Page 218 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

They only had a few hours to find her.

He blinked and saw his father, Nico…Lola, eyes unseeing and a twelve-pointed star tattooed on her chest.

Throat slit and skin pale.

“We’ll find her before then,” Emmeline swore. “We⁠—”

Before she could finish the thought, the music sliced into piercing silence.

And every mystlight in the room extinguished.

Chapter Seventy-One

Emmeline

Roremar’s hand slipped from Emmeline’s grasp when the lights went out, and with it, the bond in her chest stretched.

“Rore?” Emmeline asked into the darkness.

Voices rose around the room, frightened children calling for their parents, parents for their children, but not Roremar. He didn’t answer her.

“What in the Fates’ fucks?” Desmond’s grumbling tone came from nearby.

Emmeline swung a hand toward it, fingers latching on a soft sleeve. “Desmond?”

“Got me, darling. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Emmeline said, palms tingling with nerves. “Mystlights don’t just go out like that. Roremar?” she tried again, louder this time.

Still no answer.

Her heart sped, every click of heels on tile and brush of bodies loud in the dark.

Slowly, beginning with the ones lining the highest chandeliers, the lights flickered back on. As they sleepily resumed their glow, the room was cast in a ghostly ambiance. Guests squinted as they looked around, seeking an explanation.

The tether behind her ribs stretched until her lungs were tight. Fates whispered through her mind, but she forced her attention on this realm. This room.

“Where’s Roremar?” she muttered.

Perry, Rian, and Khasson were all gone, too, the dance partners they’d whisked away as a distraction standing alone in the center of the floor, blinking and disoriented in the light.

Goosebumps rose along Emmeline’s arms.

Her attention swung to the Silventas, Siena and Vivienne clinging to Chrysta and Leo. Roremar’s younger brother gave her a wide and questioning stare, but she shook her head and stuffed down any visible concern. Leo straightened, rolling back his shoulders as if forcing himself to be brave.

Chrysta bent to whisper something to the girls, but her eyes locked on Emmeline with an unspoken plea: Help him.

The clink of metal against glass punctured the silence.

A hesitant hush fell over the crowd as they turned toward Rocarri at the head of the room. His cloak hung regally from his shoulders, winged masked framing a crinkle-eyed smile that sank a rock in Emmeline’s gut.

Beyond him, twelve constellations flickered over the city in their celestial light show. But the Chancellor’s gaze only rested on Emmeline as he lifted his glass and announced, “A surprise is in order. The final trial in the Tournament of the Angel begins now.”

One hour. That’s all Rocarri gave the guests to get to the arena.

His men rang bells throughout the city to announce the twist. They clanged through Emmeline’s mind as she raced back to the manor with Graves and Eston, the latter utterly silent since she’d told them about Lola.

Desmond had hurried off to meet Myrella at the apartment, everyone agreeing that while she wasn’t tied to Anphrosia, it was safer.