Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Emmeline
“Miss DeLeoste?”
Emmeline lifted her head at the hesitant voice wafting through her office, the door just off her classroom propped open half a foot both to allow air flow and to let students know she was available.
Emmeline tried to spend at least an hour in her office each afternoon to offer the chance to ask private questions, though many of those hours had been given to Roremar recently.
She shuffled the papers she’d been reviewing on cult rituals into the journal she was scratching notes in and gently closed it.
Since they found the body on the beach a few days ago, she’d been glued to the research, exchanging Mystique ink letters or brief conversations in the halls of the Academy with Roremar to review theories.
Today, it was about seasonal ritual patterns and why some occurred at certain times of day or year.
“Aviana,” she greeted. The young girl gripped tight to the brass knob. With a quick flurry of confusion at those white-knuckled nerves, Emmeline gestured to the seat across the desk. “Come on in.”
Aviana’s steps were wary, taking longer than necessary to cross the small space. With ramrod straight posture, she dropped onto the blue knit cushion, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“What’s wrong?” Emmeline asked, tone light and hopefully soothing.
Rather than meet her eyes, Aviana scanned the star map and books over Emmeline’s shoulder. She twisted her fingers, lips pulled tight between her teeth, and that insecure flicker across her features pinched something in Emmeline’s chest.
The longer the silence persisted, the more her hackles raised, but she forced an even smile.
In her experience over the past six years, when a student came to her like this, no amount of questioning would pry the words out.
A listening ear and inquiries at precisely the right moment worked wonders, though.
Finally, Aviana cracked. Releasing a huge breath, she admitted, “Something happened. During our lesson today.”
“What kind of something?” Emmeline asked, quickly reviewing the morning in her mind.
Aviana had been one of the fastest progressing in Myrella’s class last year, but this term, she’d slowed down.
Emmeline hadn’t wanted to draw attention to it—not unless it became a problem—but she’d be lying to say she hadn’t noticed.
“I was reading through my Fate tie with Anhala, using the sage and lemon as you suggested,” Aviana began, her lips twisting over the words as if each one was tough to pull out.
Emmeline’s heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings, squeezing tight at the girl’s discomfort when she was usually so confident.
Once Aviana opened her mouth and closed it a few times, Emmeline asked, “Did Anhala say something unsettling?”
It wasn’t unheard of with the Fates. For her, it was more than usual.
But Emmeline had been reading for over twenty years while Aviana had barely begun.
It could be disturbing to see paths of the future.
Overwhelming. Especially for a child like Aviana who was soothed by order and understanding.
Her books were always neatly stacked, her assignments written with perfect penmanship.
Emmeline wasn’t prepared for what Aviana said next.
“It wasn’t Anhala.”
Those three words hung heavy on the air, even the birds outside the rippled glass window pausing their chirping. When their song resumed, it sounded like piercing shrieks instead of a calming melody.
It wasn’t Anhala, they all seemed to echo as they frolicked among the weeping cypher branches. But Emmeline pushed through the shock reverberating through her body, a breathless smile taking over her face.
“Really?” Emmeline asked with a slight gasp. “And do you know who it was?”
“I think it was Zorrahn,” Aviana answered.
“Wow,” Emmeline breathed, forcing herself to remain calm at the revelation. Two Fate ties was a rare occurrence. “Why do you think that?”
Aviana swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “Because it felt…powerful.”
Emmeline nodded. Zorrahn was often referred to as the Master of the Fates, his territories of Storms and Peaceful Stretches encompassing more world-altering fortunes than some.
Of course, he also passed along personal readings on smaller scales, but Emmeline had always hypothesized that Zorrahn himself basked in the power.
“How did that feel?”
“I’m not sure I liked it,” Aviana explained. “Anhala is familiar. She’s strong and clever, and makes me feel wise, but Zorrahn was commanding. And…no one else in class has two Fate ties. It’s weird.”
Fear was thick in her voice as she explained this unexpected turn in her ties to the Fates.
Emmeline thought of her own magic. How it had always been strong—a wild and untamable beast when she first tapped into it.
How that had ripped her to shreds when she was younger, until she’d learned to stuff it down, command it.
