Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
Roremar
Roremar’s heart was beating out of his chest as he raced through the tunnels beneath the cliffs. His knuckles were torn up, but at least the blood had stopped flowing on the ride over here. He could barely process the lingering pain now.
What did Emmeline’s letter mean she was going to the caves? Why in a Fate’s starry-eyed fuck wouldn’t she wait for him? It was after curfew, and she was tied to Anphrosia.
When he first got to the cliffs, he’d thought he’d missed her. He’d prayed that was what happened.
But then he noticed a set of bare footprints that looked about her size—and paw prints—venturing deeper into the tunnels. After what he’d put together tonight, his stomach sank like a damn rock.
He’d grabbed a mystlight lantern and hurried after her without another thought, following the prints around twists and turns leading deeper into the rocky land.
Finally, he rounded a bend and ran straight into her. His arms wrapped around her to stop them both from toppling over.
“Roremar?” Emmeline asked, pressing her hands to his chest.
“Are you okay?” He held the lantern higher, scanning her twice just to be certain. She was covered in dirt, her skirt stained and soaked, but she seemed unharmed.
Cold moisture dripped down the cavern walls, but his heart hammered, sweat beading on his skin.
“Now that you aren’t running me over, yes. What are you doing here? Where did you come from? And why are you bleeding?” Gently, she pulled his free hand closer to inspect the cuts.
“Already almost healed,” he insisted, waving her off. “What are you doing here? I got your note, but it didn’t explain everything. Did you figure out about the caves? And what’s Cirre doing?”
Emmeline stiffened. “Cirre found me, and what about the caves?”
She didn’t know. Didn’t know that Darcy had found those cave drawings and supplies out near the jungle settlements, or that Roremar suspected all the tunnels were connected.
“I’ll explain, but you first. Why are you here?”
“My ring—I lost it. But look.” Emmeline flashed him her hand, light unlike anything he’d ever seen dancing in her eyes.
He tried to set aside his terror in favor of that smile, taking a deep breath over the panic still in a vice around his lungs. “What’s so special about this ring, Huntress?”
She blanched as if she thought he wouldn’t ask. Hazel eyes sought his, so many questions pouring between a dozen colors. Since her walls came crashing down, this dire need to answer them all had mounted in him. But he needed her to meet him halfway, give him something to work with.
Cirre sat ahead of them, tail swishing like a patient pendulum counting the seconds for Emmeline. He’d wait for fucking ever if she needed him to.
“It was my mother’s,” she finally admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “She gave one to me and one to my sister when we were girls. A matching pair. I couldn’t find it tonight, and Metrina told me to look for it here.”
His heart shattered at the longing in her words. He hated that he hadn’t been there when she was panicking. Roremar pulled her to him, relishing in the feel of her against him.
“I have no idea if she’ll still have hers when I find her.” Emmeline’s voice cracked as she peered up at him from beneath her lashes. “But I need to have mine. She needs to know I never forgot about her.”
The urge to kiss her twisted through him—to tilt her chin up and claim her in this very tunnel—but her words only succeeded in reminding Roremar that she was leaving soon. He couldn’t trap her here. So instead, he cupped the back of her head and held her to his chest.
“You’re going to find her,” he swore. Soon. She’d find her soon.
“Where were you?” Emmeline asked, pulling back. “I went to Fated Ink, but no one was there.”
Cold doused his veins. “Isle Guard. Darcy wrote to me. He found the star symbol from the tattoos carved into a cave out in the jungle.”
Emmeline eyes widened. “What?”
“The cave led to some tunnels, and I’m pretty sure they’re probably connected to…” He trailed off, both their gazes darting ahead. Cirre purred happily as if they were looking at her, but the dread he’d felt on the race over here returned. Roremar swallowed. “You have a dagger on you, right?”
Emmeline swallowed. “Always.”
“Good.”
He’d known these tunnels were here for years. Cirre liked to explore them, but he’d never gone this far. When Darcy showed him the precise location of the cave they found the drawing in, Roremar hypothesized they all connected.
The thought of Emmeline being anywhere near where they’d found evidence without knowing it had driven him crazy when he got her note. He’d hoped she’d at least figured it out and wasn’t walking in here blind. The Fates weren’t that kind.
“Want to see what we find?” Roremar asked.
Emmeline didn’t hesitate. She followed Cirre deeper into the tunnel, clamoring over piles of collapsed rubble and up a slight incline. His eyes peeled apart the shadows with every step.
