Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Emmeline
Emmeline prepared herself to verbally spar with Roremar the entire next day, her attention slipping during morning lessons.
“Miss DeLeoste?” Gemma repeated, her hand still in the air.
Emmeline shook away the distractions, focusing again on her students. “Yes?”
“I’m confused on the bond,” the youngest girl in the class repeated. Her Fate tie had revealed itself earlier than most and her parents had applied her for the Academy immediately, but she held her own among the older students, never shying away from a question. “How is it chosen?”
It was a gloomy day on Lyra, a marine layer hanging thick over the isle and tinging everything grey, but the students were all looking at her with bright, curious eyes. As often happened when one of them derailed the lesson.
“The Fatesworn bond is different than a typical bond you receive in a commitment ceremony. It’s not chosen,” Emmeline explained, clarifying the topic one of the older girls had asked about minutes ago, her friends snickering beside her.
“It’s written in the stars, two souls destined to meet in this life and every other.
It can stretch across time and realms, woven of the galaxies themselves.
Not even starfire could burn it to ash. To say it is chosen would be a grand simplification. ”
Gemma’s brows scrunched together as if she was working hard to memorize every word. “But how are the two meant for each other?”
Emmeline drummed her fingers atop her weathered-wood desk as she strolled around the front, tapping the palm-sized silver telescope propped on the edge. “Where do Starsearchers believe our spirits go when we die?”
“To the Spirit Realm, guided by the Soulguiders,” one of the more outspoken boys answered, referencing one of the other five minor clans of the Gallantian Warriors, whose guiding purpose was to escort the dead to their final resting place.
“And our bodies?”
Issac’s hand shot up, and Emmeline pointed to him. “To the earth.”
“How?” she followed up.
“In a ritual that conjures starfire to burn them.”
At his words, Emmeline stifled the memory of the scent of charred flesh. Of the hard-to-come-by oils that were applied to a body and lit to produce the white celestial fire that typically only burned among the skies and stars.
“Exactly,” she said through a tight throat.
“And the magic within them is returned to the land. But many Starsearchers believe there is a third part of us, aside from body and spirit. There is the fate—our energetic union with the celestial bodies that provides for our Fate ties and dictates our future—that legends say returns to the skies.” The children listened with rapt attention, and Emmeline couldn’t help the wonder lacing her own voice.
This. This was what drove her love of teaching. Not only helping these young minds hone their magic but inspiring them to dream.
Her mother had always encouraged her to chase the wildest imaginings of her heart, layering her childhood with fables and folktales.
And while the years had tried to strangle that instinct within her, it didn’t mean she wanted to burn it from the next generation.
They didn’t need to be dealt a hand as sorry as her own.
“Many say the part of a Starsearcher that’s tied to the Fates becomes one with the stars upon death,” she elaborated.
“And that we’re stars ourselves until we’re born.
” Energized, she stood up straighter, feeding on the hum of anticipation beating through the room.
Even her magic paused to listen. “Now picture that—we all forge stars as our fate waits to be united with a spirit and body upon our birth. Over time, the stars sometimes merge into constellations or even fall and split. One star can become two slices of fate waiting to fill bodies and spirits, and those halves spiral through the heavens, landing upon realms—sometimes different realms entirely—trying to find their way back together. To be whole again. That’s what Fatesworn is: two halves of one star, two souls the Fates chose for one another, finding their way back together. ”
“Those are the bonded?” Gemma asked, her brows still pinched.
Emmeline nodded, scanning the class. “It’s only one legend to explain the bond, but it’s a romantic one, is it not?” Nearly two dozen awe-struck stares blinked up at her, though a few of the boys had dulled with boredom.
“But I still don’t understand how the bond began. Did that first star split on its own?” Gemma pushed, and Emmeline had to admire her tenacity, even if it did derail more of their lessons than she liked. There was always at least one student who had to know the why behind every small drop of magic.
But that was the thing about fortunes and the Balance of Power. There often weren’t larger explanations.
“It was the will of the Fates, I suppose. That’s why the Fatesworn bond is unique to Starsearchers and other warrior clans have their own rituals.
