Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Emmeline
I will be your ruin.
Endless ruin.
The words warred through Emmeline, a battle of willful reverence and outright obstinance.
Ruin.
Ruin.
Ruin.
Fear should have trilled through her at Roremar’s words, but her back arched again, her body seeking his. Her hips writhing against him.
“Huntress…” It was a warning, a growl of both desire and frustration that called to her blood and magic because, for whatever reason, he would be her ruin, and she was destined to fall.
Before Emmeline could respond, the pool behind her ignited with starfire.
Emmeline spun, heart pounding erratically. Her back pressed to Roremar’s front as she pulled a triple-blade from her waist. His sword was in his hand before them, his other arm still wrapped around her, holding her close.
“What’s happening?” she breathed.
The blast of white fire dimmed, her nerves calming with it. The flames curled around the edges of the pond, and an image swam to life in the glassy surface.
“It’s the reflection we’re supposed to find,” Roremar guessed of the message the Storytellers had given them. His arm remained around Emmeline’s waist, his sword still aloft though there was clearly no physical attacker.
Around the blade, she gazed into the pool. Watercolor portraits swam to life and faded, one after another, their stories reflecting on the steel extended in Roremar’s hand.
“It’s the victims,” she gasped, tears stinging her eyes when Liana’s vibrant smile filled the surface.
Crimson splattered the scene, and Emmeline flinched.
The image shifted, a twelve-pointed star drinking up the bloody montage.
One point stretched further than the rest, it morphed and spun until it became the body of a woman, stone and statuesque, with flowers blooming at her feet and a veil draped over her eyes.
“Anphrosia?” Roremar breathed.
“It’s her reflection we’re looking for,” Emmeline guessed.
Vines spun out from the flower bed, stretching in long tendrils around the pool. The portraits rippled back into view in the water, along with a few more she didn’t recognize. Each reaching vine wrapped around one of the frames. The tethers glowed silver and white, stars shooting along them.
Ice filled Emmeline’s veins, all the lust from moments ago forgotten.
“Are those what I think?” Roremar’s sword finally fell, and he leaned around her so they were pressed closer, his lips brushing her cheek. “Fate ties? All the missing and dead women—were their damn alignments to Anphrosia?”
Numb and clammy, Emmeline nodded, eyes locked on the water, on each bright thread tethering these women together, solidifying this image. Even Roremar’s heart beating against her back didn’t reel her in.
It all made sense now. So much sense…
“So the murderer is killing women tied to Anphrosia,” Roremar stated, his head angled toward her.
Hollowness echoed down her bones, Roremar’s arm around her waist the only thing keeping her standing. Her breaths came in short gasps, dread layered between each.
“Em?” he asked.
And forcing herself to find his steel stare, she whispered, “I have an Anphrosia Fate tie.”