Only to be released in small increments, and never fully before others.
Perhaps she should have shared it, as she would encourage Aviana to do now, but…
No. She shook away that distracting thought that had her opal ring spinning around her finger again. This situation was entirely different. This—two Fate ties—it was something Aviana should be proud of.
Emmeline stood, striding around the desk to take the seat beside Aviana’s.
“It will be odd at first,” Emmeline said.
“Adjusting to a new Fate when you already have one takes time, and they will battle within you to claim what is clearly a strong source of magic.” Aviana smiled softly at the complement.
“But remember that without you, the Fates have no meaning. Zorrahn is rumored to be ferocious, but if the stars chose this for you—if they both chose you—you are more so.”
“I’m scared,” Aviana admitted, fingers fidgeting in her lap though her expression was a bit more open than before.
“Why?”
“Because something’s wrong with me.” Her lips trembled, and Emmeline’s heart splintered with each small quake. Memories from over twenty years ago rushed through her mind.
What’s wrong with me? Why does this happen?
Small hands, shaking uncontrollably.
What is wrong with me, Emmy?
The memories threatened to choke her, to uncork the vial in her chest where she stored all the things she wasn’t able to face and unleash them.
“Oh dear,” Emmeline said, ensuring her hands were steady before she held one of Aviana’s.
The girl visibly relaxed at the comfort, and Emmeline stole that confidence to continue, “There is nothing wrong with you. To receive a Fate tie is a gift. It’s the Angel’s magic bestowed upon her warriors.
But to receive two?” She squeezed Aviana’s hand.
“That is not only a gift—it’s a heavenly blessing. ”
“Really?” Aviana asked, voice still small.
“I promise,” Emmeline said. “I won’t lie to you, it’s also a responsibility. It will require extra studies to master both connections as well as work to unravel the two. But the Angel would not do this unless she had a purpose.”
Aviana’s eyes lit up with every word. “A purpose?”
“Many believe that having more than one Fate tie makes you Angelblessed—kissed by the Angels—and marked as one of their favored. Those warriors are never chosen lightly and often achieve the kind of greatness written about in legends.”
The girl’s shoulders straightened as if she balanced the weight of those words on her frame. Her brown eyes glinted, reflecting the sun streaming through the window, and Emmeline swore starlight gleamed in that stare.
With a conspiratorial whisper, Emmeline latched on to the shine. “Do you think you can handle that?”
Brighter than the stars, Aviana grinned. “Yes, Miss DeLeoste.” Her nod was so enthusiastic, it burrowed down into Emmeline’s own spirit, reaching to the magic she kept buried deep.
“I knew you could,” Emmeline encouraged.
Turning over her shoulder, she pulled a blank roll of parchment from the shelf beneath the window and grabbed her pen from her desk, careful to ensure it wasn’t one dipped in the Mystique ink well.
“Now, let’s get a study plan for you that will cater to both Fates. How does that sound?”
Aviana nodded again, tucking her hands beneath her knees and leaning forward. “Very good.”
When Aviana left, Emmeline’s gaze dropped back to her research tucked in the journal atop her desk. The girl’s dilemma echoed in her head, along with those words from another lifetime, those words she’d spent over twenty years yearning to avenge:
What is wrong with me, Emmy?
The curfew was severely impacting Emmeline’s search for answers about the continent’s temple traders.
Not because she was afraid of being out at night—she was confident in her abilities to stick to the shadows—but taverns and incense dens were closing up earlier, serving less which hindered loose lips.
She was tucked in the alley across from the Rogue Spirit, propped on an overturned crate. The Eastern Port was at her back, waves thumping against the rock barricade, and rubbish lined the ground thanks to the lazy Starsearchers who couldn’t be bothered to properly dispose of their shipments.
Her hood was pulled around her face as she watched the door across the alley, thinking of the man she’d killed recently. He’d spoken of a second-in-command. Someone who had been high up in the temple trades but still oversaw the shipments himself.
“Ugh,” she scoffed at the word in her mind, her stomach turning.
Still, she had years’ worth of information she needed to uncover, and she had no doubt that if the Second was still operating on Gallantia, he was who she needed to find.
