Page 97 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

She didn’t have incense or oils, but Emmeline’s magic was pounding relentlessly already—perhaps from the proximity to the temple. She pulled at the one Fate who always kept details of her sister at the tips of her fingers, but never shared them. The one who had told her to go to the Ninth District the other day.

“Metrina,” Emmeline whispered.

The Fate sparked to life, a celestial outline in her mind, starlight ebbing on the dark plane.

“I know you can’t tell me of my sister, but show me where in here I will find any information.”

It was too specific of a fortune to ask. The Fates weren’t supposed to answer questions like that.

As expected, Metrina said nothing⁠—

A red light flashed in Emmeline’s mind, and she pulled herself from the reading.

“Thank you,” she breathed, heart pounding, and she scampered down the stairs. She didn’t stop until she found the only floor with a lantern glowing in the distance with its glass stained red.

Perhaps Metrina couldn’t say anything to her about her sister, but Emmeline was starting to believe the Fate of Prophecy and Demise was on her side when it came to this hunt.

Footsteps light as a jungle cat, she flew up the rows, scanning every title in this collection.

Of course, the information she was looking for wasn’t in any old reference book or historical record. But the temple trading had been at its peak about twenty years ago. The Chancellor at the time had started cracking down on it shortly after, and while the problem clearly still persisted, as evidenced by all the men she’d hunted on Lyra, it had waned.

She sought out records of that Chancellor’s rule two decades ago.

Emmeline moved quickly up and down rows, aware that she’d have to get back to her suite soon. It was reckless enough that she’d left, but she figured if Rocarri had anyone follow her here, they’d only see an Academy instructor doing research or someone who had worked the murder case on Lyra looking into the newest victim.

It was less of a risk than meeting with Roremar. She almost hoped tonight was the time Rocarri had her followed.

“Come on,” she whispered. Her breathing grew ragged as she tore volumes from the shelves and flipped through them.

Finally, in a modern history book wedged in a back corner, she found something.

“The Averian,” Emmeline breathed at the familiar title of the Second-in-Command of the temple trades. This book didn’t mention whom he worked for or his true name, but it was a record of his favored trade routes between major cities.

It spoke of the man as if he was a nightmarish legend who appeared in the night, stole, and then escaped down rivers or through jungles with his prizes.

Emmeline clung to every sighting, tracing the routes in her mind.

There were no mentions of her sister, nor any other children who had been taken, which was best to respect their privacy, but she had to find more specifics.

Turning a page, Emmeline scanned the list of the Averian’s most notable haunts.

And her breath caught in her chest.

“The Temple of Selene.” According to this, this specific location deep in the jungles—far away from Valyn—was rumored to be the temple the Averian worked most directly with. All activity was shut down now, but…

“Selene,” Emmeline repeated.

The first and only reference she’d found to any kind of temple, monument, or myth devoted to the three-pronged being. These records didn’t state the purpose of the temple, focusing more on the Averian, but it couldn’t be a coincidence.

Emmeline didn’t dare remove this book from the Archives, but she quickly scrawled down notes and tucked them into her satchel. Then, she fled, all the while wondering what in the Fates the Averian and the temple traders could have known about the Warders of Selene.

When Emmeline emerged atop the temple again, it had started raining. Rather than hop over the slippery tiles, she descended down the side and into the back alley. She was a few streets over, nearing a residential area, when she saw a trio of men tucked beneath an awning smoking.

“What about that woman the Chancellor has? Think it’s true?” one asked, hissing as he inhaled.

Emmeline froze. She could barely see them from her spot at the end of the alley, empty cartons piled high beside her, so she scrambled to the other side and ducked into the shadows of a butcher shop, ignoring the rancid smell of their discarded rubbish from the day.

“The Fate ties?” a second clarified.