Page 5 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

She leaned in, ignoring the instinct to rip the triple blade from where she’d hidden it on her thigh and press it to his throat. She needed to learn how to live in Valyn if she had any hope of finding her sister, and threatening one of the Chancellor’s guests wouldn’t help.

Emmeline asked, “What do you mean?”

“Think about it,” the stranger prompted. “A man new to his title, trying to solidify his rule. He has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand with this event. Seems to me he’d want to keep control. And what’s the easiest way to do that?”

“Curiosity?”

Another glint in his eye. “Intrigue and debauchery.”

Chaos and Revelry, her brain screamed, but she tamped it down. Tamped down the knee-weakening longing ripping through her. Her grip on her glass tightened.

“If you don’t know much, what do you know?” Emmeline asked, breathless from the pain in her chest.

He smirked again at her tone, clearly misreading it. “I know the tournament will involve three tasks spread over the coming weeks. The winner will receive riches, titles, and land.”

Emmeline’s mind spun with the possibilities. “What kind of tasks?”

“That’s the part no one knows. They’re supposedly difficult. Dangerous. Everyone’s been guessing what they could be. The mystery keeps citizens hooked, and the Chancellor promised parties, granted holidays, and is encouraging gambling on participants to stimulate economic growth after the past few years of turmoil.”

Emmeline chewed her lip. That was a good purpose, and Fates knew the Starsearchers deserved it, but something in her gut still squirmed as she studied the grandeur around her.

“Who’s competing?”

“As the Chancellor says”—he dropped his voice to mimic Balmour Rocarri—“only the strongest, cleverest, and most capable. He’s been recruiting from around the territory for months.”

Emmeline hummed. That made sense at least. “What’s your name?”

“Percivale Maldano.”

It didn’t strike any chord in her memory, but Emmeline had to admit, she’d been distracted since she’d arrived.

“Do you work for the Chancellor, Percivale?”

“Fates, no.” He snorted a laugh. “And call me Perry.”

“Seems rather familiar.”

“I feel as though we should become very familiar.” Did heat line his tone or was she imagining it? She certainly wasn’t imagining the way the greens in his hazel eyes flashed mischievously.

“I’m all right, thank you,” Emmeline said not unkindly.

Perry laughed as he plucked a bunch of grapes from a passing tray overflowing with fruits, assorted cheeses, and cakes. As he leaned back lazily against the wall, his fingers brushed her arm. Emmeline stiffened, but Perry popped a grape into his mouth. He stretched, lines of dark ink flexing on the inside of his forearm.

“If you don’t work for the Chancellor, then why are you here?” Emmeline asked, pulling her eyes away from the strings of numbers and letters that only reminded her of gentle touches exploring someone else’s tattoos. Of confided explanations of what each stood for and the devotion Roremar bled. That hollow, screaming ache deepened in her chest.

Percivale’s head tipped from side to side. “Call it a familial obligation.”

That makes two of us, she almost said. Although, her search for her sister was more of a bone-deep need.

She spun her opal ring around her finger and tried to force herself to focus, but the pain in her chest wrenched tighter. With every twist, her Fate ties pulled.

The swishing chant in her veins mixed with the chatter of the ballroom rising around her. One voice over another, one stranger’s face replaced by the next. So many eyes. There were so many eyes on her at all times. People who all seemed to want something from her.

A show. Even Perry, who seemed so at ease, amused by this world, had said it was true. This was an act, a play, and she was a puppet among them all.

At the thought, her throat constricted, a coiling pressure mounting behind her ribs, threatening to pop.

“Excuse me,” Emmeline said, voice hoarse. “I need to read.”