Page 250 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

There wasn’t a strong enough word for the hatred that tunneled through Roremar when he finally had a face for the Fate who had controlled and manipulated him for months—who had forced him to take his brother’s life.

And he felt like an utter fool.

Before their eyes, Khasson’s demeanor shifted. He stood taller, power rippling off him with each easy movement, like he could bend the stars with a thought. He’d kept it compressed throughout his entire act, had been right under their noses, sleeping in the same room, lying in wait.

The rest of him—the long, dark hair trailing around his shoulders, the high cheekbones and feline eyes, the grace—was all the same person Roremar had been working with for weeks. Who had wormed his way into Roremar’s head, both internally and externally.

He hadn’t once suspected Khasson. Not because he didn’t think him capable, but Khasson hadn’t seemed interested in them enough. He’d always been on the outskirts of his allies, kept to his own schedule, but not in a way that Roremar would have flagged as suspicious. He was the one who seemed to fall into line because of convenience.

There was no attempt at a false backstory, no move to sway Roremar to benefit him somehow in return.

Khasson had simply watched and enjoyed the chaos unfolding around him, encouraged it from the shadows but never actually to Roremar’s face, other than the one time he came to his cell.

“That’s why we could never read about the tournament.” Emmeline breathed. “Dryvius wasn’t meddling with it. He was participating in it. And—Fates, you’ve been all over this damn city. At the scene of the first murder, at the vineyard party, in the barracks. Khasson was always there.”

“Dryvius was always there,” Roremar corrected.

Perry blurted out, “You’re saying Khasson is the Fate of Chaos and Revelry?”

“You said yourself he showed up here later than the rest of you,” Roremar explained, his mind fighting to clear, to pick up every piece. “Dryvius didn’t have a body until after he killed my brother, remember? A few weeks before the trials began. Plenty of time for him to get from Lyra to Valyn.”

"Yeah, and he was the one that suggested you as an ally,” Perry said as if just remembering.

Fates, it was right there all this time. Khasson was always pulling the strings.

When Perry had first introduced them, Roremar hadn’t known he should be looking for Dryvius outside of himself. He hadn’t thought any of this mattered.

Rocarri pressed a hand to one of the cracked marble bases of the monuments, staring awestruck at the Fate. “You were the one who suggested we allow more entrants.” The Chancellor appeared as shocked as the rest of them. “Khasson showed up on the eve of the opening ceremonies and put in a bid for entry into the tournament. He suggested more men would be more lucrative for the city.”

“More men, more chaos,” Roremar whispered, the tainted feeling sinking so deep into his bones, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it out.

“If you were the one who suggested that,” Emmeline began, “then you were who I overheard with the Chancellor when I was in the tunnels. I’d suspected the Chancellor had a plant, but I’d thought it was Perry”—Perry scoffed but Emmeline didn’t pause—“and Rocarri didn’t even know, this entire time, as he ran this tournament to manipulate our magic, he had a very real Fate working for him.”

Rocarri was practically panting at Emmeline’s words. Roremar’s stomach twisted.

Khasson—Dryvius—smiled salaciously. “It was exceptionally fun to watch him lust after your magic without even knowing mine was nearby.”

“You were at the sacrifices, too,” Desmond blurted, still holding Lola up. “At the rituals with Falliare. I didn’t recognize your voice. It sounded different when you were Khasson, compressed. But there it sounded like it does now.”

Dryvius hummed in agreement, seemingly enjoying all of their shock. Feeding off it. He was in no rush. “Yes, I was. Though, it was convenient you thought it was Perry. I worried at first when you all started following. Thought our plans might have to speed up, and I wasn’t done yet.”

“You followed us into the Angel’s seeing chamber, didn’t you? You’ve been following us all over this fucking city,” Roremar guessed. “You wanted us to be paranoid.”

Dryvius’s vicious grin was all the confirmation Roremar needed.

Violation slid across his skin again. He’d known he was compromised by the Fate, but the fact that Dryvius had been right there, sleeping in the same room, sharing drinks and celebrations with them all…it poisoned the very air Roremar had been breathing. Made every second feel like a cruel joke.

“What is the goal of Rocarri’s rituals? He wanted to study our Fatesworn bond? Is that another game for you?” Roremar accused.

“It’s all. About the bond.” Lola’s weak voice sounded from the altar. Her eyes were still closed as she leaned against Desmond’s shoulder, but she went on, “I was going to tell you. At the masquerade. It’s what I found in the Archives earlier.” She took labored breaths, each one sawing through Roremar. “The Fate Bound Seekers…they don’t exist anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Emmeline asked.

“Rocarri’s father. Drove them into the ground.” Lola took a huge breath, her shoulders heaving. “Trying to do experiments about Fatesworn bonds. Killed hundreds of them.”

“The constellations,” Emmeline said, clearly steps ahead of Roremar thanks to his addled memory. “At the rituals, they kept saying the victims were dying because they didn’t have the right alignment. You’ve been waiting for us to accept our bond so we’d move the stars around. That’s the celestial event you needed. And as soon as we did, you began the third trial. You’re not trying to study our bond, you’re trying to create Fatesworn bonds using the magic ours produces.”

“That’s what these stupid trials are about?” Roremar roared. “The rituals are trying to forge soul bonds?”