Page 142 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

An ash tray, ink, spare paper. The top of the desk was rudimentary. She quickly picked through his recent correspondence, finding a few with Temple Masters across the territory and various governors, but most pertained to trade and the tournament.

Nothing that indicated any keen interest in or connection to the Fate of Chaos and Revelry.

One letter stopped her, her attention lingering on the mention of bonding ceremonies. Her skin prickled, but she kept up her search. If Rocarri was connected to Dryvius, evidence wouldn’t be in plain sight.

Emmeline crouched, pulling open the drawers one by one. Magic swished through her veins, anticipation sending her heart racing.

“Something has to be in here,” she whispered as she reached the bottom drawer.

When she pulled it open, a few empty vials clinked together. Her gaze flashed toward the door.

Carefully, she moved them aside, sniffing each to check what they’d housed, but all were clean. Beneath a number of other metal and glass trinkets, a thick leather file was neatly tucked away. In a place an intruder would have to make plenty of noise to dig out.

At least, one who hadn’t spent years sneaking through the shadows would.

Emmeline had the thing liberated in seconds, the pages flipped open on the floor before her, reading by the light of the moon.

She wasn’t certain what she was looking at initially. She feverishly scanned for any mention of Roremar, Dryvius, or the moniker Chaos and Revelry, but she came up empty.

It appeared to be transcribed records of myths that had previously only been passed down verbally. Like someone didn’t want to risk losing them. There were also maps, all focusing on the southwest jungle regions.

Her gaze flicked up to those files on the top shelf again, pulse pounding.

What was the fascination? Were there any monuments or temples to Dryvius there, or was she perhaps building a case out of nothing more than desperate hunches?

Emmeline flipped another page and paused. These were very in depth legends. Charts and maps that outlined histories of each of the Fates, dating back to when they walked Ambrisk. Stories that were typically told around bonfires or over too many glasses of wine to forge mortal myths. But Rocarri’s notes in the margins went further. Evidence for why each was true and what it could mean.

Emmeline’s heart pattered faster.

Perhaps she and Lola were closer than they thought when they theorized Rocarri wanted to create his own Fate with this tournament.

Desperate for an explanation, she turned a few more pages, stopping on a wax pressed sigil of a shooting star circling around itself.

“Fate Bound Seekers,” Emmeline read the unfamiliar name beside the sigil. Her hands shook as she read the doctrine on the next page.

This was information on a cult.

According to the map, this group—the Fate Bound Seekers—originated in the southern jungles. Based on the guidelines recorded here, the Fate Bound Seekers deeply honored the Fates, beyond mere Starsearcher reverence.

All of the Fates.

Their doctrine didn’t cross out Dryvius’s name. There were scores of notes about his life and relationship to the others before his supposed death.

The stack of papers was thicker than she could read in detail, but there were theories about branches of coveted magic Starsearchers were responsible for uncovering, research on how different bonds formed, and a lengthy record of star maps that had her pausing.

Were the Fate Bound Seekers the root of Rocarri’s bid for Chancellor and this entire tournament? Were they the ones backing Dryvius? Had Rocarri always known Dryvius wasn’t dead because he had a connection to him through this cult or otherwise?

Or was this all more evidence for his goal to use this tournament to create a new Fate? To perhaps strengthen Dryvius’s power now that he’d revealed he was alive?

She wasn’t sure which possibility was worse.

Emmeline’s magic hummed louder as she paced the roof above the east wing, not ready to return to her cloistered suite. It beat through the balls of her feet, pounded against the tile as if it were trying to break through⁠—

A form landed lightly beside her, much more quietly than she would have ever expected given the weight of those feathered wings.

“Valyrie,” Emmeline clipped, guarded after the Angel’s lack of interference in the meeting today.

“Hello, Emmeline,” Valyrie greeted. Her wings beat softly at her back, and Emmeline straightened, recalling how they’d felt when she’d inhabited Valyrie’s memory in the seeing chamber.