Page 233 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

The Warder of Selene.

Fates, watch over us, she said internally. And she scampered inside.

“I don’t think Dryvius’s note literally meant midnight,” she explained as the others looked around. Emmeline carefully stepped on each stone lining the front of the Fate of Secrets and Greed’s portrait on the wall. When she found the one that triggered the hidden staircase and it groaned open, she added, “Lola is the twelfth sacrifice. The other rituals didn’t not work, they were only the first steps. But we shouldn’t assume midnight isn’t literal.”

Eston peered into the underground tunnel, his hand on his sword. Myrella stood a step behind him, and Emmeline swore a swirl of wary curiosity ebbed off her.

Desmond stood before the twelfth Fate portrait, lost in thought.

She crossed to him, placing a hand on his arm tenderly. “Des?”

It reminded her of how Roremar had stopped to look at this image, but with a different kind of pain radiating off Desmond. Roremar’s had been so complex, confused and betrayed and full of unremorseful hatred.

Desmond’s was pure loss.

“He took her.” His voice was rough, amber eyes shining.

“And we’re going to find her. But we have to hurry.”

Desmond waited for a beat, then he nodded. Fingers clenching and unclenching, knuckles cracking, he turned his back on the portrait and went straight for the stairs, not stopping to say anything else. The dark gems in the sword on his back glinting in the low mystlight as he descended.

Emmeline studied Dryvius’s portrait one more time. His face was indiscernible, as all the Fates’ faces were. But there was an air about him. Even in a millennia-old fresco, the chaos he derived shadowed him, like the entire world was a game, and they were all his pawns.

And though she couldn’t see his facial features, there was something familiar about him.

Shaking her head, Emmeline turned away.

Only Eston waited for her.

“You first, Miss DeLeoste,” Eston said as Emmeline approached, the tattered hem of her gown swishing through the dust, the gems so out of place in this ancient burial ground.

With a deep breath, she asked, “Guard our backs, Eston?”

He nodded. “Always.”

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Roremar

“How are they using our fears against us?” Rian asked. His jittery energy was back. He searched the central cavern, checking every small crevice around the perimeter, turning over every stone.

“My mind—my memory,” Roremar explained before the theory could dance away again. “Everything is just out of reach. It’s worse than not remembering anything at all, because I know I’m missing things. I know I’m supposed to remember why we’re down here and all of Emmeline’s theories. It’s tormenting me instead. My mind has always been something I value, an asset, but somehow they’re twisting my thoughts to take it away. They’re manipulating what I consider my greatest strength, so I can’t find the answers. And the last time I couldn’t figure something out…”

His words trailed off as he tried to remember.

“How is that a fear?” Rian asked, trying to keep him on track.

“Because…” Roremar thought, scanning the crossroads. The dark depths within the tunnels. It was like he was back on the cargo ship, scanning empty memories for a hint of what had happened. “Because I couldn’t remember anything after I killed my brother.”

“What?”

“Dryvius,” Roremar said, and it was like a thousand memories slammed into him, each there and gone in a blink. “When Dryvius controlled me before, I couldn’t remember anything. It was like I had amnesia for those specific moments. The thought of what I did or could do while blacked out? That’s fucking terrifying.”

It took what was supposed to be his greatest strength and made it something he was the most afraid of. Just as this trial was wielding it against him now, bringing back that spotty darkness and drenching him in that lost, violated, and tainted feeling again.

His chest pulled tight, each breath hard to get down.

What happened in the darkness?