Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Emmeline
By the time Rocarri’s show ended for the evening, Emmeline was bursting out of her skin to leave the manor. She’d tried all night to get the Chancellor to speak with her regarding Roremar’s innocence, but every time he evaded her.
And every time, her patience waned.
After being watched these past few days, she was craving the anonymity of the rooftops. And she hadn’t gotten to do her personal digging in the Archives today.
The temple was guarded more tightly than usual with the crime scene out front. They weren’t allowing anyone in or out, so masquerading as someone here to pray or read wasn’t an option.
Not to mention that anyone in this damn city could recognize her.
The roof, though…and those sneaky skylights always propped open to filter out incense…
The stained-glass dome and jutting spires hid her perfectly as she sought out an entrance.
The interior of the temple was quiet when she dropped in, no guards patrolling since the doors were all locked and they focused their forces on the exterior. It took her no time to pick the lock into the Archives and disappear down the spiral staircase.
Her magic pounded in her veins as she descended. Lola had said there were twelve levels, which made her research extremely difficult.
Emmeline slipped onto the first, a large information desk at the front and countless rows of books stretching into the depths beneath the temple.
Mystlight lanterns illuminated the space, but she needed to find schematics rather than randomly search.
She plucked one of those lanterns from its bracket and ducked behind the desk.
The different levels were organized by subject. When she couldn’t find a map of any kind, Emmeline sighed and closed her eyes. “Fates, guide me.”
She didn’t have incense or oils, but Emmeline’s magic was pounding relentlessly already—perhaps from the proximity to the temple.
She pulled at the one Fate who always kept details of her sister at the tips of her fingers, but never shared them.
The one who had told her to go to the Ninth District the other day.
“Metrina,” Emmeline whispered.
The Fate sparked to life, a celestial outline in her mind, starlight ebbing on the dark plane.
“I know you can’t tell me of my sister, but show me where in here I will find any information.”
It was too specific of a fortune to ask. The Fates weren’t supposed to answer questions like that.
As expected, Metrina said nothing—
A red light flashed in Emmeline’s mind, and she pulled herself from the reading.
“Thank you,” she breathed, heart pounding, and she scampered down the stairs. She didn’t stop until she found the only floor with a lantern glowing in the distance with its glass stained red.
Perhaps Metrina couldn’t say anything to her about her sister, but Emmeline was starting to believe the Fate of Prophecy and Demise was on her side when it came to this hunt.
Footsteps light as a jungle cat, she flew up the rows, scanning every title in this collection.
Of course, the information she was looking for wasn’t in any old reference book or historical record.
But the temple trading had been at its peak about twenty years ago.
The Chancellor at the time had started cracking down on it shortly after, and while the problem clearly still persisted, as evidenced by all the men she’d hunted on Lyra, it had waned.
She sought out records of that Chancellor’s rule two decades ago.
Emmeline moved quickly up and down rows, aware that she’d have to get back to her suite soon.
It was reckless enough that she’d left, but she figured if Rocarri had anyone follow her here, they’d only see an Academy instructor doing research or someone who had worked the murder case on Lyra looking into the newest victim.
It was less of a risk than meeting with Roremar. She almost hoped tonight was the time Rocarri had her followed.
“Come on,” she whispered. Her breathing grew ragged as she tore volumes from the shelves and flipped through them.
Finally, in a modern history book wedged in a back corner, she found something.
“The Averian,” Emmeline breathed at the familiar title of the Second-in-Command of the temple trades. This book didn’t mention whom he worked for or his true name, but it was a record of his favored trade routes between major cities.
It spoke of the man as if he was a nightmarish legend who appeared in the night, stole, and then escaped down rivers or through jungles with his prizes.
Emmeline clung to every sighting, tracing the routes in her mind.
There were no mentions of her sister, nor any other children who had been taken, which was best to respect their privacy, but she had to find more specifics.
Turning a page, Emmeline scanned the list of the Averian’s most notable haunts.
And her breath caught in her chest.
“The Temple of Selene.” According to this, this specific location deep in the jungles—far away from Valyn—was rumored to be the temple the Averian worked most directly with. All activity was shut down now, but…
“Selene,” Emmeline repeated.