Most searchers never find a Fatesworn, completing a typical bonding ceremony with whomever they fall in love with,” Emmeline offered, quickly moving on.
“Now, today’s lesson is supposed to be on the properties of different incense so you can begin delineating what works best for your personal preferences.
I want you all to start with what reflects the properties of your Fate tie and see how it assimilates.
Note what feels natural and what clouds your mind. ”
The students gathered supplies from the shelves on one side of the round chamber, beneath the windows propped open to display dreary clouds, and she went on guiding them for the rest of the hour.
By the time her last lesson ended mid-afternoon and Emmeline returned to her dormitory to freshen up and grab a thicker cloak, the clock mounted beside the door said she still had nearly an hour before she needed to leave. But she was fidgeting out of her skin.
She’d already read through the files twice when she couldn’t sleep this morning, taking neat, copious notes to bring to Roremar. She checked all her plants and made notes of which would need to be picked or pressed for oils soon.
Finally, she could find no more excuses.
Packing her satchel with a few vials of lavender sprigs—her favorite for reading due to its mild nature—and pressed chamomile oil to soothe any riling energy, she slipped her notes among them and made her way out of the Academy.
At the gates, she lingered to speak with Myrella, Regina, and a male instructor everyone called by his surname, Harttorn, who also taught history courses at the Academy. Then, reluctantly, she took off down the path through the Scholar’s Quarter toward the Accords.
At least if she moved her nervous energy would have an outlet.
Ferns leaned across the edge of the path, partially obscuring the shops and apartments that led to the Academy. Emmeline dragged her fingertips through the draping leaves, grounding herself among Lyra’s nature.
Why was she nervous, anyway?
Anticipation of having to corral Roremar, probably.
But as much as she was loath to admit it, this case was too big for one person. She was smart—she wouldn’t pretend otherwise—but the Isle of Lyra was too large to patrol alone. And another mind never hurt, especially if he was as good as rumors stated.
By the time she reached the City Accords, she’d convinced herself this was a good idea.
The tall, pale marble building gleamed as orange sunbeams pushed through the clouds.
By night, it would glimmer like a chip of the moon itself, as all important buildings on the Constellation Isles did.
The Temple and Academy, the Accords, and the Trade House attached to the Mezzanine were the most prominent establishments on the isle, and their exteriors showed it.
Navy pendants bearing the Lyra sigil swung between the strong pillars out front, intricate ornamentation and statues of notable Starsearcher scholars carved into the facade.
A dome with silver spires topped the building, and if she could have seen it from the foot of the steps, Emmeline knew a legend of the Fates would have been memorialized across its rounded surface.
With a sigh, she scampered up the stairs, the thin lilac train of her skirt and matching cloak slithering behind her.
She heaved the door open and crossed the ancient, tiled floors to approach the desk in the center of the circular antechamber. With its cracked columns, silver braziers, and fresco ceilings, the Accords looked like it was sliced straight from a story written thousands of years ago.
Most notable buildings on the isles were locked in time in one way or another—or most of the isles were, she supposed.
Having been ignored by so much of the continent left them to their own devices.
It was why their silver coins still had the Fates stamped on them rather than adopting the common currency of the mainland that all clans shared, why seeing chambers that amplified readings with precious resins but also inhumanely pulled Fate ties to the surface could still be found—though they were heavily monitored and she’d never even seen one—and why so many of their rituals and festivals followed outdated customs.
A bored looking Starsearcher who was at least ten years younger than Emmeline sat behind the dark wood desk polished so finely the mystlight orbs above flickered in the surface.
A small hand bell and register sat atop the high counter, as well as a crystalline paperweight holding down a scrawled sign stating the Accords were open for pre-approved use only.
“Hello,” Emmeline said when the girl didn’t look up from her book.
No response beyond the rustling of a page turning.
“I have a room reserved with permission from the Temple Master. He wrote earlier.” That earned Emmeline a curious flick of her stare, but no other movement. “He’s also requested that we are able to access whatever records are required.”