Page 138 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Her voice rose as she finished, but as silence rang in the aftermath, her strength withered. They observed her cautiously, most continuing to view her as nothing more than a pawn.

Valyrie’s face tipped back as if she was searching the stars.

“You haven’t provided evidence that Mr. Silventa is not guilty,” one man called from the top row of seats.

“My readings⁠—”

“And how do we know those readings are true interpretations?” a woman interrupted.

Another added, “We were not on the isle to witness it. How can we know it has been reliantly relayed to us?”

Emmeline pleaded, “Falliare⁠—”

“Or how can we know Mr. Silventa is not lying to her, as well?”

Cyren tried to interject, even arguing with Falliare to try to get him to advocate for his nephew. A few council members looked uncertain, like they wanted to support Emmeline, but the objections were so much louder than the truth.

Each one piled on her, forcing her to be smaller, less outspoken. They chewed away at the bits of herself she’d always loved: her affinity for magic, her clever mind, her gentle heart, the strength they all gave her.

All of it—this city, these people—compressed it.

To them, she was no more than a foolish, lovesick woman who had been tricked by the heir of Chaos and Revelry. She was blessed with magic, but that was all they valued. Not her interpretation of it, nor her relationship to it. The pure power itself, and that it was kept safe from Roremar’s manipulations.

They’d never see her for more than what she could offer to them.

At the realization—one that, if she was honest with herself, she’d known for a while—something within her shattered.

Emmeline DeLeoste had been broken for much of her life, a patchwork of scars and sewn up rips from gaping pieces stolen, but today, as she stared down Balmour Rocarri, an irreparable part of her—one she’d hidden for so long but had finally allowed to breathe, one that yearned to belong and be understood—crumbled.

Searching, Emmeline’s attention swished to Valyrie, as if the Angel might do anything to help her, but she only blinked out of whatever session she’d been conducting and announced, “That is enough.” Turning to Rocarri, Valyrie said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I believe this meeting has run its course. Everyone is dismissed.”

The Chancellor looked stunned at the adjournment, but he nodded obediently. His advisors heeded the Angel and filed out as she beat her wings, exiting through a hidden panel in the domed ceiling.

Rain sprinkled Emmeline’s skin as she went, and Emmeline couldn’t deny the treachery sinking through her. She’d hoped Valyrie would assert the truth, but even the Angel didn’t care.

“I think it’s best if we escort Miss DeLeoste back to the manor,” Rocarri said, seizing control once Valyrie was gone. “She seems to need some rest. Ensure her door is guarded should she need assistance with anything.”

Her lungs clenched. He was trapping her. Pretty lies and unlocked cages. The freedom to leave her suite, but the promise that eyes would watch each step outside the doors.

Four members of Valyn City Guard stepped forward. Four. To escort her.

Graves shifted closer to Emmeline, his presence a silent promise that he would remain with her despite Rocarri’s guards. A hand latched around her arm, and Graves lunged, but Emmeline ripped free.

“I can walk myself, thank you,” she growled.

Graves nodded in assent, pride in his answering grunt. Chin held high, refusing to lose her composure, Emmeline strode for the stairs.

At the threshold, she paused, looking back at Rocarri over her shoulder. “If you detest Roremar so much, why haven’t you killed him?”

“I do not detest the Reckless.”

“You certainly detest my friendship with him, and it’s clear after your display today that you’re targeting him.”

“Not even that is true,” Rocarri said with a humorless laugh.

“What is it, then? Why rig the trial against him? You knew what it would do—how it would expose him. You claimed you don’t want his blood on your hands for fear of the Fates’ retaliation, yet you created a test he was made to fail, inciting mass hysteria and hatred.” Carve the heir of Chaos and Revelry from the realms. “Why?”

Rocarri’s eyes lit with something akin to curiosity. Hunger and all the luxurious wonders greed entailed.