Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Roremar
Roremar stormed through the Trade House, shadows drenching the world around him. It had been five days since he’d spoken to Emmeline. Five days, and the darkness that eclipsed his mind in the wake of her accusing Desmond was consuming him.
Outside of the sparring lessons he still had to teach at the Academy, he’d spent nearly the entire time at home, losing himself in a new set of correspondence from Zyon and the mountains of research that unraveled from the Alvan War Master’s letter.
Last night, he’d uncovered a sacrificial ritual from nearly two centuries ago at the hands of a now-exiled cult on Alvan.
Worshipers of Anhala had flocked to the isle and kidnapped searchers of Arenothos, the two Fates having a brutal and bloody history.
They tattooed ancient star maps on the back of their victims, allegedly trying to piece together some final image that would doom the Fate of Wrath and Redemption.
They were unsuccessful, and all ended up banished or executed.
The example aligned with their theories that the killer’s motive was rooted in the Fates themselves, but something about it bothered Roremar, keeping him up at night.
While there were similarities, that case didn’t help him figure out why these present-day murders were occurring on Lyra or why the victims were tied to Anphrosia.
It was proof that this shit had happened in the past but nothing more.
He’d followed the path, trying to draw connections, eventually ending back at the records of imbued ink shipments they’d been sent from the War Master of Alvan. He needed to know more about what was currently occurring between the Constellation Isles.
Thus, the Trade House.
With the Remembrance Revels growing closer, every isle was restless, but Byron in particular, with their focus in star maps and celestial studies.
Their broken telescope seal had been appearing on more and more papers addressed to him as his father’s ward.
Apparently, Deacon Silventa had been an active investor in their largest astrological academy, and a research project was due to wrap up around the Revels when a pair of planets or stars or some shit Roremar couldn’t recall finished a path years in the making.
As if the Revels themselves weren’t enough to set Roremar on edge, he now had to hope this investment turned out to be lucrative. He couldn’t give a Fate’s fuck about the details, truthfully.
He bypassed the front desk at the Trade House with a wave to the courier—familiar with him since he’d been visiting Nico more frequently—and strode down the hall to the first-floor office his brother had been assigned.
It was a cramped space with enough room for a desk in the center and a set of shelves beneath the window, but the view overlooking the small gardens sloping down toward the cliffs behind the Trade House tricked you into thinking it was larger.
Nico had the windows thrown wide, the fragrant scents of lavender bushes and orange trees drifting in.
“What are you working on?” Roremar grumbled as he entered, not bothering to knock.
“The job you so lovingly insisted upon?” Nico said it as if it was a question, eyes flicking up though he barely lifted his head from whatever reports he was reviewing.
Picking up a chunk of a silver-edged crystal, he dropped it onto the rickety scale at the corner of his desk.
“I’m helping track the expenses incurred for the Remembrance Revels. ”
Roremar leaned over the desk, scanning the numbers. Fates, it was a lot of unnecessary money. When so many businesses were already struggling. How was the isle affording this?
Shaking away the thought, he strode toward the door. “Forget it. I have an hour until I have to pick up Siena from her art lesson. Let’s go to the Mezzanine.”
“I can’t go to the Mezzanine,” Nico responded patiently.
“Why not?”
“Why are you insisting on going?”
“I’m hungry,” he answered, gripping the doorknob. Realistically, he wanted to get piss drunk. That, and he was certain it was the one place he wouldn’t run into Emmeline. Where he wouldn’t be reminded of her because she never damn well set foot in there.
He’d spent the past few days at the Academy actively avoiding the routes he knew she favored after all these weeks following her. Sure, it was petty and immature, but he wasn’t ready to face her after she blindsided him and accused Desmond of murder.
He also wasn’t ready to admit that despite that little stunt, she was all he could think about.
“You’re grumpy,” Nico said as his pen scratched across papers.
“I am not.” His brother leveled him an amused glance, and Roremar sighed. “This whole thing is a Fatesdamned mess, Nico, and I’m still no closer to actually solving anything.”
And now he was doing it alone.
Nico set down his reports, leaning back in his chair. He fit here, whether he liked it or not, and that gave Roremar a flash of pride. Maybe he did one thing right in insisting Nico take this job.
“Have you spoken to Des?”
“Barely.”
They’d been avoiding each other. Roremar was brooding, and he could admit it. It didn’t sit right with him that Desmond didn’t think he could tell him all these secret plans he was forming. What kind of friend had he been recently that Des didn’t trust him?
