Page 22 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

As if she wasn’t wanted for her magic.

Wanted.

Desired.

Coveted.

Rocarri went on, “I am pleased to announce that not only will the winner of the Races be granted land and wealth that will provide comfort for the rest of any warrior’s days, but he will also be bonded to the greatest treasure of all.” The entire arena held its breath. “With her comes the notoriety of being the only Starsearcher in history to be tied to all eleven living Fates, and the blessing those Fates will rain upon you.”

Rocarri’s guests muttered. She could practically hear their schemes taking shape.

Wanted.

Desired.

Coveted.

Each word coiled in her chest with her pounding magic, crawled up her throat until she couldn’t breathe.

She’d lived in the shadows for so many years—had hidden her magic and her past from every person that turned her way. And now…now, thanks to the sacrifice she’d made in a failed attempt at saving Roremar, she was exposed.

Coveted.

Trapped.

Kept.

They didn’t own her. Emmeline wouldn’t be small beneath them. Their possession had her sharpening her own fangs.

Dropping her gaze, Emmeline met the eyes of each man in that chariot line, and while her expression remained impassive, she ensured with her stare that they knew she would not be easy, she would not be theirs.

“Given this change of events and thanks to a suggestion by one of your own, we have decided to open up the tournament for new entrants.”

Have decided. As if this hadn’t been the plan the entire time. Parade about their chosen competitors to get everyone interested and save their secret weapon to heighten the excitement. More men, more competition, more diverse wagers, more lucrative advantages for the city.

They were shamelessly using her and her magic to raise the stakes.

“Anyone who is interested in throwing their name into the ring to win Miss DeLeoste’s hand, report to Valyn Council House before sundown tonight. You will be provided more information at the signing of intent.”

Alana’s grip tightened on her wrist, Roremar’s ring digging into her skin.

“Tomorrow, the games begin!”

The drums resumed beating and people scurried about the arena, men already racing for the Council House.

Their excitement was palpable in the air, but Emmeline felt nothing good from it.

Nothing but outrage bubbled in her gut as the arena cleared and music started up in the streets—a celebration of her life being taken from her.

Her chest constricted.

Coveted.

Trapped.

Kept.

Her worst nightmare. The exposure of her magic, the revelation of the secrets she’d clung to. As a consequence, like her sister all those years ago, she was being used for it.