Page 99 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

It wouldn’t matter how smart or careful she was with her plans. It wouldn’t matter if she followed every Fatesdamned rule they set for her.

If she continued this way, they’d take more of her each day. And at the end, there’d be nothing left.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Roremar

Exhaustion weighed on Roremar the next day, and while that should make him nervous, knowing the reason he was so fucking tired all the time back on Lyra, this time it wasn’t from Dryvius using him. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, too afraid to let himself.

“Help me understand this,” Desmond said, sitting across from him in the barracks. Lola had gotten him on an approved visitation list, but they were required to remain within the lounge space with a guard at the door.

Apparently, while enough people admitted to seeing Roremar while the victim was found at the temple yesterday, he wasn’t totally cleared. A part of him agreed with their decision, not convinced of his innocence himself. He tried to ignore the frustration budding in his chest as he studied the chess board between them.

“This man—Rian—knows your father?” Desmond repeated in a whisper, moving one of his pawns up a space.

“His brother did,” Roremar corrected, assessing his next move with bleary eyes. “He’s a few decades older than Rian, and he died twelve years ago. But they worked together on some mining projects before that.”

“So, he passed on his work to Rian?”

Roremar moved his own piece. “Yes. Rian barely communicated directly with my father, but he was looped into the project. They met once.”

Desmond’s brows rose. “Rian was on the isles?”

“His family is originally from Alvan, supposedly.” Desmond’s eyes widened further, and Roremar nodded. “It’s been hundreds of years since the move, but yes.”

It was rare to find a Starsearcher on the continent who knew much of the isles, let alone had been there themselves or acknowledged roots there. Rian was curious, indeed. At least it gave Roremar something to focus on.

“That’s convenient,” Desmond said skeptically. While Roremar couldn’t blame him, he noted that his friend had been grouchier today. “And let me guess, he met Deacon once and was completely charmed by him.”

For the first time in what felt like days, Roremar laughed. “Seems like it.”

“You father was a charismatic fucker,” Desmond agreed.

“Must be where I get it from.”

Desmond shook his head. “You scowl too much.”

Roremar scoffed, and Desmond gave him a look that said he was proving his point.

“Regardless, Rian said he was intrigued when he heard of a Silventa from Lyra, and when I showed up here and the story spread—well, he knows my father was a good man and is willing to give me a chance because of it. He wants an alliance.”

“You trust him not to double cross you in the arena?” Desmond asked.

Roremar considered, making his next move across the board. “I don’t have a choice.”

Desmond only grunted in response, but Roremar didn’t add that it felt good to think he might have a true ally in this tournament. Two if he partnered with Perry—which he still wasn’t sure he wanted to—and if Perry and Rian were in, it seemed Khasson would follow, too, based on the loose alliances forming in the barracks.

Alliances didn’t truly matter—not for long at least. The second trial was in three days, and the third would be a week after that. Only one of them could win, but for now, the possibility of allies was unexpectedly comforting.

His biggest concern in here was Ritheus Svalla, who had shredded all Roremar’s government-appointed tunics last night. Svalla wanted him gone. Now.

“Where’s Rian today?” Desmond asked.

And just like that, Roremar’s jaw was ticking again. He slammed another piece down, nearly upsetting the board with the force. “At his meeting with Emmeline.”

“Speaking of her.” Desmond fished around in his bag and pulled out a stack of papers. “She wants you to see if you can make anything of these.”

Roremar took the notes, thumbing through them. After only a few lines he shoved the papers back at Desmond, growling, “No.”