“Keep working on the case,” Nico advised. He tossed a piece of parchment and a pen at Roremar. “It’s the best use of your time.”
Roremar pursed his lips. Unfortunately, Nico was right. Even though he’d rather go to the Mezz. Still, he lingered in the doorway.
“How’s Myrella?” he asked.
Nico smirked, and Roremar knew he saw right through his question, but he answered anyway. “She’s…tough. Fates, she’s putting me through it.”
“She worth it?” Roremar asked, flipping the pen between his fingers.
Nico didn’t even pause to consider. “More than.”
The sheepish grin his brother tried to hide told Roremar all he needed to know. Somehow, this girl had wormed her way so deeply into his heart in such a short time, there was no going back. Almost as if they’d been pushed together by the Fates.
Roremar tried to breathe past the gnawing ache in his chest. He was happy Nico was getting that chance—that he’d listened to him and gave it a shot.
Nico went on, “They’re busy at the Academy. The students are all excited for the Revels, and it’s making it harder to keep them in line. Combined with the curfew, they’ve all been taking on extra tasks.”
“Uncle excused me from those at least,” Roremar muttered. He already knew what things were like at the Academy. He’d just been wanting—
“She’s upset, too, Rore,” Nico said, and Roremar knew he didn’t mean Myrella. “She knows she messed up.”
His throat was thick, the thought of her guilty expression on the beach haunting him. “It feels like I’m choosing between them.”
“Who said so?” Roremar gave his brother a flat look, and Nico added, “I spoke to her about it—briefly because she’s avoiding all of us—but she doesn’t know Des like we do.
She could have just as easily accused you or me if the facts were there.
So yeah, she made a mistake, but it’s not broken beyond repair. ”
Roremar didn’t know how to answer that. It all felt wrecked.
You will be her ruin. Well, he’d ruined himself instead, apparently.
Nico picked up his papers again, saying, “She’s still working on the case, too. I don’t think either of you can do it alone, but Fates know you’re both stubborn as all realms. May as well make good use of your time and keep at it.”
Roremar drummed his fingers against the door. When had his little brother become the one offering advice? Nico really had grown up.
And he was right.
Roremar’s focus had been scattered without Emmeline. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, they needed each other. But she didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t rely on that fickle of a foundation.
How could they work together if she couldn’t even trust him enough to tell him her theories? When so much was at stake? He couldn’t risk his siblings’ future to follow half-baked leads.
“I’ll see you at home for dinner,” Roremar said, leaving the room, Nico calling after him with menu requests.
As he ascended the wide main stairway in the center of the Trade House, Roremar tried to focus on the task at hand.
Numbers bounced around his head. The tallies Desmond had shared with him about how many crates of ink he’d personally imported as well as those from the War Master of Alvan.
Emmeline had left the papers in the apartment before everything went to shit the other night, and something wasn’t adding up between them.
Based on the weights of the crates reported in the Alvan export logs and the numbers he’d run with Desmond about his own imports, there was way more ink unaccounted for than what Des suggested. Way more than was necessary for a few twelve-pointed star tattoos.
So where was it all going? Or, if it wasn’t ink in those crates, what was it?
The notion hollowed out his damn stomach. He needed the references in the rooms above. The ones he and Emmeline had broken into.
Of course, now it was broad daylight. He’d just see if he could get—
Roremar froze on the second-floor landing, his boots scuffing on the velvet rug. “Uncle?”
Aldryn Falliare was descending from the third floor, tucking a large ornate key into his pocket.
“Roremar,” he greeted, smiling. “What are you doing here?”
“Stopping by to see Nico.” He didn’t elaborate on the rest of his plans. His hackles had risen when he and his uncle went to the Mezz the other night, and though he hadn’t told anyone, he was keeping note of the Temple Master’s whereabouts.
“Is Miss DeLeoste with you?”
“No.” The word tasted sour.
He couldn’t identify the emotion that flashed behind his uncle’s eyes, but it almost seemed satisfied. A talon raked down Roremar’s chest in response, and he added, “She’s still in lessons.”
She was. He had that schedule memorized despite their fight. Still, his uncle eyed him with an expression that dug under Roremar’s skin.
“I see,” Aldryn said. “Well, tell Nico I said hello. I’ve got a meeting with the head of the Trade House, and I’m already late.”
He disappeared down the stairs. Roremar waited for his steps to fade—counting to ten afterward to be certain—before ducking into the records room.
And he tried not to puzzle over the fact that his uncle had hurried off instead of asking why, if Roremar was here to see Nico, was he on this floor instead of the first.