Page 238 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

But Perry, gaze flicking about the tunnels to find an exit, said, “That makes sense about the murders. A Warder Mark isn’t a sigil, though. It’s a symbol left behind when Fate magic is used.”

Roremar narrowed his eyes. “Why is it on you?”

“Good question, and something I’ve been trying to figure out my entire life,” Perry answered. He cracked his neck, his movements growing more frantic every second they stood still. “I’ve had this mark as long as I can remember. If I can ever get out of here…”

Rian placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him, evaluating the mark closer.

Roremar leaned in, too. The edges were distorted, as if it had stretched with his growth. And now that he was closer, he would see it wasn’t a typical tattoo, nor was the score raised like a brand. It was pale, almost like a scar, or a piece inked in white.

“It’s part of why I’ve always been so fascinated by my grandfather’s stories of the Constellation Isles,” Perry went on, eyes on the ceiling. “Why he told me so much about them. He told me that’s where these marks originated.”

Roremar had to admit, that made sense. He’d wondered what drove Perry so relentlessly toward the Constellation Isles. While the story about his grandfather was an explanation, it hadn’t really convinced Roremar of Perry wanting to ally with him.

But this? A mysterious mark of Fate magic left on his own skin that his grandfather swore was connected to the isles?

That he could believe.

And it added to Perry’s fear of being contained—of being trapped without ever finding this answer about a core part of himself.

Roremar backed down a step, the pieces assembling sloppily in his brain. As before, he was aware there was more about the Warder Marks that he wasn’t remembering right now. It danced elusively at the edge of his memory.

Whatever ritual Dryvius had been trying to commit didn’t only need the bodies and incense, but Fate magic, as well. He’d been channeling that magic through Roremar. Disgust wound through him. He’d been so manipulated, he wanted out of his own skin. His entire body—his magic, his blood—it was all tainted.

“Are you three done yet?” Khasson’s voice echoed from one of the offshoots. Roremar hadn’t even realized he’d disappeared, but Khasson emerged, bracing a hand on his hip. “As fascinating as Fate magic is, we have more pressing concerns. Come on, this way has more moss.”

At least one of them was focused on finishing this trial. Roremar could figure out what Perry’s Warder Mark meant for their theories about the Warders of Selene later. Right now, he had to focus.

Perry and Rian hurried ahead. Roremar jogged behind them, stopping to match Khasson’s pace.

“Given that we all have to rely on each other, we should know, what are you afraid of?”

Khasson laughed. “Nothing that can reach me here.”

They hadn’t gone far when a piercing noise blared down the tunnel, like a gong struck directly in Roremar’s head. It echoed down every nerve and wiped his memory clean.

He tried to cover his ears, pain shooting through his injured shoulder at the sudden movement.

Fucking Svalla.

Roremar stumbled against the wall as the skull-splitting, dying feline wail rang and rang, his eyes watering.

“What is that?” Roremar ground out.

Khasson shook his head, teeth gritted. Rian searched the tunnel like mad, too preoccupied to even cover his ears.

And Perry⁠—

Perry opened his mouth, the crazed fear dilating his pupils as he prepared to shout.

“No!” Roremar lunged for him.

The deafening blow was a hammer shattering the defenses they’d built. They needed to fight it. To remain present.

But before Roremar got close to Perry, a memory slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.

Nico—it was Nico. Laughing. Nico happy and with his arm around Myrella. Their siblings all nearby.

A flash, and it was Nico gripping on to him with that wide, betrayed stare. Nico’s hands losing strength.