Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Roremar
Emmeline didn’t want to set a trap, and Roremar damn well knew that.
But he hadn’t figured out exactly what she was after, so he played along.
There was a thrill to sneaking among the shadows. As he followed Emmeline from rooftop to rooftop, a sense of freedom rolled off her that he wanted to capture. Not to cage it, but to feel it. Watch it flourish and maybe taste a bit of that unleashed liberation she embodied.
That was something he’d been learning about her as they’d spent more time together.
While she may have her guard up, in a way, she was free.
It was an unchained daring he hadn’t experienced in years.
Addictive. It amplified with every step of his boots against tile, every beat of the stars on their masked faces.
He still hadn’t figured out what had happened the night of the attack, how he’d known she needed him. And honestly the how wasn’t his main priority. It was the who. Someone had tried to snuff out her light, and Roremar had promised he’d fan it.
“One more,” Emmeline whispered, voice blending with the night as she approached the drop into an alley. She didn’t even hesitate, just leaped silently across and crouched behind the wall on the other side.
Ivy cascaded to the street below, awnings over the taverns, shops, and incense dens all folded in, discarded crates and boxes stacked to be hauled away.
Roremar landed lightly beside Emmeline, and she looked him over, hazel eyes glinting against the dark fabric she was wrapped in. “You’re not bad at this.” She sounded impressed.
“Reckless, remember?” Roremar joked, crouching beside her and pulling down his mask. “I’ve had practice sneaking around.”
Emmeline’s brows rose, starlight pooling over her like she was a being they orbited. “Have you?” she asked like a dare.
He dug through his memory as he sat back on his haunches. “One time when I was nineteen, I spent three days sneaking in and out of an enemy’s camp, planting small tins of flammable, pulverized rock mined from the Mystique Mountains.”
“You what?”
“It was my idea and no one else was brave enough to do it.” He shrugged. “When our archers were able to land flaming arrows into precisely the right spots thanks to readings from Anhala and Arenothos, the entire place exploded. Quickest battle I’ve ever been a part of.”
Emmeline tsked. “Very reckless. If they caught you, they would have killed you.”
“A lot more people would have died if I didn’t volunteer. It was the first scheme that earned me that name.” The soldiers back at camp had mocked him when he first suggested it, swearing it would never work, but he hadn’t minded.
It wasn’t until a few years later—when the reputation made people look at him like he was out of control—that he’d started to abhor it. It was like they’d all forgotten his brilliant ideas thanks to a few bad ones.
“Your mind is fascinating,” Emmeline said with a laugh that purred along Roremar’s bones. Pride inflated his chest at the rare compliment, the annoyance from a moment ago dulling.
“If you’re lucky, I’ll tell you all my stories one day, Huntress.” Roremar assessed the building they’d settled on, peering over the ledge at the sapphire pennants draping it. “We’re on top of the Trade House?”
Despite the curfew approaching, music from the Mezzanine next door echoed through the streets, the occasional cheers of gamblers filtering into the night.
“It’s one of the best views in the city,” Emmeline explained as she crossed to the opposite side of the roof where the tile sloped up and settled in. The spot wasn’t so high that she’d be visible from below but enough to let her see over the edge.
Tricky, this Huntress.
Discomfort scratched behind his ribs as he briefly wondered what she’d seen to force her to become this way.
Trailing, he sat beside her on the incline and leaned his back against the wall. He removed a puzzle piece from his pocket—something he’d taken from Fated Ink earlier—and twirled it between his fingers.
“Why the Trade House for this trap you’re setting?” he asked. “Besides the view, I mean.”
“Right. A trap.” Emmeline swallowed, hazel eyes catching the stars as she gazed over the city. “It’s the center of business on Lyra. A good place to overhear secrets.”
“What’re you hoping to find?”
Emmeline bit her lip, finally shaking her head. “Don’t know yet.”
Something told him that wasn’t true. Emmeline DeLeoste had a reason for everything she did, and there was something she was looking for tonight. And because filling in the gaps was addicting to him, Roremar was desperate to know what.
The Trade House was operated by his uncle, though much of the work was by proxy now.
The council within recorded all imports and exports, struck deals, collected tithes, and managed the finances of every establishment on the isle.