“I went to the Mezzanine after Isle Guard,” Roremar continued. The tension rolling off Emmeline at the mention of the gambling hall was palpable, but he smirked. “Finally got our snake friend to see me.”
“What do you—” Her gaze dropped to his bloodied knuckles. “Roremar! Please say you didn’t…”
“I told you I was going to question him.”
“You didn’t say you were going to fight.”
He shrugged. “Just a few good hits and some broken fingers so he’d remember how disgraceful his past is.”
Emmeline’s jaw dropped. His smile was all smug pride.
“Reckless,” Emmeline whispered, but he grinned wider. He didn’t always mind being reckless.
“Never thought you’d be fighting for me,” she teased as he hopped down a three-foot drop in the floor and turned to help her.
“Never thought I’d want to.” Though they both knew she was capable of jumping down the short distance herself, Emmeline slipped her hand into his. “And you’re right, the Snake Charmer isn’t involved in this.”
Fates, he wanted to drop his lips to hers so desperately. Her shiver as the temperature in the caves plummeted sent every nerve in his body on high alert.
“Thought so,” Emmeline murmured, gaze on his lips. “How far do these tunnels go?”
“No idea,” Roremar answered, gaze flicking between her eyes and her mouth. “I’ve never come this far.”
“So innocent,” Emmeline teased beneath her breath.
He knew they were both trying to diffuse the fear of what they’d find. Following her lead, Roremar scoffed and nudged her down the tunnel. “Don’t tempt me to prove how wrong you are, or we’ll never get out of here.”
“Never?” she joked as she ambled ahead. “That’s quite the stamina.”
“Challenging me, Huntress? This place seems pretty private, but it would be very thoughtless of us to test that.”
She cleared her throat. “Entirely witless.”
He rolled his eyes but spent the next few minutes silently not remembering how she felt pressed against him.
“Metrina sent you here?” he asked, voice gravelly.
“Yes,” Emmeline recounted. “I don’t know why. Her simply wanting me to find my ring is too…”
“Caring?” Roremar added.
Emmeline pressed her lips together, nodding. It sent nerves twisting through his gut that the Fates had a hand in them being here, but they continued after Cirre. If it hadn’t been for that panther, Roremar would have dragged Emmeline out the moment he found her.
Finally, the tunnel widened, much larger than anything he expected to exist down here. It curved around one edge, and Cirre sat at the corner, light ebbing from whatever waited beyond and gilding her sleek frame.
He glanced silently at Emmeline. She nodded, stare stern and triple-blade between her fingers.
Heart thudding, Roremar stroked Cirre’s crescent moon as he stepped around her, Emmeline at his back.
Dim yellow light permeated a curtain of moss. Setting the lantern down, Roremar pulled his sword and listened. There wasn’t so much as a breath waiting on the other side.
He brushed aside the soft partition, the end sweeping against the floor.
Hesitantly, they stepped into a large domed cavern, packed dirt walls speckled with glittering gemstones and veins of minerals.
Cobwebbed mystlight lanterns hung overhead and an overwhelming array of flowers coated one wall, rising up to the ceiling where they grew sparser.
Vines stretched out around them, sinking into the dirt.
Their petals were a medley of pinks dotted with white and silver centers. A heavy floral aroma coated the air, wrapping tighter around Roremar with every step. It was vaguely familiar, something in the back of his brain sparking.
“Is this…what kind of flowers are these?” Emmeline whispered.
“I don’t know,” Roremar muttered, scanning the walls of florals, sword at the ready. Large triangular petals the size of his hand flopped over, but the cavern was still. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before.
Emmeline swayed into his side.
“Are you okay?”
She blinked clouded hazel eyes up at him. “No, Roremar, I think you have seen them before. In a way. They’re the same as the Storyteller’s Lair.”
“The Storyteller’s…” he muttered. He’d been so preoccupied with getting her out of there, he barely remembered what flowers decorated the chamber or what scents layered the air. Spirits, it was so unlike him to be so unobservant. “They were in the incense.”
Her head bobbed, but he could see the pieces clicking together even as the scent consumed her. Just as it had that night, and when she’d passed out in the tub after they found the first body…
“Holy fucking Angels,” Roremar muttered.
They hadn’t seen these specific flowers before, but they sure as stars had smelled them.
Words slurring, Emmeline voiced his thoughts. “It’s the same petals and ash that have been scattered around all the victims, in their original form. This is where they’re getting them from.”
