Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Emmeline
She woke the next morning to the smell of fresh pastries and the distant scratch of voices.
No, not distant. In the same room, but her head was foggy from everything the night before.
It was all a nightmare—the snakes, the mystlights overhead, the jeering voices.
Beneath the blanket, she skimmed her hand over the most prominent scar on the inside of her left thigh.
The one where fangs hadn’t just sunk in but ripped.
The skin was raw from her picking at it, a sure sign that she hadn’t imagined anything. Though, not all of it was a bad dream.
Talking to Roremar—unloading those secrets she’d kept buried for so long, she struggled to decipher where they ended and her present began—had been freeing in part.
But in a much scarier sense, it had been stitching a rope into her soul. To be that vulnerable, to show that much left her bare and tethered in a way she naturally thrashed against despite the release it offered.
She wasn’t sure what to make of any of it—of him. Sitting there. Listening. Holding her.
Of the ravenous way his eyes glinted at her on stage or the murderous look he’d given the Snake Charmer.
She was certain about one thing, though. In that moment of weakness last night, she’d shared too much. Despite feeling lighter for it, she’d left herself exposed. She couldn’t do it again—couldn’t offer up the final pieces she withheld.
Those she let in ended up dead.
Cracking open an eye, Emmeline forced herself upright.
The apartment swam into view, her hair surprisingly not gnarled though she’d slept on it wet.
A lingering chill danced along her neck as she ran her fingers through it, and a ghost of a memory floated through her mind.
Roremar, combing carefully through the knots after washing her hair, asking her if she wanted it braided. How was he so good at that?
Shivering for an entirely different reason, she grabbed the thick knit blanket draped across the foot of the bed and wrapped it tight around her shoulders, the security replacing Roremar’s touch in her memory.
“We didn’t mean to wake you.”
Her attention swiveled to the chaise where a nest of rumbled blankets made up Roremar’s bed. He waited there, waves in disarray, chest bare and tattoos stark in the grey morning light streaming from the window at her back.
We.
Emmeline blinked, prying her eyes from his. Nico and Myrella sat at the small dining table. And there were in fact pastries spread before them.
Roremar seemed to understand her mind was taking time to catch up. “There was no breakfast here, so I asked Nico to drop by. I didn’t want to leave…” His words trailed off, but her chest tightened.
Her.
He hadn’t wanted to leave her.
This man had taken care of her. I know you’re able to do it all on your own. But right now, you don’t have to. Let me help.
And as she held his gaze, her head canting, she had the forbidden thought that perhaps it hadn’t been the worst thing.
Roremar flashed her a sheepish look that said he hoped it was okay the others were here. Based on Myrella’s curious stare flicking between the two of them, he hadn’t enlightened them as to what happened last night, but her friend clearly knew something was going on.
Emmeline cleared her throat. “Thank you.” She gave Myrella a look that said she’d explain later. Maybe. When she was ready to rehash what had happened.
Fangs and scales iridescent in the winking mystlights. Low, gentle hisses that roved her nightmares and shivered along her bones.
She squeezed her eyes tight, shaking her head to dislodge the memories. With the soft blanket still tight against her skin, Emmeline stood and crossed to examine the pastries on the table. Dropping into a chair, she chose a tart at random and picked at the flaky crust.
“I guess we should discuss everything you learned last night,” she said, attempting to direct them down a path that wouldn’t hurt so badly to dig into.
Her scars still ached, an ever-present reminder, but another memory trailed each bead of pain. Gentle fingers and a deep, calming voice. Salve massaged into her skin just before she drifted off to sleep.
Her eyes flicked to Roremar. He had both feet braced on the floor, elbows resting on his knees and taut muscles flexing as he studied her, long fingers laced together. Those hands.
Emmeline hadn’t wanted to admit that having his hands on such an intimate part of her didn’t feel wrong or like crossing a barrier. But as the memory flickered through her mind again, she couldn’t deny it felt…safe.
How would it feel to be held by him when she wasn’t breaking down? How would his bare skin feel against hers, his lips trailing down her body?
Even now, in the wake of all that had happened last night, a part of her that acknowledged how good he was wanted that.
Myrella leaned across the table, shattering Emmeline’s trance as she grabbed her own breakfast. “Yes, we need to hear everything. Start at the begin—”
The door slammed open.
