Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Emmeline
“Emmeline. Welcome,” Aldryn Falliare, the Master of Lyra Temple Academy, greeted her as the door to his office clipped shut, the sound echoing to the high ceilings.
The navy pennants draping the stained-glass windows bordering the entrance rustled with the motion, Lyra’s crest catching the light, the serpent swallowing its own tail to form a perfect circle, a pair of glorious wings set atop a twelve-pointed star in the center with the spikes piercing the snake’s scales.
Emmeline shuddered as she was entranced with the beast’s beady eye.
The gruesome piece adorned every available surface of the Temple Academy and many of the isle’s other establishments, meant to symbolize the supremacy of the Angel Valyrie and both the eternal nature of the Fates as well as their precious Balance.
Each of the Constellation Isles off the coast of Gallantia defined themselves with an image just as brutal.
Whether it be the armored starfire phoenix of Alvan—its white flamed feathers devouring a precious branch of wisteria from beneath a carved helm—the lyre of Gemmi that bled wisps of airy fortunes that resembled screaming masks, or any of the other four, all were wicked in their own right, heavy with intention that Emmeline could—and often had—read about for days on end.
She swallowed over her dry throat as she studied the serpent emblem, hands turning clammy. Rough scales grated against her skin, her heart rate quickening at the blade-sharp fangs.
Sweat gathered along her palms.
Her scars—
“All right, dear?” Master Falliare asked.
She snapped her attention away from the sigil, stifling the panic creeping up her spine. Emmeline nodded but she didn’t step forward, hands twisting behind her back.
“Of course, sir.” The Temple Master’s eyes dropped over her.
Under his scrutiny, the circular chamber felt like a tunnel, trapping her, its high ceilings so far away and the single door at her back not enough of an exit.
She cleared her throat, waiting until his eyes met hers to add, “Your summons said this was a pressing matter?”
“How was the morning lesson?” Falliare asked, thick waves of grey hair drooping around his sharp-featured face. A dramatic cloak hung off his shoulders, water droplets from the dewy isle morning sprinkling the rich navy fabric as if he’d only just returned from somewhere.
“As productive and eye-opening as always,” Emmeline answered, hiding any hint of wariness at his clear diversion, though she still hadn’t figured out what Falliare wanted. “First hour is always the rowdiest, as you know, and they’re full of questions about next month’s festival.”
A low, dismissive chuckle rumbled behind Falliare, and Emmeline stiffened. Peering around his broad-shouldered frame, she nearly jumped when she met a pair of steel grey eyes, the stranger seated at the desk as if he owned it.
“Oh,” she muttered, pulling her attention back to Falliare. “I hadn’t realized this was a group gathering.”
“Yes,” the Temple Master said, stepping aside to reveal the other attendee.
In accordance with the dramatic show, light filtered through the towering windows on either side of the desk in beaming streaks that skipped across every expensive bauble in the room.
“I’ve asked Roremar to join us. I have a task I need assistance with—from both of you. ”
The man leaned back in the Temple Master’s chair with all the ease in the world, one booted ankle crossing over his knee and long fingers drumming against the carved wood arm.
His dark grey leathers were worn—knees and elbows faded as well as small patches throughout—yet they were somehow pristine, cared for with precise attention to detail.
All silver buckles gleamed, as did the pair of triple-bladed daggers at his waist—the shape unique to the Starsearcher clan, meant to resemble a star whizzing through the air when thrown.
A sword Emmeline was certain didn’t belong to Falliare was propped against the desk, the hilt shining silver and studded with a pattern of dark gems she couldn’t decipher from across the room.
It wasn’t only the weapons that had Emmeline’s shoulders straightening, though.
The stranger had a calculating yet amused look in his steel eyes, peering from behind a few stray curls of thick black hair.
The haughty purse of his full lips and the sharp jawline that ticked over whatever he saw when he looked at her.
Not just looked.
He studied her like he was committing her presence to memory, crafting his own constellation out of whatever he found.
Was he always so…intense? Regarding strangers as opponents or something to be discovered?
The attention had her spine straightening, skin heating as if he could see all the secrets buried beneath, the magic in her veins fighting to break free.
