Page 135 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Emmeline squeezed Lola’s hands, gaze flicking between her blue eyes and the sky. A winged form parted the thick grey clouds rolling over Valyn.

In the flooded streets, chants rose. Hymns in honor of their Angel mingled with raunchy tavern songs⁠—

No. They weren’t all singing lively folksongs.

There was a darker tune, louder than the rest, echoing from the ale house at the base of the arena. The trio barking it stumbled around the cobbled path. One raised a glass, liquid sloshing over the side as he nearly tipped into the bushes and belted out, “Carve the heir of Chaos and Revelry from the realms.”

The words sank claws into Emmeline’s chest. They hit Lola with a force that had her jolting back, her head shaking.

The crowd grew, a small mass bubbling around the entrance. Anger burned through Emmeline’s chest, her nails digging into her palms.

A group dressed in maroon robes exited the arena a few doors down. Roremar’s supporters—the ones responsible for his sponsorships, the ones who had cheered for him today.

They paused when they heard the song.

And then, they charged.

High above the melee, Emmeline and Lola watched horror-stricken as Starsearchers called for Roremar’s death, and others started an outright brawl for his Fate.

It was chaos in the streets of Valyn.

Pure chaos, derived of Dryvius himself.

Was this what Anphrosia had been implying when Emmeline read her? Perhaps it wasn’t that Dryvius was going to manipulate Roremar specifically, but that his reputation and the fear it instilled would interfere in the tournament. Was that why they couldn’t read about it?

Emmeline choked back the anger bubbling through her. “Please, make sure your brother is okay. I can’t go to him—it will only be worse for him after all of this—but we know he doesn’t deserve to be imprisoned again.”

How would this trigger his guilt? The worries constricted her own lungs with every breath.

Lola searched her expression as shouts from below mounted. “Okay, but where are you going?”

Emmeline scanned the clouds again, determination hardening her words and slipping a hot armor around her skin. “To find the Angel.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Emmeline

“Miss!” Graves called as he followed Emmeline up the Council House steps.

She skidded to a stop, rounding on him.

“Don’t tell me not to go in there,” she said, half plea and half command as she teetered a few steps above him.

“Never.” He placed a hand to his chest. “But let me go first.”

Gratitude nearly buckled her knees as her finicky guard stepped around her and lunged up the stairs, ordering the on-duty soldiers to let her through.

“Where are they?” Emmeline demanded, her heels echoing on the entry way’s antique tile as guards bowed to her.

No one answered, and Graves gave them all a glare Emmeline knew would have stronger men trembling.

“In the lower meeting chamber,” one finally blurted.

Graves and Emmeline took the stairs two at a time, her feet barely meeting the marble as she whipped around corners lined with precious, centuries-old art and shoved the door open.

Her heart pounded erratically as she froze atop the first step into the sunken chamber, the Angel’s navy-blue eyes locking her into place.

This is who created this tournament, one half of Emmeline’s mind raged.