The first and only reference she’d found to any kind of temple, monument, or myth devoted to the three-pronged being. These records didn’t state the purpose of the temple, focusing more on the Averian, but it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Emmeline didn’t dare remove this book from the Archives, but she quickly scrawled down notes and tucked them into her satchel. Then, she fled, all the while wondering what in the Fates the Averian and the temple traders could have known about the Warders of Selene.
When Emmeline emerged atop the temple again, it had started raining. Rather than hop over the slippery tiles, she descended down the side and into the back alley. She was a few streets over, nearing a residential area, when she saw a trio of men tucked beneath an awning smoking.
“What about that woman the Chancellor has? Think it’s true?” one asked, hissing as he inhaled.
Emmeline froze. She could barely see them from her spot at the end of the alley, empty cartons piled high beside her, so she scrambled to the other side and ducked into the shadows of a butcher shop, ignoring the rancid smell of their discarded rubbish from the day.
“The Fate ties?” a second clarified.
The first man grunted in confirmation. Emmeline leaned around the stacks of trash, trying to get a better view, but the rain was picking up, and the light was too dim.
“I hope so.”
The third voice laughed. “Why do you hope so? You’re not competing.”
“No, but who says whoever gets her can’t disappear one night? Take her for myself. Get out of this Fatesdamned city. Magic like that could make a lot of money selling fortunes on the road.”
The others snickered. “The magic alone is worth it, but she’s also a fine piece.”
The conversation tightened Emmeline’s throat, their hunger for her dousing her skin in ice water. She couldn’t even go out for one night in this starsforsaken city without being wanted.
She retreated quickly, but after what they’d said, she wasn’t as aware of her surroundings as she should be. The edge of her cloak snagged on the corner of a crate, and the pile toppled over, crashing against the stone floors.
“Fates,” Emmeline swore beneath her breath.
“Who’s there?” one of the men called.
Footsteps splashed through the puddles toward her, and Emmeline let her eyes slip closed with a resigned sigh.
She really hadn’t planned on killing anyone tonight, but she whipped a triple-blade from her thigh and sent it flying toward them.
It landed with a solid squelch followed by the target’s cry and two threatening shouts.
She didn’t wait for their minds to catch up to what she’d done.
She ran.
At the end of the alley, she whipped around the corner and smacked face first into a broad form. She was reaching for another knife before she could think but a familiar, disgruntled voice whispered, “Easy there.”
“Graves?” Emmeline asked, bewildered as he pulled her behind a swinging tavern door, the lights in the place off.
“Come here.” He wrestled her through the closed dining room and out the back door. In the rainy mystlight, her guard’s tired expression came into view.
“How did you find me?” she asked when she was certain they hadn’t been followed.
“After the scene today, I guessed this was where you’d go when you weren’t in your suite.”
Fates, she swore he was patrolling the other end of the wing when she snuck out. She must have miscalculated the time it took him to make his loop.
At least he thought she was here for the murder, not her personal vendettas.
“You can’t be coming out here alone,” Graves said.
Guilt twisted through her. Not for Graves—for Roremar and her friends. Graves was trying to do his job, and she wouldn’t let that deter her goals, but she’d promised them she’d be more careful, and then she’d almost been attacked. Again.
She couldn’t sit idly by as this city ate away pieces of her, though. And she’d gotten information from the Archives that she desperately needed. A little blood was worth it.
“I’m fine,” Emmeline swore, not willing to repeat any of that to her guard. “They were only stupid men. Probably didn’t know their heads from their asses.”
They weren’t the ones working on the Fate of Chaos and Revelry’s rituals.
“You aren’t listening, Miss DeLeoste,” Graves cut her off, tone gruff but full of the respect and care so few in this city showed her.
Enough to make her halt. “You heard those idiots. There are hundreds of them out there, and the things those three were saying pale in comparison to what else I’ve overheard.
What they’re doing to you is wrong, but don’t make it easier for them. ”
“I won’t live in a cage,” Emmeline bit out.
“I’m not asking you to.”
“What are you saying then?”
“You’re a smart girl. Act like it.”
Emmeline didn’t bother pointing out to Graves that the issue wasn’t that what she did tonight wasn’t smart. It was that no matter where she went in this city someone wanted her.
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.