Roremar, Falliare had called him.
And…oh, fucking Fates. She knew exactly who this was.
Roremar the Reckless, a warrior who earned his reputation through less than savory—and less than smart—scheming.
Initially, he’d begun in reconnaissance for Lyra’s legions, eventually moving to the strategy team.
From what Emmeline had heard, his methods usually ended with more heads and limbs scattered around the battlefield than could have possibly been necessary.
And had Falliare said he had a task? For the two of them? Stars, she didn’t like the sound of that. Emmeline operated on perfectly crafted order, and this man’s history spoke of anything but. Whatever the Temple Master wanted, she’d be better off conquering it alone.
Lips still pursed, Roremar pushed up from his seat and circled the desk. His arms crossed over his chest as that Fatesdamned stare continued to probe her, but she kept her expression blank.
“For us?” Emmeline echoed.
“Yes, Miss DeLeoste.”
Emmeline spun her opal ring around her finger, the tarnished silver smooth and familiar beneath the pad of her thumb.
She was very aware of Roremar tracking the small movement, but she kept it up, pretending he didn’t affect her in the slightest when truthfully his unfiltered attention made her feel much too visible. Like a brittle sheet of glass.
“What sort of task?” Roremar asked.
“You both surely have been kept abreast of the rising crime on the isle, correct?” the Temple Master asked, his grey brows rising as he looked between them.
Emmeline stiffened. “Yes, sir.”
Not only did she know of it, she’d been using it to her advantage these past months.
It had been steadily growing worse, and while it was certainly a threat to the island and something to be concerned about, it was a convenient cover as she hunted down the men involved with the child trading on the continent.
Had Falliare found out about her illicit activities? Her eyes dropped to her boots, searching for flecks of blood left behind.
“I’ve been informed a bit,” Roremar said, his tone laced with disinterest. “What does it have to do with us?”
“This isle is losing its grip,” Falliare admitted through clenched teeth. “For a while, drugs were the main problem, but lately, the issue has escalated. Rather than the substances running rampant, it’s become a problem of women going missing.”
Emmeline’s blood iced over. “Women?” she wheezed.
No, no, no. It couldn’t be happening here, too. She’d been weeding out the threats, disposing of them one at a time when they didn’t have answers for her about the continent.
“What do you mean?” she added, her palms tingling and chest crowding.
Falliare’s thin lips flattened. “I mean that multiple women have vanished recently from their homes or jobs.”
“How many?” Roremar demanded, tone serious and shoulders rigid.
“Two confirmed so far. A handful of other potentials.”
“Bodies?”
“None.” Their words soared back and forth across Emmeline’s clouded vision.
“Any leads?”
Falliare’s expression tightened. “No.”
This was exactly what she was trying to stop—
She took a breath, nails digging crescents into her palms. There was no guarantee these disappearances were tied to who she was looking for.
It was possible, but unless she had proof that the cases were similar, it didn’t matter.
Based on what Falliare said, these were grown women going missing, not children stolen for their magic.
She couldn’t get caught up in this mess when she had her own search to conduct. Couldn’t afford to lose focus.
“Is Lyra Isle Guard that incompetent?” Roremar asked, and if Emmeline hadn’t been falling down her own spiral, she would have gaped at how readily he insulted one of the Temple Master’s own programs.
A slight, offended growl rumbled in Falliare’s throat, but he said, “I’ve given them a month already, and they’ve made little progress.
If we don’t find whoever is responsible soon, this is only going to escalate.
More people missing means greater fear, and I don’t want my isle to become an environment that fosters terror. ”
Emmeline’s stomach twisted at how clinically Falliare spoke of people disappearing, but she continued to quietly absorb everything the two men said as she fought off panicked thoughts about the temple traders.
Beside her, Roremar seemed to bite back a retort, swallowing and calmly asking, “You think it’s tied to the drugs getting onto the isle, though?”
“Not necessarily,” Falliare said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all related. It’s all a sign of the Constellation Isles slipping further from our control. Starsearcher leaders on the continent already continually forget about us. This would only heighten our disadvantages.”