Chapter 45 #2
The betrayal of his silence made her cheeks flame, but she went on, “Roremar has been stripped of his autonomy by a Fate, and he has to live with that for the rest of his life. But I swear to you—on the power of all eleven Fates I am aligned to and every drop of star laced magic in my veins—he is no more a danger to any of us than I am. If you believe otherwise simply because of his once-impossible Fate tie, then you must imprison me, as well, because I have been gifted magic never before seen, yet you fall at my feet.”
Her skin burned with the force of that power. It rang through her words.
“I have seen the fortunes that await Roremar’s future, and they are not plagued by Dryvius.
I poured them into the skies above Lyra, for all the isle to see.
” Emmeline’s stare sliced to Falliare, all the venom she could manage in her next words.
“Ask the Master of the Lyra Temple Academy, who is here today. He saw what the Fates declared.”
Falliare said nothing. He didn’t even react to her acknowledgment of him, as if she hadn’t spoken at all.
The other esteemed Starsearchers in the room shook their heads. Cyren gave her a sorrowful look, and Emmeline’s stomach sank with the truth. They were only one person. Their support wouldn’t be enough.
Hysterics clouded her throat, on the brink of breaking as she added, “How can you all say this is not enough? You bow to my magic, yet you do not listen to it. You choose to see only the potential ruin he could bring, but I ask you, do we not all have that possibility lurking within us?
“There is a larger question we must ask. Yes, Roremar was the vessel used to commit the murders on Lyra, but he was not for the recent crime in Valyn. So, who did it?” Her attention sliced to Rocarri.
“There is a murderer in your city, Chancellor. Stop targeting an innocent man because it is an easier solution.”
Her voice rose as she finished, but as silence rang in the aftermath, her strength withered. They observed her cautiously, most continuing to view her as nothing more than a pawn.
Valyrie’s face tipped back as if she was searching the stars.
“You haven’t provided evidence that Mr. Silventa is not guilty,” one man called from the top row of seats.
“My readings—”
“And how do we know those readings are true interpretations?” a woman interrupted.
Another added, “We were not on the isle to witness it. How can we know it has been reliantly relayed to us?”
Emmeline pleaded, “Falliare—”
“Or how can we know Mr. Silventa is not lying to her, as well?”
Cyren tried to interject, even arguing with Falliare to try to get him to advocate for his nephew. A few council members looked uncertain, like they wanted to support Emmeline, but the objections were so much louder than the truth.
Each one piled on her, forcing her to be smaller, less outspoken. They chewed away at the bits of herself she’d always loved: her affinity for magic, her clever mind, her gentle heart, the strength they all gave her.
All of it—this city, these people—compressed it.
To them, she was no more than a foolish, lovesick woman who had been tricked by the heir of Chaos and Revelry.
She was blessed with magic, but that was all they valued.
Not her interpretation of it, nor her relationship to it.
The pure power itself, and that it was kept safe from Roremar’s manipulations.
They’d never see her for more than what she could offer to them.
At the realization—one that, if she was honest with herself, she’d known for a while—something within her shattered.
Emmeline DeLeoste had been broken for much of her life, a patchwork of scars and sewn up rips from gaping pieces stolen, but today, as she stared down Balmour Rocarri, an irreparable part of her—one she’d hidden for so long but had finally allowed to breathe, one that yearned to belong and be understood—crumbled.
Searching, Emmeline’s attention swished to Valyrie, as if the Angel might do anything to help her, but she only blinked out of whatever session she’d been conducting and announced, “That is enough.” Turning to Rocarri, Valyrie said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I believe this meeting has run its course. Everyone is dismissed.”
The Chancellor looked stunned at the adjournment, but he nodded obediently. His advisors heeded the Angel and filed out as she beat her wings, exiting through a hidden panel in the domed ceiling.
Rain sprinkled Emmeline’s skin as she went, and Emmeline couldn’t deny the treachery sinking through her. She’d hoped Valyrie would assert the truth, but even the Angel didn’t care.
“I think it’s best if we escort Miss DeLeoste back to the manor,” Rocarri said, seizing control once Valyrie was gone. “She seems to need some rest. Ensure her door is guarded should she need assistance with anything.”
Her lungs clenched. He was trapping her. Pretty lies and unlocked cages. The freedom to leave her suite, but the promise that eyes would watch each step outside the doors.
Four members of Valyn City Guard stepped forward. Four. To escort her.
Graves shifted closer to Emmeline, his presence a silent promise that he would remain with her despite Rocarri’s guards. A hand latched around her arm, and Graves lunged, but Emmeline ripped free.
“I can walk myself, thank you,” she growled.
Graves nodded in assent, pride in his answering grunt. Chin held high, refusing to lose her composure, Emmeline strode for the stairs.
At the threshold, she paused, looking back at Rocarri over her shoulder. “If you detest Roremar so much, why haven’t you killed him?”
“I do not detest the Reckless.”
“You certainly detest my friendship with him, and it’s clear after your display today that you’re targeting him.”
“Not even that is true,” Rocarri said with a humorless laugh.
“What is it, then? Why rig the trial against him? You knew what it would do—how it would expose him. You claimed you don’t want his blood on your hands for fear of the Fates’ retaliation, yet you created a test he was made to fail, inciting mass hysteria and hatred.
” Carve the heir of Chaos and Revelry from the realms. “Why?”
Rocarri’s eyes lit with something akin to curiosity. Hunger and all the luxurious wonders greed entailed.
A love for chaos and revelry.
Emmeline’s throat thickened.
She knew Dryvius was interfering in the Races somehow. Was Balmour Rocarri the one working in the Fate’s favor? Were they working together? She’d thought it impossible there was another Fate tie to Dryvius out there, but perhaps she’d been mistaken.
“Your connection to the Reckless is strong, Miss DeLeoste.”
Emmeline swallowed all of those burning theories for later. “Is it so wrong to want to prove a man is innocent?”
“It is mystifying to do so with such fervor when there aren’t personal stakes involved. Unless you lied to me when Roremar was first brought here.”
“Roremar is nothing to me.” Her chest splintered in defiance, eleven Fates protesting. “I only met him when we were assigned to the murder case.” Her heart screamed. “I do not wish for an innocent man to be charged with a crime we both know he’s not guilty of.”
They were empty words, especially now that she’d so emphatically defended him. She knew Rocarri was aware she was lying, but she swore by her ruse.
Rocarri grinned, and it was a conniving, disturbing sort of smile that had Emmeline’s stomach flipping. How close was she to the influence of the Fate of Chaos and Revelry?
“Then I suggest you stop preaching of his innocence. After all, as you claimed, eleven Fate ties has not been seen before. How are we to know you don’t prove a threat, as well? How can we be certain your own magic has not driven you mad?”
Emmeline’s blood went cold at the cruelty in his words. At how easily he could spin a rumor to target her next. If he did, she’d never stand a chance of helping Roremar or finding her sister when this mess was over.
“I’m done here,” she said, taking the steps ahead of the City Guards. Graves followed, silently stewing, his clinking armor loud in the tense silence.
Rocarri called after her, “I think you’ll find the louder you scream, the less others will believe you.”
At the top of the stairs, Emmeline looked down at him. “I fear that is not a new plight to me, Chancellor.”