeks when he spoke.

It almost sounded like he was greeting her for the first time ever. Like all the times she’d read him before were incomplete.

“What’s happening? How is everything so”—she swept her fingers over the tops of the feathery grasses, their soft bristles tickling her skin—“real?”

“That is a tale fair for my ears but not yours,” Serchus said, another peel of boyish laughter slipping from him as he straightened his lapels.

It appeared the changes to her surroundings didn’t extend to the celestial being’s personality.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. Serchus was the Fate of Secrets and Greed. His readings were notorious for complex riddles, often requiring you give something over in return. Many of his searchers rarely read beyond what was necessary, the exchange more of a hassle than an aid.

But she was desperate.

“What tale can you tell me?”

Serchus bobbed up and down on his toes. “Oh, a great many things, Emmeline DeLeoste, but I require you give something in return.” He snapped his fingers, vanishing, only to blink back to life behind her, perched in the sprawling branches of a tree, reclining as if he didn’t have a care in the realms.

Three unmarked graves popped to life among the tangled roots, the tombstones’ weathered marble gleaming in the reflection of Serchus’s body and contrasting with the gnarled, dark bark of the trunk.

Serchus hummed, the melody carrying on the breeze. “Give me a secret, and I shall tell you a fortune.”

His song carried all around her, haunting her every step as she walked closer to the Fate.

“What sort of secret are you after?” Emmeline asked, scanning the unmarked graves for any hint of whom they buried. “I’ve given up so many.”

“I only dabble in the richest truths.” Serchus swung down from the branch so he hung from his hands. The stars making up his form rippled with each kick of his feet. “One that pertains to your soul, my dear, and all those at the other end.”

Emmeline’s heart thudded, and deep in her bones she knew what he wanted—who waited at the other end of her soul—but she couldn’t voice the words. Couldn’t or it would shatter her crumbling resolve when she already felt too much.

“Must I say it?” she whispered hoarsely.

Serchus dropped down to the earth, landing completely silent as an eerie giggle slipped from him. “That is as much a confession as I require. A fair tale you have earned, but I shall choose which, and no negotiations will precede.”

A creaking echoed far off, like a rusty hinge swinging open and closed again. The breeze picked up, wrapping around Emmeline and misting over her skin as if she stood beneath the spray of a waterfall.

“May I return for more if the one chosen does not aid me?”

“Oh”—another boyish laugh—“you and I will be seeing much more of one another, Emmeline DeLeoste.” The stars flashed overhead, and Serchus smiled up at them. “But yes. The more secrets you give, the more I shall share in return.”

“You have an agreement,” Emmeline swore.

“The story I have for you today is one of both past and fortune.” He held out a hand with each of those words, stardust shimmering around his palms. “It is of a key who was forged and a lock that turned when he bled.” Serchus’s young voice took on the mystical tone of the Fates, maturing with each sentence. “The key held a secret, you see? He did not mean to, but he learned of deviled plots and forsaken schemes. He saw they would be wielded to one’s own rise or demise—that part has yet to be determined, and that is where your fortune waits. So, the key made himself an instrument, a link on a long chain of dancing fortunes, and now you are in his game.”

“I’m not the key, though?” Emmeline clarified, and Serchus shook his head.

She wasn’t the key, but her fortune was entwined with it. Was the key Roremar? He did not mean to form this link. That could be speaking of his Fate tie to Dryvius.

Or perhaps Dryvius was the key, and he hadn’t meant to form the link to Roremar. Perhaps Dryvius never meant to develop another Fate tie after his supposed death.

A key that was stolen, and a lock that turned when he bled. That could definitely be about Dryvius’s death.

Truthfully, if what she guessed from Anphrosia’s reading yesterday was correct and Dryvius was still trying to use Roremar, it would make sense why Serchus chose this story.