Page 141 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“Careful, Khasson,” Roremar joked, the wine already going to his head. “He has ears across the capital, and that sounds like you don’t agree with our fine ruler.”

“I’m making no accusations,” Khasson confirmed. “There are calls for your head. I don’t know if that was the Chancellor’s goal, but it’s what he caused, and the unrest is undeniable. He’s inciting his own chaos without seeing the repercussions.”

“Ironic.” Roremar laughed, but it was as hollow as he felt. “What are you really doing here?”

Khasson shrugged. “Proving who I believe in.”

“Why?”

“Why let him make you into something you’re not?” Khasson countered. “I saw the look on your face today when you declared your challenge to Rocarri. You’ll do whatever it takes to win her hand. It feels unfair for the rest of us to compete against that.” A smile tipped his lips, one that felt more knowing than Roremar could make sense of. Or maybe it was the wine getting to his head. “We’re all pawns, Reckless. All of us in this tournament, convinced to enter it for his entertainment, now being slaughtered. It’d be a shame to allow your gauntlet to be stomped on so easily after you threw it down. Why not continue to play?”

With that, Khasson set the uncorked bottle of wine inside Roremar’s cell and strode for the stairs.

Why not continue to play?

Before he disappeared, Roremar called, “Hey, Khasson!”

The footsteps stopped.

“There are a few things you could do for me.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Emmeline

He’d confined her to her suite. Not outright, but Rocarri was smarter than Emmeline had feared. He’d known if there were guards at her door that weren’t her own, she was unlikely to leave, especially after the Council House.

But the thing Rocarri didn’t know about Emmeline: She liked being confined to her own shadows.

It was that need that had her slipping into her leathers, extinguishing her lights—even the mystlight lamps on the balcony in case any guards were patrolling the orange groves—and using the ivy to scale the side of the manor. She’d spent the hours in her cage counting out their rotations, timing everything perfectly so she knew precisely how long she’d have to get to the roof.

Then, she hopped silently across the palatial space until she found what she was looking for. In the east wing of the manor, attached to a glass observatory with all the lights dimmed, sat Balmour Rocarri’s private study.

This was incredibly risky, especially after how clearly the Chancellor had eyes on her, but Emmeline’s patience grew thinner by the day.

She’d written to Lola to ensure Rocarri was busy tonight. She and Desmond were following him to a cigar den in the exclusive sector of the First District with some of his closest advisors. Thanks to Lola’s status, they’d been granted access. Emmeline should have at least another hour. Still, she hastened to find an unlocked glass panel among the observatory’s expansive windows and ease it open, freezing momentarily when the hinge squeaked.

She counted her inhales, breath fogging in the frigid night air. Her gloves slipped over the condensation as she clung to the building, but when no one in the halls or grounds came running, she slid the window open the rest of the way and ducked inside.

Embers crackled in the hearth from the fire Rocarri had lit earlier, the smoky and fruity scents of extinguished incense lingering on the air. On the low table before the hearth, two wine glasses sat, a bottle drained to the dregs between them.

Certain that nothing would be in plain sight, Emmeline scanned his bookshelves first to cross that off her list. The dark wooden slats bordering the mantle were packed to the brim with volumes and files, but there were no boxes or small wooden lockers typically found for storing incense.

Particularly, incense that could support the budding theory that he was tied to Dryvius.

Whatever nefarious purposes Rocarri may have for her and this tournament, it was clear he was extremely well-read. And he seemed to have a subject preference: history. Most of the weathered text embossed on their cracked leather spines referenced magic and mythology rather than battle strategy or government, though there were a few of the latter, dust-covered and tucked into the lower corner.

Emmeline pulled a chair over to climb to the top shelves and grabbed a few leather files, rifling through them.

“Case studies,” she whispered.

Some were conducted by Rocarri himself years ago when he attended an Academy in the southern city of Tortorria. Others were records by notable scholars he’d obtained either for his own research or in previous schooling. All were focused on legends and Fate magic, a few tied to a specific jungle region in the southwest of Starsearcher Territory.

Emmeline pulled up a mental map of the continent as she scanned more case studies. It had been six years since she’d been here, but she knew her clan’s history and terrain fairly well. Valyn was the city furthest north, taking advantage of the proximity to rivers and ports on the coast. What was the Chancellor’s fascination with the south, then? Was it simply because he’d studied in Tortorria?

Making mental notes of everything, Emmeline slipped the files back onto their shelf, careful to replace them in the same order she’d found them and ensure nothing else was disturbed.

She moved the chair back before the desk and smoothed out any indentations it left in the rug before the bookcase, then ducked behind the large wooden surface where Rocarri conducted business and took in the world from this angle.