Chapter 8 #2
Though one did cast him a curious glance over her shoulder. When she turned, a dainty, red-rimmed sword tattoo shone on her sternum. All the hours he’d spent in Fated Ink and he rarely saw anyone ask for that placement.
He didn’t have the energy to be curious, though. He just tipped his head back and sighed. She’d find some other companion for the night.
Planted between a dance hall with live amateur musicians and one of the few taverns that kept their kitchens open late, Desmond’s parlor did great business.
It was in the heart of the Peddler’s District on the Promenade of Revels, far enough away from the Residential District that no one complained about the late-night commotion but close enough to the ports that the inns lining the shores had easy access.
With its wood-paneled walls, warm mystlight, and sketches encased in aged-silver frames scattered around, it was a comforting place to spend an evening. Or hide from his problems.
Roremar scowled at his friend, who was still laughing at his blatant frustration as he finished taking payment from the women up front, one of them adamantly trying to convince Des to go next door with them.
He supposed it didn’t hurt Desmond’s business that women seemed to fall at his feet. He’d been that way as long as Roremar could remember. Charming smiles paired with the promise to create any work of art with their bodies they could imagine meant that often, the parlor was flooded.
As the trio left, he was grateful for the abnormal silence.
“Why aren’t there any other customers here?” Roremar asked, pursing his lips as he evaluated the pristine space.
“Closing up early.” Desmond wiped down the front counter where someone had left a sticky, half-empty bottle of ale. He lifted it. “You’d think they’d at least want to finish it.”
“One would think,” Roremar muttered. “But apparently everyone is doing senseless things today.”
The word had followed him for hours, a shadow even in the darkest corners. Reckless, senseless, witless, and everything else his reputation made people think of him.
Desmond tossed the bottle in the bin, glass clinking. “What’s wrong with you?”
Before Roremar could answer, the door swung open, the wind chimes hanging outside ringing in the night, tangling with the voices drifting down the Promenade of Revels—the main thoroughfare across the isle, named for the parades it hosted during isle festivals.
With rocky cobblestone streets, old wooden benches, overflowing plants, and star-drenched mystlight lampposts sprinkled throughout, it wasn’t designed for horses or carts, strictly walking unless on official business.
Which also made it the host of many drunken tavern-goers any night of the week.
Roremar ignored the voices, surprise shooting through him as Nico walked in.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’ve really perfected your greetings,” Nico muttered, flicking Desmond a skeptical glance that Roremar was certain was about him. “Des said you were going to get a drink, and I should come with you.”
Roremar’s fingers curved around the countertop. “A drink?” he snipped at his friend. “Alvi, I can’t go, I have too much to—”
“You have nowhere you need to be and you know it,” Desmond challenged, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Rore, come on. You’ve been carrying all this shit for years by yourself.
Ever since you retired from the army, you’ve taken care of your entire family and shoved us off when we tried to help. ”
“And we can help,” Nico pleaded. “Especially now that Uncle Aldryn has you running around the isle on this case.”
“And teaching starsdamned lessons,” Roremar grumbled. Another thing that would take time away from his family who deserved so much more than he could give them. The weight he lived with pressed down on him, his lungs tight with guilt.
He didn’t mention the fact that Emmeline had promptly canceled their partnership after the first meeting. It didn’t matter. He would still have to handle the investigation if he wanted Aldryn to put his siblings through school.
Roremar pressed his palms into his eyes. “And it all has to be done before the Remembrance Revels at the end of next month.”
“All the more reason,” Nico provided, tossing his arms in the air.
“You have your apprenticeship, though. And Des, our problems aren’t your responsibility.”
“My apprenticeship is only until midday each day. The rest is independent study,” Nico reminded him at the same time Desmond said, “I mainly work at night these days.”
“It’s still an unfair commitment,” Roremar ground out.
That comment set Desmond off. “Unfair? You didn’t ask for this either, Roremar!
You didn’t ask for your father to die or your mother to be sick!
You didn’t ask to be responsible for a family at such a young age!
” He took a deep breath. “I left the army because I wanted to be home, Rore. A huge reason was to be here for you. That first year I stayed on without you, getting sporadic letters where even your handwriting looked exhausted—fuck, that was miserable. I was doing important work, but helping your family—and my own—was more important. So let me fucking help.”
Roremar briefly felt like a child being scolded for failing, seated atop the counter with his oldest friend and younger brother planted before him.
“You’re way more tense than is healthy for a man of thirty-two,” Desmond added, his laugh lightening the mood. “Spirits, I don’t know if you need to get drunk, find a woman to fuck, or both, but whatever it is, we’re taking you out tonight and fixing it.”
They weren’t wrong, Roremar supposed. He was under more pressure than anyone could understand. And it was the guilt he felt over never, in all their years, exposing the full crux of that pressure to even his closest confidants that had him somewhat relenting.
Not easily, though. He glared at the pair of them. “What about tomorrow morning?”
“I already worked out the schedule,” Nico assured him, his dark hair—the same night shade as Roremar’s—flopping over his brow as he nodded.
“Mother will get everyone wrangled for the day and onto their new schedules. She has the morning off, and you can be in charge of dinner while she works.” After a breath Nico added, “Or I can be in charge since I’m capable, but I know your controlling ass won’t give up an entire day. ”
Reluctantly, one corner of Roremar’s mouth tilted up.
If his mother took care of their younger siblings in the morning, he could focus on getting himself to the Lyra Temple Academy for training sessions—which he still needed to plan, so he’d have to be early—then get home across the isle in time for his mother’s evening shift and handle all his usual paperwork at night.
He’d probably have to fit a fight with his uncle in there somewhere, assuming Emmeline told Aldryn that she didn’t want to work with him anymore, but he should still have plenty of time.
