Page 179 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

With everything he’d learned about her past, Roremar understood why. But he’d meant every word of his confession atop the waterfall. He loved her for those reasons and more, and though she didn’t say it, she showed she felt it, too.

He wasn’t going to let her push him away anymore. Not for real.

After pouring his heart out, he couldn’t lie. He needed her. He loved her, more than the Fates could say. The thread in his heart that was all Emmeline DeLeoste glowed at the acknowledgment.

“Interesting,” Perry mused, gaze on their hands. An amused smile curved his lips. “Well, I heard you saying you were coming to Wisteria Falls. So, I followed.”

“Why not tell us you were there?”

Perry lifted a brow, the silver hoop in his ear swinging. “As if you’d have let me come. Besides, I figured you’d both be rightfully angry with me.”

“Angry?” Roremar asked, stiffening.

“Emmeline here says I’ve been hiding things.” Her chin lifted at Perry’s words. “And you…I didn’t want to mention it at the vineyard party since the others were around, but I thought you’d figured out I was responsible for your run in the other night.”

“My—” Roremar paused when Perry’s gaze flashed down to his ribs. Fury burned through him. “You’re responsible for me being stabbed?”

Tension wound through the air. Cirre’s purrs turned predatory, Emmeline shifted a step in front of Roremar, and Desmond paused whatever he was searching for, the mystlight splaying over their standoff.

“You have sixty seconds to explain.” Emmeline’s grip tightened on her dagger.

Perry toyed with his earring. “I thought you figured it out.”

“How in a Fate’s fuck would we have figured it out?” Roremar barked.

“In the second trial, you and I were the least affected by the poison. You gave me a look when you were talking to Rian that I thought meant you knew it was because of what was on the blade.”

In the fucking trial? When he was waiting for a lethal poison to attack his Fate tie?

“Sorry, I was a little too busy to notice,” Roremar seethed.

“Let me understand. You stabbed him and poisoned him in order to help him?” Emmeline asked incredulously, a voice she’d used often with Roremar when they first met.

“Yes.”

Roremar asked, “How is that logical?”

Perry’s usual grin slipped onto his face. “First, it made you look weak to other competitors, which I think was an advantage. Especially when it came to Svalla. He didn’t target you nearly as badly as he could have. Second, the substance on the blade was created to protect your Fate tie. It was concocted with a drop of the poison Rocarri was administering and other counteracting ingredients. It had to enter your bloodstream so it could meld with your magic and block Rocarri’s poison.”

Roremar hadn’t figured out that’s what the poison trial was targeting until well into the trial, though. “How did you know we needed to guard our ties?”

Emmeline’s eyes narrowed on Perry.

“My father overheard what the structure of the task was going to be. I figured if I wanted you as an ally, I should pass it along.”

Roremar scoffed. “And you couldn’t have done something crazier than stab me with a poisoned blade, perhaps like telling me the truth?”

“Like I said, you needed to look weak.”

“Who attacked us?” Emmeline asked.

“Hired some people. They thought I was trying to injure you as a competitor, not aid.”

“So, it’s your fault Rocarri accused me of murder again. You’re the reason he’s claiming I lied about my Fatesdamned tie and is turning even more people against me.”

Perry held up a hand. “I didn’t know you were going to propose a battle to the Chancellor. Plus, the poison on the blade only made it so that the poison in the trial wouldn’t strangle your Fate tie enough to kill you. It shouldn’t have blocked all the effects or helped you survive that little stunt you pulled against Rocarri.”

During the trial, Perry had been faring better than the rest of the men, but he’d still shown signs of being affected. Roremar had no such experience. Which meant something was still wrong with his connection to Dryvius, especially since he’d been able to drink all twelve antidotes, eleven of which should have harmed him.