Chapter 12 #2
“You’re awful at propositioning people,” Roremar retorted. “If you want me to take you to the stargazing tower, at least say please. I can clear my schedule.”
She scowled, but the fire in Emmeline’s eyes dimmed at the mention of hypothetical plans, as if the work they’d been assigned had been slammed on the stone wall between them. The blood-soaked victim flashed through Roremar’s memory again, his amusement fading to crimson.
“Someone died,” she whispered.
Cold swept through him. “I know.”
“This case has to be solved, but it won’t take much to convince me to go it alone.”
She was already considering ending this partnership again? He’d thought they were making progress.
“And how did that turn out last night?” Roremar shot back.
At the reminder, Emmeline paled, freckles growing even more stark. “At least I was doing something worthwhile rather than seeking distractions in a pleasure hall.”
“Speaking of your worthwhile activities,” Roremar clipped, ignoring that last dig and the incorrect assumption of the Mezzanine. What’s her problem with it anyway? He kicked off the wall, scanning the arena and nearby walkways again to ensure they were alone. “We need to talk about a few things.”
“Such as?”
“What were you doing there?”
Emmeline’s breath hitched, the softest, slightest stutter than tugged at Roremar’s own lungs. “I heard the screams just like everyone else—”
“Not everyone else was dressed to blend into the shadows, though.” He stepped closer, only inches from where she was propped on the wall, her fingers drumming against stone. “What was that about, Huntress?”
Another absent-minded step, his thigh brushing hers.
“You have a problem with my clothing?” Emmeline’s voice was throaty, and the sound rippled over his skin—skin that was suddenly too tight—and he was very aware of how close he’d gotten.
But he couldn’t seem to stop himself, wanting to pick her apart ever since she flashed that smile in his uncle’s office.
Wind gusted through the ring, wrapping him in the drowning scent of lavender and something warmly sweet that he couldn’t name.
How did he find himself in this situation again? Heat seeping off her, his pulse jumping. She tilted her chin up defiantly, hair spilling behind her as her shoulder brushed his chest. And why was he now noticing all the places her body pressed against his?
Fucking Desmond and Nico.
They’d messed with his head with all their comments about her sounding pretty. They hadn’t even met her. When they did, they’d understand precisely how infuriating, obstinate, and downright maddening she was.
“A problem?” he forced himself to say. Fuck, why did his voice have to be so rough? He was normally so good at maintaining his front, but his interactions with Emmeline dismantled it. Brick by fucking brick.
She knew it, too. He was almost certain from the way the light returned to her eyes, the multitudes of colors dancing.
He went on, acting unaffected, “No problem with the attire. A warrior should always be dressed for battle.” He paused, steel eyes narrowing on her fiery pair. “But who were you fighting, Huntress?”
“Why would you think I was fighting someone?” Emmeline retorted, just as sharp. “That’s simply what I wore last night.”
He leveled her a skeptical look, refusing to step back. “You were going to a tavern or an incense den like that?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, popping off the wall and landing soundlessly on her feet.
That movement had been much too light for someone not trained in stealth. One corner of his lips hooked up.
“Sure.”
Suspicion wove into his mind. Was whatever she’d been doing connected to this case? He’d been teasing her about the outfit, but was it maybe more nefarious than he thought?
He tucked away that concern for later. “I’d love to see the establishment sometime. I’m sure it’s full of…interesting patrons if those leathers are required.”
“It’s a fascinating exhibit,” she taunted, her voice dropping to a sultry hum. The use of that last word had his mind racing to all sorts of sinful places, and he found himself wondering again what indulgences occurred in the upstairs offices of the Mezz.
“I’m sure there are plenty of things to exhibit there. Tell me, do they include blades like you had last night? Ropes?” Fates, he couldn’t get distracted thinking of that right now. Trying to rattle her, he added, “Perhaps you can show me.”
“It’s quite private,” Emmeline retorted. “You have to earn it.”
“Then I’ll be a good little boy while we solve this case and collect my reward.”
Emmeline only hummed doubtfully in response.
She was a fucking liar, but dammit if it didn’t call to the challenge his bones were built of.
In her, he recognized a sheer determination.
He wouldn’t get his answers today. Probably not tomorrow.
He didn’t want to work with her, but if he kept up with this ruse of a partnership, he may be able to find the murderer, secure his siblings’ schooling, and expose the secrets of Emmeline DeLeoste.
“Regardless of your choice of attire,” Roremar said, getting them back on track with renewed resolve, “I think after last night we both know the threat is more serious and more immediate than either of us thought when we called off our agreement.”
