Page 165 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Shoving up from the floor, he found the loose stone in the wall, the one he’d carefully pried out overnight and worked back in.

He pulled out the reading supplies Khasson had delivered for him. Two favors, he’d asked of his ally. One, get him to the vineyard party to see Emmeline. Two, retrieve the items from under his mattress.

Repercussions be fucking damned, Roremar was going to force Dryvius to speak with him.

He inhaled the oil, the spice shooting straight into his veins like the strongest hit he’d ever taken. It was Fatesdamned euphoric, his magic purring through his blood at the freedom.

He was sent back to that red-tinted stone chamber he was certain was the Fate Realm, the overturned tables and shattered glass painting the ground. Tattered deep-plum curtains wafted in front of broken windows, the landscape beyond impossible to make out.

Spilled wine splashed beneath his boots as he turned in place, face tipped toward the stars.

“Dryvius!” Roremar shouted. His head spun with the force of the reading.

The name echoed on the empty air.

“Dryvius, you fucking coward! Talk to me! What do you want?”

His words emptied into the void.

He yelled, again and again, threatening and insulting and begging the Fate.

Roremar didn’t know how long he stood there and screamed, but no one answered. Not the Fate of Chaos and Revelry, and not any other celestial being.

Eventually, his limbs grew heavy, his vision wavered, and Roremar fell to his knees in the puddles of wine. He squeezed his eyes tight, and the images came. First, visions of Nico. Then of his dad. Both on the brink of death but looking at him with a stain of betrayal.

Then, it was his sisters.

And Leo.

And his mother.

Desmond.

And finally, Emmeline. The two of them, ripped apart. Her tear-streaked face and his self-loathing at putting those tracks there. An eternity forever cleaved in two.

They played on a loop, moments he cherished and some he thought hadn’t even happened. His mind pulled at each, fine silk threads unspooling through history and fortune. They tugged until he thought he was going mad, until it felt like the very matter of his brain was unraveling.

Then, when he didn’t know how much more he could take, a chuckle rolled through the air like a panther’s purr.

The strings of everything he loved pulled and pulled.

It was Dryvius. The Fate picked through his mind. Tampering. Manipulating. Owning.

The memories shifted, every scene bloodstained. Each of his siblings screamed in pain.

“Leave me alone!” Roremar growled.

Dryvius hummed in response, his presence a lyrical taint seeping into Roremar’s being. The Fate’s amusement rippled down his bones.

“I swear to you,” Roremar said through gritted teeth and watery eyes. Head tipping to the stars, he found the constellation that had been carved from the sky for so long, and he panted, “I fucking swear, Dryvius, whatever your plan is, I will figure it out. And you will get everything you deserve.”

Oh, Reckless, Dryvius cooed, his voice so damn familiar, it was a part of Roremar. It is impressive you still think you stand a chance.

“I swear⁠—”

Don’t you see? Footsteps echoed as if the Fate was in the dining chamber with him, boots crunching over broken glass. But Roremar couldn’t see him. He was alone, yet Dryvius’s next words came from just before him, a rich fruity scent on the air and his breath close enough to warm Roremar’s chilled skin.

No one believes you. No one will listen. Dryvius hummed again in amusement, the sound traveling down Roremar’s spine. You and I are not that different after all.