Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Roremar
“He’ll be up in a moment,” the dancer said as she led them into a room framed in emerald velvet curtains and shining silver adornments. Giving Roremar a sultry smile and toying with an orange blossom locket around her neck, she added, “Can I get you anything?”
Roremar looked to Emmeline, brow raised. “Need anything?”
She shook her head. Spirits, she was so unbelievably still.
“No, thank you,” he dismissed the dancer, her pout only aggravating him, but his attention was all for Emmeline.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Emmeline whispered, “Do you know who the Snake Charmer is?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Roremar said, coming to her side in the front of the room.
The name had chilled his skin when she first said it, and he was glad he had his sword strapped to his back.
“On the continent, he’s involved in a number of illicit activities.
” Or he had been, but rumors reached even Lyra that he’d disappeared. “Heard he was out of business, too.”
“He should be,” was all Emmeline responded, words clipped. “His real name is Brutus Celvo.”
“Is he a suspect?” Roremar checked.
Though a part of him wished he was, Emmeline shook her head. “We’d know if it was him.”
The unspoken threat in that statement had Roremar’s shoulders squaring as he evaluated her. Mystlights hovered overhead, the orbs dangling on silver chains. Their gentle sway played a game of shadows with Emmeline’s expression as she kept her stare locked on the head of the room.
Between the curtains, the lower half of the walls were dark-paneled wood, the top green and black brocade.
The entire space oozed an essence of riches Lyra hadn’t seen in years.
Even the ceiling was inlaid with what Roremar assumed were real jewels, spelling out some constellation he didn’t care to note.
The curtains were pinned back at the sides of the room, sectioning the chamber into three parts if closed. The first, where he and Emmeline stood, bore a scuffed wooden floor a step above the rest, extinguished mystlights above.
Slowly, he ventured into the second segment.
A bar stocked with much more expensive alcohol than he’d found on most of Lyra sat to one side, small round tables and leather chairs scattered through the rest. And in the third, private alcoves bore settees topped with mountains of pillows and silks.
On the back wall, a cage was lit by a singular warm mystlight.
And inside, onyx serpentine bodies slid over one another.
Ice dripped through Roremar’s stomach.
He should be.
Just what sort of operation was the Snake Charmer running here?
Roremar had always assumed the private rooms were reserved for fucking, no matter the proclivity one preferred. But this room was the size of three, and it was set up for…
He turned slowly, eyes landing on Emmeline across the room. On the mystlights gilding her.
A show.
That was a stage at the head of the chamber.
And along the ceiling, the mystlights didn’t spell out a constellation, but another large writhing serpent, appearing to be made of tiny stars, their lights speckling Emmeline’s skin now.
“Does Falliare know what goes on here?” Roremar asked, even though he wasn’t sure what exactly that was.
Still not looking at him, Emmeline scoffed. “I think Falliare is aware of much more than we assume.”
“What—”
“Ah, Emmeline.” A barrel-chested man wearing a green silk tunic barely tied at his waist strode through the door and up to the bar. A server Roremar hadn’t noticed was already preparing his drink. “I knew I’d see you again one day, my dear.”
Again? They knew each other, very well based on the familiarity. His eyes dripped over her in a way that nearly had Roremar charging at him, but Emmeline gave him a soft shake of her head.
That subtle signal caught the Snake Charmer’s attention, and his eyes flicked over. Dammit, the man even moved like a serpent, every slight motion slithering. Every look threatening. His dark hair was cropped so close to his head, the tattooed outline of a serpent was visible beneath.
“Who are you?” he asked, an intrigued smile on his lips. As if this was all a damn game.
“Roremar.”
Either this man would recognize the name or he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to offer more.
The Snake Charmer only nodded, not giving anything away.
“Well, as I was about to say”—he took his drink from the bar, tunic falling further open as he spun back—“it has been much too long since I’ve seen Emmeline. But it was only a matter of time until she needed something. What is it?”
“Information,” Emmeline declared.
Fates, what were they talking about? Roremar hadn’t known there would be this unsettling familiarity between them. One that felt poisoned with how much her guard had snapped up to come here.
Emmeline had promised not to lie to him or keep secrets about the investigation, which meant her relationship with this man had nothing to do with the case.
It was all personal for her.