Its position neighboring the Mezz was no coincidence, a number of shadier deals taking place behind those closed doors.
Next to the Temple Academy and the Accords, the Trade House was the most important building on Lyra. It was where Roremar hoped Nico would secure a job after his apprenticeship.
Tonight, though, the glimmering marble building was quiet, the silver Lyra sigil carved into its facade a dormant welcome.
And with how the house gave a view of the ocean to one side and the Promenade leading to the hills on the other, Roremar understood what Emmeline meant about the view. He loved this isle, and getting to take it in never got old.
“So this is what you do all night?” he asked, disbelief coloring his tone despite how content he was. “Sit here?”
Emmeline rolled her eyes, pulling her mask down. Her breath puffed before her, the temperature dropping lower than expected. “Normally I follow a specific target, track them down in an incense den or wherever they frequent, and lure them out.”
Lure them out. His mind ran wild picturing how she did that. Was it those piercing hazel eyes across the room? Her mysterious little smirk or the sway of her leather clad hips? How many other men woke in the night with her imprinted in their minds as he had?
That thought pricked thorns into his lungs.
“But tonight?” he asked, trying to banish the discomfort.
Emmeline pulled her knees to her chest, picking at the toes of her boots. Crickets chirped in the silence, accenting the music. “I killed my last lead a few weeks ago, and I’ve been following his friends.”
Shock blared through him. Not at her killing someone—he’d suspected it to be honest—but at her willingness to admit it. He didn’t want to discourage that openness, so he calmly asked, “Leads on what exactly?”
“Just someone I’m looking for.” Emmeline tipped her face to the stars, her brows creasing. “You know, I was following two men the night of the first murder.”
“You were?” Roremar asked.
“I don’t know who they were.” She swallowed thickly, and he couldn’t look away from the faint yellowing of her bruises as she chose her next words.
“I was out on the cliffs beyond the vineyards near the Academy—I go out there to read. Overlooking the lake. They were having some sort of heated discussion, and when they split, I had to choose one. I went the way the Fates pushed me. I was staking him out when I heard the screams.”
I chose wrong, she didn’t have to add for him to hear the guilt twisting her up.
“You think they’re involved in this?” Why hadn’t she told him?
“I feel like they had to be. They clearly didn’t want to be found, and one of them left toward the docks shortly before the body was discovered.
How could that be a coincidence? But with…
” She gestured at her neck, where the yellowed bruises made Roremar see red.
“With everything recently, I haven’t been able to find them again. ”
Emmeline’s head fell back against the wall, and Roremar mimicked it, still watching her. For all the Fates, she looked as if she was talking to the stars.
“Add it to our list of theories,” he said.
“Mm-hmm,” Emmeline hummed. Stretching her toe out, she nudged a loose tile on the roof. It scraped against its neighbor, and she wedged the tip of her boots beneath the corner.
Mischief glinted in her eyes, the brightest hint he’d seen in days. He would do anything to keep it there. Flicking a glance between the tile she continued to nudge out of place and her stare, he laughed.
“You didn’t just choose the Trade House for the perspective on the city, did you?”
“I was wondering when you’d realize.” Crouching, she pried open the panel. A looming column of darkness looked up from below, palm-sized orbs of mystlight dotting the descent. The top rungs of a metal ladder were barely visible.
Emmeline flashed Roremar a daring smirk. “How reckless are you feeling tonight?”
Before he could answer, she slipped into the Trade House. Tucking the worn puzzle piece back in his pocket, he followed. Roremar’s blood pounded with a familiar thrill, this part of him he’d kept locked up for so long awakening.
The Trade House was a three-story structure, but the ceilings were so high, it felt much grander from within.
Roremar had never been on the top level, the clearance more exclusive with each.
It was where the councilmen’s offices were.
Where his uncle had one, as well, though he didn’t typically use it.
He crept behind Emmeline, poised to pull his sword from his back should he need to.
Her footsteps were soundless over the thick sapphire rug running the length of the corridor.
They passed locked doors, dark wood baring dusty silver plaques labeled with important titles.
Silver chandeliers hung overhead, mystlights extinguished.