Emmeline nodded. “We can’t let our petty mess get in the way again.”
“I’m sure we will,” Roremar challenged, and Emmeline actually shrugged in agreement. “But I vow to be your steadfast guard and continue to work together—despite our differences—if you will.”
Not only for the safety of the isle, but I really fucking need Uncle Aldryn to help my family, he didn’t add aloud.
And if that meant working with the woman who frustrated him to the realm’s end and held his reputation against him, he’d do it.
“I swear it,” Emmeline said, and something buzzed through the air at those three words. A barely perceptible shift, like when a shooting star flashes across the sky, its trail burning along his bones and tugging at his chest.
“I wrote to a friend at Lyra Isle Guard last night. I’m going to stop by there now. Would you like to come?”
Emmeline considered but shook her head. “I have readings to conduct tonight and assignments to go through, but tomorrow. We’ll meet again after lessons, and we should both bring lists of potential theories based on the files Falliare gave us and what we saw last night.”
“Readings and assignments, sure.” He scoffed, not believing for one moment that’s how she’d spend her evening. But despite his suspicions, he had his own responsibilities to deal with tonight. “Tomorrow. Library.”
“City Accords,” Emmeline corrected curtly. “Their records will be more thorough than the Temple.”
Fates, she was bossy. And self-centered. And stubborn.
But that last one—he could outdo her in that.
This agreement might kill him, but he was relentless when given a challenge. And with her attitude and secrets, Emmeline made herself into one of his greatest yet.
“I’ll see you there, Huntress.”
Lyra Isle Guard’s headquarters was a nondescript grey building set on the border between the Peddler’s District and the Eastern Port, overlooking the ocean.
With moss crawling up the weathered stone, it looked ready to fall into the sea.
The navy-blue Lyra flag whistled in the breeze as Roremar climbed the steps to the building and ducked inside.
The place was pathetic if he was being honest. Even with the rise in crime and drugs smuggled onto the isle, there wasn’t any more effort from the Guard. Even their shabby desks lacked care, and they only had one interrogation room and two cells in the back.
He knew from the time he and Desmond had been thrown into one as teenagers how scant those accommodations were. They’d only been trying to borrow the man’s boat, though…
“Roremar,” someone called, breaking through the memory. A man who looked about his age, but Roremar knew was a decade older, approached in leathers stamped with the Lyra sigil, a friendly smile piercing his light brown cheeks as he held out a hand. “Got your letter.”
“Hi, Darcy,” Roremar greeted. “Thanks for making time so quickly.”
“It’s obviously a pressing matter,” the soldier, Torvan Darcy, said, nodding toward a desk tucked in the back corner. “Come with me.”
Roremar followed him past warriors with their boots propped on the desks, chattering lazily or dozing off.
Many of them cast him indiscreet looks, quickly averting their gazes as if his recklessness would cause him to try something stupid if they looked him in the eye.
No one waved or said hello beyond Darcy.
A part of him couldn’t blame the ones who were lounging at their desks. Most took this position after they retired from active battle. But for Fates’ sake, there was a murderer lose on the isle. Didn’t matter how old they were, he’d expected them to try a bit harder.
Darcy, on the other hand, was young by warrior standards. He’d retired from the army when the woman he was bonded to unexpectedly got pregnant, and he wanted to stay on Lyra with her.
At least there’s one competent person working here, Roremar thought as he settled across the desk from the soldier.
Darcy flipped open a leather-bound file.
“This is what I’ve gathered so far. Details from the families of the two missing women—though honestly until now we haven’t been looking at the cases as related, so it may be worth revisiting them—information on the places they were last seen, and interviews with the victim’s friends last night.
Both women were in hysterics, so we didn’t get much beyond the fact that they’re travelers.
I was planning to speak with them again. ”
Roremar rifled through the papers, quickly scanning the details and organizing them into the neat files in his mind.
It was pretty routine. Where the women worked, what their schedules were, reports of recent behaviors.
Nothing that was outright suspicious before they disappeared. Now, everything mattered.
“This is a good start, thank you,” Roremar said, folding up the file and stowing it in his satchel.
“Of course,” Darcy said, leaning back in his chair. “If you need more assistance, you know where to find me.”
Fiery hazel eyes and a vow to work together flashed through his mind. As much as he wished otherwise, he already had a partner on this case.
“I’ll be in touch.”
And as he left the Lyra Isle Guard building, laughter from the on-duty officers echoing the heavy thud of his boots down the stairs, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that most of them didn’t care about this case.