“Fine,” he conceded. And while he didn’t want to get drunk or fucked, he knew Desmond and Nico well enough to understand arguing was futile.
Hopping down from the counter, Roremar stomped into the night after Nico, the brothers waiting on the street as Desmond closed up, stopping to double check the gate to the upstairs apartment was locked. Not that he ever used it—he preferred the basement—but he owned the entire building.
They’d only taken a few steps onto the Promenade when Desmond asked, “So why did you come storming in yelling about an infuriating woman who I can only assume is the instructor you’re working with?”
“For Fate’s sake, you can’t even wait until I have a drink?” Roremar groaned.
Desmond chided, “It’s not good to hold in those emotions, Rore.”
“Yeah, talk to us, brother,” Nico said, patting his shoulder in a way that was more mocking than comforting.
But dammit, he couldn’t resist the chance to talk about the woman who had been plaguing his mind all day.
“She’s…stubborn.” Roremar considered as they strolled past the Promenade’s colorful buildings, greenery dotted with tiny purple flowers cascading across buildings on either side.
They aimed for a small tavern tucked beneath an arched canopy, The Eagle’s Nest, affectionally referred to as the Nest with homages to Zorrahn. Once known for their whiskeys, they now hosted a poor selection thanks to the import issues. A less than reputable incense den took up the back room.
“You can’t be insisting someone else is more stubborn than you,” Nico suggested, and Desmond barked a laugh.
“You haven’t met her,” Roremar challenged, very aware of his own tendencies.
Also aware that no one else understood why he was the way he was.
“She was surprised I read the damn files on the victims—surprised I knew anything about anything, truthfully. And when I suggested an actual course of action to proceed with, she shut it down. Threw out terms like senseless and said she’d rather work alone. ”
And it drove him mad that he couldn’t figure out why.
Nico and Desmond were quiet as they received their drinks from the barkeep. Only once they settled in the leather chairs beside the fire, a stuffed eagle flaring its wings above the mantle, did Roremar study their dubious expressions.
“What?” he growled.
“So she disagreed with you, challenged you, and then rejected you?” Desmond clarified, nodding as if absorbing all Roremar’s points.
“And she stormed out, clearly forgetting why we agreed to work together in the first place.” Though he still hadn’t fucking figured out why she needed to transfer. Couldn’t be that important if she just gave up.
He, on the other hand, was choked by guilt every time he considered not following through on this assignment from his uncle. It was the very least he could offer his family.
What would happen if he couldn’t provide them this security? Even if it did come from Aldryn.
Roremar fisted one hand on the arm of his chair, watching the fire flicker as he sipped his drink. “Talk about senseless,” he muttered.
Or restless.
Or witless.
Or any of the other words she’d thrown at him.
After a drawn-out silence, Nico asked, “And what does she look like?” He took an innocent sip of his whiskey and frowned at the strong drink. Not a huge fan of liquor, Roremar knew Nico was mainly here for him, not the libations.
Roremar considered. “She’s not tall, but not short either.
Average, I suppose. Brown hair…” He paused, then continued quickly, “No, it’s chestnut.
In waves that fall down her back, and she likes to braid it, I think.
Full lips that she’s very expressive with when she’s frustrated with me.
Hazel eyes with so many damn colors in them, and—”
Nico and Desmond hid their smirks.
“What?” Roremar snapped.
“Nothing,” they chimed in unison.
“Out with it.”
“You’re noticing her eyes,” Desmond supplied, once again hiding his smirk behind his glass.
“And?”
Desmond rolled his eyes. “You clearly find her attractive.”
“I do not,” Roremar challenged, sinking back in his chair and trying not to remember how her cheeks had flushed pink earlier.
He hadn’t even mentioned how her magic was this innate impulse within her. Or the frustratingly perfect way she’d organized her bedchamber, flowers and herbs growing delicately like her own garden escape.
Nico nodded astutely. “Sure you don’t. But if you did, it could be part of why you’re so frustrated. A pretty woman behaved exactly like you and you didn’t like that.”
Roremar shot forward, elbows on his knees. “What do you mean exactly like me?”
“Stubborn, challenging, and unrelenting,” Desmond explained. “Sounds like someone we know well.”
“I’m not like her,” Roremar scoffed. They had even more differences than anyone could understand.
Her affinity with her magic was the complete opposite of his.
How she’d slipped so easily into it while he detested reading.
The extent of her isolation according to the instructors he asked at the Academy, and the amount of people relying on him…
No. They were nothing alike.
“All we’re saying is maybe you have more in common than you think,” Nico said, trying to soothe over his brother’s attitude.
“And maybe, if you can appeal to some of those things, you actually would be able to work together.” Desmond shrugged. “I don’t like that she was insulting you, but you can’t deny you wouldn’t do the same. Just give it a chance.”
Roremar scowled at them as they pulled over a wooden chess set that belonged to the tavern and told him he wasn’t allowed to play since he always won too quickly. Perhaps they were right, and Emmeline had some qualities he could work with, like her magic being an asset.
But they didn’t have anything in common.
And there was certainly no attraction. He was observant because they were supposed to be partners, and surveillance had always been his strong suit.
Roremar took a long sip of his drink, relishing it unlike his brother. Perhaps Des had been right. Maybe all he needed was to get absolutely piss drunk and release all his inhibitions for one starsdamned night.
Actually, that sounded pretty fucking good.
Throwing back the rest of his whiskey, he let the warmth seep through him and grabbed another, telling himself to forget about it all. The disappearances, the Remembrance Revels, his overflowing responsibilities, and most importantly, Emmeline fucking DeLeoste and her senseless views of him.