Page 116 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Emmeline was struggling, fighting off her attackers. Every move was blurry.

A hand grabbed the back of his neck, shoving him to the ground. The slice to his side screamed. He rolled over, getting his weight off the wound, but a boot struck him so hard in the ribs, stars flashed in his vision. He swore something cracked.

Roremar tried to focus on the figure above him, but their hood covered most of their features. All he could make out was a symbol stitched into their sleeve, gold thread shining against the dark fabric.

Stuck on his back, energy draining, Roremar jammed his foot up and into the man’s groin. He fell with a drawn out yelp, and Roremar grinned.

He flipped onto his stomach and crawled across the cobblestones, his blood carving watery rivulets down the slope to the vineyards. Hands fumbling in puddles, he reached for anything—a fallen knife, a triple blade.

In his peripheral, he saw Emmeline wrench a dagger from beneath her skirt and jab it in the neck of the man whose arm was around her stomach.

Good fucking girl, taking out the larger opponent first.

He fell, and Roremar watched with blurred vision—grappling across the stone to get himself to his hands and knees—as Emmeline wrestled with the female.

She appeared to be half in a session, half present, as if she was reading the Fates to predict the woman’s moves before she made them. Fucking Fates better actually respond this time.

A fist landed on Emmeline’s jaw, and her head snapped to the side. Roremar felt the bruise echoing along his own flesh, but she reared back.

He kept searching, stretching his hand out.

Roremar’s fingers closed around a sharp rock, and he didn’t consider his options before he shoved to his feet. Knife in his side, he stumbled toward the man still cowering on the ground and slammed the stone into his head.

He splashed to the puddles below, likely not dead, but Roremar stood over him, panting.

Then, he toppled to the ground, too.

“Roremar!” Emmeline shouted.

He blinked his eyes open to her crouching beside him, cradling his face in her hands.

“Where’d she go?” he slurred.

“She ran.”

And Emmeline chose to help him over chasing her assailant. Foolish, but he couldn’t deny he liked it. It made his chest feel warm even as the night got darker around him.

He worked to steady his attention on her wavering form. The mystlight lamp overhead haloed her in a blue glow, rain drops clinging to her chestnut waves. Sprinkling her face. Or maybe those were tears. Or both. He couldn’t tell.

There was a split in her lip, a crimson bead forming. The heat in his chest morphed to anger.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled, brushing his thumb beneath it to catch the drop.

Emmeline huffed a watery laugh. “Yeah, so are you, Reckless.”

“Care more about you.”

His eyelids were heavy. Darkness beckoned. A silent darkness, he realized. One where he didn’t worry about the Fate of Chaos and Revelry controlling him.

That sounded…nice…

“Roremar?” an angelic voice called. “Roremar, stay awake. Stay with me.”

Stay with her.

That sounded nice, too.

But he wasn’t strong enough.