Page 93 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“The same as what?” Emmeline asked, holding the ring closer to her chest.

“The first time we followed Falliare,” Myrella explained, dropping her voice lower, “when he went to the sanctuary at the port, he purchased a carving coated in a paint or oil—we don’t know what it is. But we bought a similar one to study.” Her gaze dropped to the ring. “And the color, texture, everything—looks exactly like that.”

Emmeline unfolded her fingers, holding Roremar’s ring out for them all to see. The blackened steel—or whatever coated it—caught the light, a rainbow aura reflecting across the curves and markings.

“Now the question is,” Desmond said, “why?”

Chapter Thirty

Roremar

“Rore, sit down,” Lola said for the fifth time. Or the seventh. Or Fates knew how many times his sister had told him to take a seat in this windowless, white-tiled sequestering chamber in the basement of the barracks.

“Sit down?” he roared. “Lola, someone was murdered, and they threw me in another damn cage. How can I just sit down?”

“Because you’re driving yourself mad, and me, too, with your pacing,” Lola snapped. She kicked out the chair beside hers. “Sit.”

Sighing, Roremar collapsed into the seat, the back legs wobbling with his weight. He leaned against the stiff wood, tilting his head toward the ceiling. The mystlight orbs flickering in their rusted fixtures made his eyes water as he tried to pick through the entirely illogical fact that he was sitting here.

“Walk me through it again,” Lola said calmly, hands on the chipped porcelain teacup one of the guards had offered her. At least they allowed her to stay with him—though he wasn’t offered anything to drink.

Roremar dropped his gaze to the floral pattern on the cup as he recited the day’s events. Again.

“I was never alone. Not since I woke up this morning. We were broken into smaller groups and had meetings with Rocarri and the Governors about the commitments expected of us the next few days before the second trial. They said everyone will have a private meeting with Emmeline.” His jaw ticked over that, and he dragged his hands down his face, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Around those, we’re expected to mingle with Starsearchers. They’ve sold tickets to different opportunities to meet us so everyone can decide who they’d like to wager on.”

The show of it all grated through him.

“What next?” Lola prompted when he paused.

“When the schedules were decided, I was in the group led to the training yard behind the barracks. There were soldiers there at all times, and we were partnered up.”

“Who were you paired with?” Lola asked, though he’d already told her. He knew what she was doing—asking him guiding questions, prompting his mind to put together the pieces in a different manner. It was the same way Desmond always tried to help him through puzzles.

“Rian. He’s a good fighter—he’s in my bunk, from a coastal city originally, I think.” Roremar’s mind flicked through the profiles of every tournament contestant, laying out the details he’d gathered of each man, the ticks and habits. “He keeps to himself—the others underestimate him, so they paired him to spar with me—but I think he stands a chance.”

His chest unknotted as he went through it all methodically.

“That’s important to note,” Lola commented. “I’ll be sure everyone knows to keep an eye on him.”

Emmeline. She would ensure Emmeline knew whom to look out for in her private meetings this week. The thought made him sick.

“There were soldiers with us all day, Lola.” He shook his head as he met his sister’s eye, stomach churning. “I wasn’t chained, but I wasn’t alone. Then, City Guard showed up and herded us inside.”

And he’d been thrown in here without an explanation other than there had been another death. It wasn’t until Lola showed up and told him what happened that the crushing defeat landed. That his mind blurred and the waves drowned him.

Roremar sighed, running a ringed hand through his hair and dropping his chin in his palm. He didn’t take his eyes off the white tile floor, staring at nothing until his vision blurred.

Barely audible, he whispered, “What if they’re right?”

Fates, he hadn’t wanted to voice it, but what if he had somehow killed that woman?

“No,” his sister demanded. “Don’t you dare start to think it. It’s not possible.”

He peeked at Lola from beneath his dark waves. His throat stung, hands shaking. “I didn’t think it was possible before either, but what if I did it again?”

“That was different, though, Rore. That was when you were sleeping or were intoxicated. You’ve done none of that today—you’ve been with people all day, for Fates’ sake!” She shook her head, blue eyes determined. The blue eyes Roremar had once shared—his more clouded—now faded to grey.

“What if there’s a way? What if it was me? Who else could it have been?”