Page 88 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Intended yet scorned.

Forced not wanted,

Sacrifices born haunted.

Emmeline’s breath caught in her throat, denial screaming through her as she understood.

“What did she say?” Desmond asked as Aevollon spoke quietly to Anphrosia.

“She’s talking about a bond being forced. An unwanted one. I…” She couldn’t say it. Anphrosia’s veiled head dipped in a nod. “It’s the outcome of the tournament. The forced bonding is going to happen.”

“How do we stop it?” Desmond barked, as desperate as she was, but a familiar numbness crept up Emmeline’s limbs as she felt her future being taken from her.

There will be no stop to it. You are too powerful, too cherished and desired. The power must be used.

Emmeline’s magic beat within her, crying out, reaching for something she couldn’t see.

“There’s no stopping it,” she whispered.

“That can’t be true,” Desmond demanded, all his love for his best friend—for Roremar’s future with Emmeline, his future alive at all—piquing his voice. “There has to be a way.”

Enough! Aevollon roared, voice the strike of a drum.

Anphrosia only laughed, the sound splintering through Emmeline.

Aevollon grabbed Anphrosia by the throat, and the two spiraled away through a curtain of white fire, their constellations shimmering in their wake.

Before Emmeline and Desmond could speak, a scream wrenched the air, and they both snapped from the reading.

When she opened her eyes, Desmond was already on his feet, checking both Lola and Myrella were okay.

“What was that?” Emmeline asked, theories of bonds pounding in her ears. “That scream—was it here?”

“It was outside,” Lola said, snuffing out candles. Smoke filled the air, stinging Emmeline’s eyes and dragging her back to reality.

The four of them raced from the Archives, joining the throng of Starsearchers shoving through the stairwells. Graves and Eston found them as soon as they emerged from the temple, trying to pull Emmeline back, but she slipped their grasp.

“Miss!” Eston called at the same time Graves grumbled something unintelligible.

But she couldn’t stop.

She pushed through the crowd gathering along the temple steps in the fading sunlight, spilling down into the square, all facing the building’s high arches and shadowed towers.

“Oh, my Fates,” Myrella whispered behind her as they turned to face the temple.

“Fucking realms,” Desmond swore. Lola went pale.

A body hung from one of the arches, swinging from rope-tied wrists before a stained-glass window bearing a veiled sigil. Her form was hauntingly illuminated by the candles behind the glass, casting ghostly shadows across her still features. Her neck was snapped at an unnatural angle, body covered in blood from a slice to her throat.

On either side of her, across the glass, bloody wings flared. And above the window, smeared in crimson on the stone, were the words:

TO TEMPT THE FATES, AND REALMS WILL WREST⁠—

HE WILL HAVE HER.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Emmeline