When she’d staked out her recent victim, he and his friends had occupied one of the upstairs rooms of the Rogue Spirit. Despite her disposing of him, they’d clearly learned it wasn’t private. The balcony doors had been sealed tight tonight when she’d arrived, lights within off.
After scouring the den and finding no one questionable, she’d stationed herself in the alley across the way. Normally, the wait was peaceful. Tonight, it was hard to focus. And there were fewer distractions, fewer warriors wandering the streets with the looming curfew.
A commotion rumbled behind her, and Emmeline whirled.
A man stumbled down the alley, knocking into empty wooden crates and upending barrels. He shuffled, hands barely catching himself against the wall.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” he cooed.
“Drunk,” Emmeline scoffed.
But as she turned back to the incense den, the man screamed. “No! No! Don’t touch me!”
Emmeline had a dagger in her hand before she could even spin around. She ripped her arm back to throw it, but—
There was no one there.
He held his arms before his face, staggering back into the wall. Cowering. “Go away, I’m begging!”
Blade in hand, Emmeline raced over to him, tucking her braid into her hood and ensuring her face was shadowed. “Hello?” she asked gently. “Are you—”
He peeked an eye open, and in the space of a blink his attention shifted from petrified to murderous.
He charged forward, slamming Emmeline back into the wall. In her shock, her dagger slipped from her hand. Her head hit brick, and the world spun.
“Leave me alone! Tell them to leave me alone!”
He darted up the alley, across the street, splashing through puddles gathered between uneven cobblestones, and disappeared into the shadows behind the Rogue Spirit.
Emmeline groaned at the pain radiating in her skull, hurrying after him. He may simply be intoxicated, but he needed help. Her boots splattered water across the dim alley, and the man whirled at the sound.
His eyes widened, and he charged. He wasn’t much taller than Emmeline and didn’t have muscle to him, but his arm caught her throat, forcing her back against the wall of the incense den. Voices drifted up the basement staircase, but she bit down on her cry.
The man’s hair and stubble were both overgrown and unkempt, wild eyes rimmed in red as he bore down on her.
Twisting, Emmeline jammed a knee into his gut, just hard enough to get him to release her. He grunted, and she pulled a dagger from her belt in preparation. But he didn’t charge again.
He dropped to his knees, hands clasped to his ears and whimpering, “They’re loud! They’re so loud! I’m n-not supposed to sp-speak with her!”
“With whom?” Emmeline ask to steady him. She panted, keeping her distance in case he attacked her again.
“Her! Her! She is not mine!” He shook his head, eyes dazed as if seeing something in the alley that Emmeline couldn’t.
He was hallucinating. The bad drugs that had made their way onto the isle—he must have smoked them. Fates, he needed to visit an infirmary.
“Sir, can I help you? Get you away from…her?”
He only shook his head. “It’s wrong! It’s wrong!”
“I know, it’s wrong, but—”
She didn’t finish her sentence. The man sprang to his feet and tore from the alley. A pile of ashy herbs floated to the ground behind him, too burned for Emmeline to recognize.
One whiff as they faded into the puddles, and her head spun. She considered trying to take them with her and research what they may be, but they were already disintegrating in the murky water.
Emmeline was about to follow the stranger, but voices echoed up the stairs from the Rogue Spirit’s basement again.
“They said the Second’s a hungry son of a bitch.”
Her spine stiffened, and she dashed down the stairs on soundless feet, careful not to upset the precariously stacked crates. Emmeline pressed close to the door, thankful it was made of thin wood.
“Hungry for what, though?” a second, gruff voice asked.
“Not sure. It’s peculiar. He keeps his head down for years, cuts his networks off at the knees to bring in new correspondents, but never gives up the trade entirely.”
The trade. Her heart pounded as the voices volleyed back and forth about the second-in-command, about the bits they’d learned from the man she’d killed. Apparently, this pair was retired, but with this new intel, they were considering if it was worth returning to the continent.
“You ever met this Second?” one asked as they extinguished whatever they’d been smoking. The burned scent slipped beneath the door, all the way to Emmeline.
“Nah,” the other replied. “Only know what they call him: The Averian.”
Emmeline nearly stopped breathing.
The Averian.
It may not be his true one, but she had a name.