Page 137 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Lies, all of it. Valyrie’s second trial was about so much more than cunning.

“Elaborate,” Valyrie said in that flat tone.

Rocarri nodded with what Emmeline swore was a wave of nerves, and one of his advisors stepped forward. Laurentille, the Master of Scholarship, History, and Sciences, Emmeline recalled.

He cleared his throat, bowing to Valyrie. Silver threaded hair fell around hollowed cheeks as he stood and straightened his blue velvet robes. “According to the research I have gathered, when the first tournament was conducted, Fate ties were in their infantry, aligned to the very magic you commanded instead of the Fates themselves.”

The Angel gave nothing away about the true purpose. Neither did Rocarri, if he knew.

Laurentille went on, “However, in present day, Fate ties have strengthened to a brutal force many Starsearchers rely on. Therefore, we devised this task to challenge our competitors without their Fate ties.”

“Without?” Valyrie asked, but Emmeline was sure she knew what they meant. She simply wanted to string out the taunts of mortal men.

Though Emmeline was still burning with fury, she couldn’t deny she enjoyed watching Rocarri and the councilmen squirm as Valyrie questioned them. Enjoyed watching someone parade the Chancellor around for once, giving him hoops to jump through.

The Master of Scholarship blanched, square beard quivering. “Man must not be fallible because of his magic, or what is the purpose of gifting it to us in the first place?”

Valyrie nodded, and his shoulders visibly dropped.

Rocarri continued, more confident after that affirmation. “Today’s task was designed specifically for each competitor, in the pursuit of proving them infallible of mind beyond their magic. They were all given a poison that targeted their Fate tie. It incapacitated them until they concocted their own unique antidote using the puzzle provided.” His attention shifted to Emmeline, and she fisted her hands at her side. Graves shifted behind her, his defense surprisingly soothing. “Roremar Silventa did not succumb to the poison of Dryvius. The only way that is possible is if he does not have a tie to the Fate of Chaos and Revelry after all. Therefore, he lied, and he himself is guilty.”

“That’s assumption, not fact,” Emmeline gritted out. Perhaps she should have spoken softer before the Angel, but Emmeline hadn’t lived in this city where Valyrie’s influence was etched in the cobblestones. The most formative years of her life had been spent hiding away with nothing but her Fate ties for company, and lately, she was even growing frustrated with them.

It was hard to maintain reverence for holy beings when they did not seem to protect you in return.

“It is evidence,” Rocarri asserted.

At the smug smile following those words, Emmeline erupted. “You know nothing about the evidence of these cases! I was there. I was the one who saw every body, every crime scene. I saw Roremar torn up about each. I saw him confused and questioning when he realized he had been manipulated and forced to kill.”

She had been the one who felt his grief as if it were her own, who followed him into the Trade House, and who revealed his Fate tie when he would have rather his guilt take him.

Not again. Not again.

Maybe I deserve to die.

Rocarri shook his head, pity in the press of his lips. “It’s not my fault, dear Emmeline, that he has been lying to all of us. Even you.”

The councilman and governors murmured, bolder with every moment Valyrie didn’t intervene. Their shame wrapped around her like a shawl.

She shoved it off.

“He has not,” Emmeline swore. “If anything, Roremar is a victim of the Fate as much as those who have died.” She spun to the council members lining the room, searching for just one ounce of belief beyond Cyren. Just one person to stand with her.

Even Falliare didn’t speak up.

The betrayal of his silence made her cheeks flame, but she went on, “Roremar has been stripped of his autonomy by a Fate, and he has to live with that for the rest of his life. But I swear to you—on the power of all eleven Fates I am aligned to and every drop of star laced magic in my veins—he is no more a danger to any of us than I am. If you believe otherwise simply because of his once-impossible Fate tie, then you must imprison me, as well, because I have been gifted magic never before seen, yet you fall at my feet.”

Her skin burned with the force of that power. It rang through her words.

“I have seen the fortunes that await Roremar’s future, and they are not plagued by Dryvius. I poured them into the skies above Lyra, for all the isle to see.” Emmeline’s stare sliced to Falliare, all the venom she could manage in her next words. “Ask the Master of the Lyra Temple Academy, who is here today. He saw what the Fates declared.”

Falliare said nothing. He didn’t even react to her acknowledgment of him, as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

The other esteemed Starsearchers in the room shook their heads. Cyren gave her a sorrowful look, and Emmeline’s stomach sank with the truth. They were only one person. Their support wouldn’t be enough.

Hysterics clouded her throat, on the brink of breaking as she added, “How can you all say this is not enough? You bow to my magic, yet you do not listen to it. You choose to see only the potential ruin he could bring, but I ask you, do we not all have that possibility lurking within us?

“There is a larger question we must ask. Yes, Roremar was the vessel used to commit the murders on Lyra, but he was not for the recent crime in Valyn. So, who did it?” Her attention sliced to Rocarri. “There is a murderer in your city, Chancellor. Stop targeting an innocent man because it is an easier solution.”