And here she was, knuckles white and mask up, ready to enter herself into some kind of torment for it.
Distress clawed up Roremar’s throat as the Snake Charmer licked his lips. “You know the charge, dear.”
“Yes,” Emmeline said, voice cold.
“What’s the charge?” Roremar barked, feet still frozen to the floor in the middle of the room. Normally, he’d act first and deal with the repercussions later, but he knew Emmeline wouldn’t want that.
This entire situation was out of his control, and while he trusted her walking in here, he didn’t realize it would be at her expense.
Didn’t realize how much that would upset him either.
The Snake Charmer ignored him, tongue flicking over the small silver ring through his bottom lip. “What’s your choice?” he asked Emmeline.
Men moved through the third segment of the room—guards maybe, or staff based on their lack of official garb. Lack of any garb, Roremar realized, as some of the dim lights flicked on. Their chests were bare, scars across them and all with a snake tattoo twining around their arm.
Emmeline took a large breath, seeming to calculate something in her mind. As she held the air in her lungs, Roremar’s own chest tightened. Fear and burning fury scorched through him, fueled by her trembling exhale.
“Two,” Emmeline finally said.
Clicks issued from the back of the room, but the mystlights had dimmed again, too low for Roremar to see what was going on. And he sure as Spirits wasn’t going back there. Not without Emmeline.
Her guard was all the way up, her hands inhumanly still at her sides, not even a flinch toward that opal ring. And her eyes were void of any light, any life. She was gone.
And he worried whatever she was about to do would make her slip away for good.
“What is the charge?” he clipped out. His throat was tight.
The Snake Charmer tutted, smile curling. “Emmeline knows the deal I offer all my patrons. They want information. Money. Time. A place to hide. They must do something for me in turn.” He took a sip of his drink, an unnaturally green liquor, and smacked his lips. “For her, that means a dance.”
A dance…
“What…” The lights in the front of the room. The predator’s curl of the Snake Charmer’s lip. Emmeline’s fear thickening the air.
Roremar crossed the room to her, Snake Charmer be damned.
Blocked that vile man from view so all she could see was him.
He dropped his voice. “I don’t know what’s going on here.
I don’t give a Fate’s fuck what this man knows.
I can tell how uncomfortable you are.” Tentatively, he cupped her cheek, turning her gaze up to his. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do,” she said, voice the melodic, distant tone he associated with her Fate ties, and he thought there was an apology beneath those words.
“No,” he swore vehemently, all his anger with her fading. Lifting her hand, he held it against his chest, between both of his. “You don’t, Emmeline. We’ll figure it out without his information. You have a choice.”
“Sadly, Reckless, I never have.”
Roremar was forced to sit in a stiff wooden chair beside the Snake Charmer while Emmeline…performed. She’d been escorted to a back room with a trio of other dancers, distinctly avoiding Roremar’s eyes as she went. His heart hammered against his ribs the entire time.
The mystlights above the stage flared to life, dimming quickly to a sultry hue. The Snake Charmer shifted in his seat, taking a lengthy sip of the sickly-sweet green liquor Roremar could smell from here.
Just before the dancers walked on stage, Roremar leaned over and whispered, “She leaves here with even a hair on her head harmed, and I’ll take pleasure in slicing out your entrails and hanging you from the balcony by them.”
The Snake Charmer only laughed. “Don’t worry, brute. She’s trained for years.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Roremar seethed, though he had no idea what the serpent meant.
Every idea left his head, though, when he saw her.
The outfit they’d dressed her in was barely an outfit at all, even less fabric than the dancers downstairs.
A small slip of silver silk covered her tits and a matching set of panties, sheer strips of chiffon hanging from the waistband.
Beads lined the chain belt and hems, her every step a sick symphony.
The other dancers around her grinned salaciously at the men filling the tables, but Roremar didn’t give a damn about those women. They could perform if they wanted—if that was their choice, who was he to judge—but it so clearly wasn’t Emmeline’s.
“Absolutely not,” Roremar growled as they took their places, and she avoided his eye. He pushed up from his seat, sword burning at his back, but firm hands pressed on his shoulders, and a guard shoved him down.
The Snake Charmer, all too amused, leaned across the table and growled in his ear, “You want your information? Sit and watch.”