Roremar’s sword was in his hand before the shadow broke the threshold, but it dropped just as quickly.
“Morning,” Desmond drawled, kicking the door shut so hard, the wood shuddered. He crossed to the counter and propped himself against it. “What are we all doing up here?”
Nico’s and Myrella’s eyes swiveled between Emmeline and Desmond, but he pointedly didn’t acknowledge her.
Roremar didn’t look away from his friend, squinting as if trying to decipher him.
It was the hyper-observant look Emmeline had become familiar with.
Brows slightly scrunched so his scar looked like a jagged bolt, gaze picking up things no one else saw.
She hated when it was directed at her, how it saw right through her. Now, she didn’t mind.
“Emmeline and Roremar were going to tell us what information they got last night,” Nico explained slowly when no one else bothered.
Myrella sat straight-backed, lips clamped between her teeth, fighting herself so hard from interjecting, she actually grabbed Nico’s hand atop the table. Despite the clear tension in the room, Nico beamed at her.
“Last night?” Desmond asked, turning to Roremar with more than a little hurt in his stare. “What did you learn? I came by to find you when I closed the parlor, but you were gone. Thought it was your night off.”
“I was here,” Roremar answered matter-of-factly, still standing with his sword aimed at the floor. “Then Emmeline showed up with news, and we went to the Mezzanine.”
“Oh, don’t we just love when Emmeline has news.”
Her skin prickled at the derision in his tone, but Emmeline swallowed down her offense.
Roremar grumbled something beneath his breath, rolling his eyes. “Des, you know I have to keep working on this case. We need to find the killer and I—” His mouth snapped closed.
Desmond’s brows rose, arms flexing as he leaned back against the marble counter. “You what?”
Fates, she hated how her accusation and the fact that she and Roremar were still partners drove a wedge in their friendship.
Sighing, she said, “Desmond, I—”
“Oh, you can speak to me?” Laughter bubbled through his words.
Emmeline balked. “What?”
“I figured since you outright accused me of murder without ever once asking about any of the evidence you gathered that you and I were unable to speak to one another.”
Her eyes narrowed. “It would have been pretty foolish of me to tell my suspect I was on their trail. Even if I ended up being wrong.”
“As if I would ever kill innocent women.” Under his breath, he added, “Let alone ones tied to Anphrosia.”
Emmeline didn’t know why he worded it that way, but her patience was growing thin.
“The evidence was there! I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I suspected you.
It was an awful accusation to make, but I don’t know you well.
It was easy to think you had an ulterior motive.
” Her chest rose and fell from the force of those words. “What else do you want me to do?”
“Stop being immature,” Roremar said to Desmond when he didn’t respond.
“Come on, Des, she apologized. Even you admitted how the evidence looked. You have the two Fate ties for fuck’s sake.
” He dragged a hand through his hair, groaning when Desmond remained impassive.
“There’s a murderer on the isle still. You don’t need to be her friend but if you want to stay in this room for a second longer you need to respect her enough to stop being an ass. ”
Desmond’s jaw ticked. After a long, stilted silence during which he and Roremar didn’t break eye contact, he finally conceded, “Fine. I’ll be back on this team to help you, Rore.” His stare shifted to Emmeline. “But you and me? Whatever this friendship was that was forming? That’s over.”
“Fine by the Fates,” she muttered, sitting back in her chair.
“Okay, Emmeline and Desmond won’t be allowed in a room alone together. Now can we please get on with this?” Myrella blurted, finally relinquishing her self-imposed silence. Nico smothered a laugh in her shoulder at her outburst.
“On a Fate’s fucking grave, please,” Roremar grumbled.
“Tell us about last night,” Nico encouraged, and a slimy sheen coated Emmeline’s skin, her lungs constricting.
As if sensing it, Roremar’s eyes met hers. A thread wrapped around her chest, warm and soothing, and Emmeline swore there was a gentle tug at the other end. Forcing down a breath, she nodded at him.
And Roremar told them the whole story. Not all of her past, but the events at the Mezzanine and what the Snake Charmer disclosed. Myrella scooted her chair next to Emmeline as he spoke, wrapping an arm around her that was surprisingly comforting. Even Desmond didn’t have any smart comments.
“Plants?” Nico echoed when Roremar finished. Emmeline sat straighter at that part, too. She’d been too exhausted to ask Roremar to repeat any of this last night.