“Wait a second,” Roremar said. Looping one arm around her waist, he pulled the small linen pouch from his pocket and pried it open. “Smell this.”
She barely ducked over the bag before blinking furiously. “Same thing.”
“Fuck,” Roremar swore. “Darcy gave me these. They found them in the cave with the star carving. I think they’re the ones being smuggled onto the isle in ink crates. The ones laced into drugs and into the murders.”
“The seeds are growing flowers being used for incense,” Emmeline said, words dragging more and more. “Whatever it is, it must call to Anphrosia Fate ties, probably something the killer can track. And it’s very…potent.”
“It must be what they’re burning around the bodies for their ritual.
The first body didn’t have ash, and you said you didn’t faint until after the second, right?
” She nodded sleepily. “Liana had been moved, so anything lingering wouldn’t have been enough to affect you.
And here…” Roremar eyed the moss curtains strung periodically around the cavern.
“We’re so deep in the tunnels, I bet one of those offshoots connects to the one with the star carving. ”
Roremar tucked the seeds away so Emmeline wouldn’t be exposed any more than she already was.
“If this is what’s hidden in the imports, is it also what’s laced in the bad drugs on Lyra?” Emmeline panted.
“Probably,” Roremar agreed. “I’d bet some of the flowers are finding their way into drugs and having adverse effects on those not tied to Anphrosia. And it’s marking the ones who are as targets.” The hallucinations, the crazed highs. Everything made sense.
“Emmeline, you know what this is?”
“What?” she breathed.
“This is the killer’s den.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she leaned against him. “We’ve almost got the son of a bitch. And this is what we need for Falliare to keep his promises.”
Emmeline blinked up at him, and he could see the hint of success in her hazy eyes. “Enough to solve it.”
Roremar grinned down at her—both of their dreams so within reach—but worry gnawed at his chest as she grew more dazed. “We should get you out of here.”
“No,” Emmeline insisted. “Let’s make sure we’ve gotten all the evidence first.”
Reluctantly, Roremar agreed. Keeping careful hold on her, he walked deeper into the cavern, moving as efficiently as possible.
They pulled back the moss curtains marking the tunnels, nothing but narrow paths behind the first two.
He brushed aside the third, mystlight spilling into a dim alcove, and—
“No.”
Nausea rolled through him as the smell flooded out, too overpowered by the florals before. Now, the rot and decay slammed into them. His eyes watered.
Emmeline gasped, fingers tangling in his tunic.
“The missing women,” Roremar whispered, nearly choking.
Four of them total—two more than they were even aware were missing, either travelers or from jungle settlements that never reported to Lyra Isle Guard.
They were piled as if they were rag dolls, but their eyes stared unseeing at the ceilings.
Roremar’s stomach lurched as he took in every detail.
Their tattoos with one point longer than the others.
A number of other designs inked on their arms—all in the same shoddy hand.
The wing insignia burned repeatedly into the wall—not the exact same rendition as before, but there nonetheless.
A discarded leather-bound book was tossed on the floor beside the bodies. Roremar stooped to pick it up, stomach lurching as he recognized the handwriting.
“These are Desmond’s designs,” he whispered to Emmeline.
“Desmond’s…” she echoed, clearly struggling to keep up.
“The one that was stolen from Fated Ink during the break in.” Roremar snapped the book closed and tucked it under his arm, wrapping the other around her again.
“And some of these bodies have multiple fresh tattoos. Whoever it is is getting more impatient, maybe trying to find a different design that works.”
Roremar looked closer at the victims, and terror sent his stomach plummeting. The cut to the throat of the top woman was practically ripped open. As if whoever did this was getting frantic. And the blood…it looked fresh.
“We need to get out of here,” he said, dropping the curtain on the gruesome scene.
“What?” Emmeline blurted, feet stumbling as he pulled her away. “We need to help, to gather—”
“I got every drop of evidence, trust me.” Roremar steadied her, tilting her chin up. “Listen, Emmeline, that top body is fresh. The killer has been here—within the last day, I’m guessing. I won’t have you in harm’s way.”
She was fighting through the incense trying to drown her, spinning that ring around her finger so damn slowly as her hooded eyes struggled to focus on him. His chest tightened in panic.
You will be her ruin.
Fucking Fates, he had to get Emmeline out of this cavern. Away from the beach. Screw all the bodies, the evidence. Someone else could take care of that tonight.
“Come on,” he urged.
Right now, above all else, Roremar’s priority was Emmeline.