Chapter 23 #2
She gave them a watered-down version of the story, all three of them offering their condolences and outrage, understanding why she’d been staying away from the Academy the past few days.
When Emmeline was done, Liana yawned and stretched her hands above her head. “I’m going to go to the apothecary before it closes.”
“Mist and Rose is open for hours,” Emmeline reminded her, brow furrowing. The Academy’s go-to shop was only a short walk away.
But Liana shook her head. “The one I prefer is all the way across the Scholar’s Quarter, and they’ve been closing early since the curfew.” She bid them goodbye, saying she’d probably just crawl into Charisse’s bed when she returned so she wouldn’t see them until tomorrow.
“I have a question,” Emmeline said as Liana’s steps faded.
She looked between Regina and Harttorn, originally intending to ask the former, but Harttorn might know, too, given they were both history instructors.
She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and splayed it across the table.
“Have you ever seen this symbol before?”
After Angel’s Draw, she and Roremar had combed through books for anything about the wing and rose sigil that signified the Warders of Selene.
While they’d seen a couple references, there wasn’t anything that explained more about the cult or gave her any idea why the winged symbol was connected to both murders.
But last night, she’d had another idea. If this was something from cave drawings on Lyra, she may as well ask the people who knew the most about the isle’s history.
Regina and Harttorn leaned over the paper, the latter asking, “What are we looking at?”
Her heart sank at their lack of recognition. “It’s a symbol I found painted somewhere. I’m trying to find out if it means anything.”
“It looks a bit like some cave drawings I’ve seen out in the jungle,” Regina answered, and Emmeline perked up. “I think it was when I was hiking west of the Scholar’s Quarter looking for ruins of an Angelic Temple that had never been properly excavated.”
“An Angelic Temple,” Emmeline murmured. “Do you know what the drawing meant? Is there anything historic about them related to…maybe cult activity?”
Regina and Harttorn exchanged a glance, shrugging. “As far as I know,” Regina began, her dark curls bobbing as she tilted her head, “all the drawings in those caves have been there for centuries. Some are as old as the Fates. It’s second to Gemmi’s history.”
Gemmi, the isle known for its historic cave networks and the secrets bred and kept within them. Emmeline wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Harttorn brushed a hand over his jaw. “There are a fair number of legends surrounding the oldest cave drawings on the isles and the stories they’ve passed down. Want us to look into it?”
“Please,” she said.
And when she left the two history instructors, they each had an eager spark in their eye that promised her if there was an answer to be found, they would.
“Gideon wrote to me,” Roremar said by way of greeting when Emmeline found him outside the dining hall.
“Hello to you, too,” she answered. “Apparently everyone at the Academy is taking bets on when our affair crashes and burns. And who is Gideon?”
“The man from the docks,” Roremar reminded her. He blinked a few times as her words registered. “Wait, what did you say?”
“Never mind. Gideon, right.” She sighed. Her mind had been so frazzled since the attack, she could hardly keep their information organized. Roremar had been extremely patient with her.
Now, he seemed a little less so, clearly wanting to return to the gossip she’d mentioned. She couldn’t help the thrill that went through her as he studied her, ultimately moving on.
“He said he has ‘something worthwhile to share.’” He quoted those words in what Emmeline assumed was his best impression of the older warrior, the voice deep and gravelly.
A light she hadn’t felt within herself for days ignited at the prospect. Purpose. Hope. “Did he hint what it might be?”
Roremar shook his head. “I think he understood the gravity of this case, wants to keep it out of writing. I’m going to meet him now. Did you want to come with, or should I walk you back to Fated Ink first?”
Emmeline bit her lip. She didn’t want to be alone at Desmond’s more than she had to—not until she figured out how suspicious of him she should be—but she also wasn’t prepared to admit that to Roremar.
Truthfully, what she needed tonight was to get out. To don her mask and leathers and take to the rooftops.
She should just feign sick and use the time Roremar was absent to sneak out. He wasn’t sleeping at the apartment; wouldn’t even know she was gone. But they’d reached a truce in the days since the attack.
Since he’d sat on the floor of her dormitory with her, waiting for her to move at her own pace.
Since he’d carried her to somewhere safe.
Since she’d woken to find him worried and coddling her, his proximity a strength, not a hinderance.
After all of that, it felt wrong to sneak out behind his back.
She checked their surroundings, ensuring no small nosy ears were listening around the stone corridors. Dropping her voice, she said, “You remember what I was doing the night of the first murder?”
It only took Roremar a moment to follow what she meant. As if remembering the leathers she wore in the shadows that night, his eyes dragged down her body, then back up. “Yes, Huntress. I certainly do.”
“I have things to take care of tonight.” She bit her lip again. “Of that nature. You can visit Gideon, and I’ll attend to my business. We can reconvene at midnight to discuss.”
“Are you serious?” Yellow mystlight wavered over Roremar’s disbelieving features, the scar above his eyebrow deepening when his brows pinched.
“Yes,” she said defensively. “Why?”
“You’re going to send me to my grave.” Roremar sighed, running a ringed hand through his hair. “You were just attacked two nights ago. You can’t go sneaking through the city after dark, practically making yourself a target.”
She hadn’t considered that, feeling much more trapped and trackable in this Academy than anywhere else. The night was her haven, the stars her guidance. “Maybe I should. Let them follow me so I can find out who they are.”
Roremar blinked at her. “You want to set a trap? By yourself?”
“Yes,” Emmeline asserted.
She didn’t. But if it convinced him, that was what mattered.
Roremar considered her, pursing his lips. Finally, he said, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” he repeated. “We’ll set a trap.”
“We?” Emmeline blurted.
He scoffed. “Obviously, I’m going with you.” Roremar turned abruptly, striding for the front entrance of the Academy.
Emmeline jolted, hurrying past the portraits of former Temple Masters lining the foyer.
When they stepped into the fresh air, her lungs opened up, steps quickening. “What do you mean you’ll come with me?”
“I mean we’ll go speak with Gideon now,” Roremar said as they descended the stairs, “then we can head out on your mission. We may have to work around the curfew.”
“I meant I would go alone.” She had to go alone.
Not only did she want to track down the men from the Rogue Spirit and find out more about the Averian, but she also wanted to follow Desmond.
Neither of those motives were things she was ready to explain to Roremar.
She paused in the middle of the steps, searching for any excuse. “Two people will be too noticeable.”
“You underestimate my sleuthing,” Roremar said, giving her a crooked smirk over his shoulder. As he jogged toward the path, he called, “Hurry up, Huntress, I want to hear about our secret affair.”