Page 244 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Before he could ask, Emmeline did. “What happened to your arm? The trial…What are you doing down here?”

“Had the same question.” Roremar quickly explained what they’d figured out—how he didn’t remember much, and Emmeline’s grip around him tightened with each word.

“Are you okay, though?” Roremar echoed her question, looking around this odd chamber for the first time, monuments carving the space. “What are you⁠—”

And then he realized who else was here.

In his best friend’s arms.

“Lola,” Roremar gasped, his sister’s kidnapping flooding back to him. Horror drenched him as he raced to Desmond. His shoulder beating with pain, but he turned Lola’s pale face toward the light. Dark hair fanned across her features, ruffling in her soft exhales. “You found her like this? How did you know where she was?”

“My Fates,” Emmeline answered from his side.

“She’s breathing,” Desmond said, holding her carefully. “But Rore…”

He met his best friend’s gaze, and Des gave a tight-lipped nod, eyes flashing down. Roremar leaned closer, fear thick in his throat.

“Fuck,” Perry exhaled as he and the others leaned over Roremar’s shoulder to see the twelve-pointed star.

“She’s alive,” Emmeline reassured him, fingers slipping between his. Every touch centered him further, helped him think a little more clearly. “Her breathing is steady, and her pulse is strong. Dryvius knocked her out, but I don’t smell the florals he normally uses. For whatever reason, he didn’t finish the ritual.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Roremar asked, gaze locked on his sister’s face. On her closed eyes, lips nearly blue even in the dim light. On the dark hair fanning around her cheeks, making her look impossibly pale, veins stark.

“I have a guess,” Emmeline said. At least her mind seemed to be working okay. “I think she’s the final sacrifice—that he needed twelve total. The rituals have been working, but each was a step. I can explain more, but we really need to get her out of here.”

Mind sluggish, Emmeline’s words took a moment to sink in.

When they did, Roremar jolted. “Get her out of here. What are we waiting for?”

He hadn’t been too late this time. He may not have been able to save his father or Nico, but Lola was still alive.

Two things at once, he repeated to himself as the truth settled.

He could still protect her.

Roremar brushed Lola’s hair from her face, cupping her cheek. Heart barely daring to feel relief, he whispered, “You’re okay, Lola. We got you.”

He wanted to offer to carry her himself—to ensure with his own two hands that she arrived safely back above ground—but with his shoulder, he let Desmond take her.

Plus, Roremar had unfinished business down here.

He looked at his best friend. “Take her to the apartment so my mother can care for her.” His gaze flicked to Myrella, who Emmeline was helping to stand. She trembled and twitched, eyes dazed. “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Desmond whispered. “She said she was hearing voices and kept saying Nico’s name.”

That sliced through Roremar’s chest. Was it an effect of the trial mistakenly messing with her?

“Get her back, too?” Roremar asked.

Desmond squinted at him. “What are you doing?”

“I have to find him,” Roremar swore, voice gravelly. That feeling of his skin not belonging to him returned. “I have to fucking end it.”

Desmond hesitated, clearly warring with allowing Roremar to stay here without him, but his eyes dropped to Lola in his arms. Roremar couldn’t name what flashed across his friend’s expression, but it was enough to make Desmond relent. “Take your sword, at least.”

One-handed, Roremar got the leather band over Desmond’s head while his friend still held Lola. They secured the belt across his good shoulder, a bit awkwardly, then Desmond called to Myrella. “Come on, little dreamer, let’s get you out of here.”

Roremar squeezed Desmond’s arm. “Thank you.”