Chapter 57
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Roremar
“Not again. Not again.”
Roremar repeated the words to himself in his damp cell below the Trade House, unsure whether he was actually speaking them aloud or in his mind. It didn’t matter. The person who needed to hear them would.
The iron scent of blood still tinged the air.
They hadn’t bothered to drag him far from the scene before sealing him behind bars.
In a twisted way, it was a relief. Every time his mind tried to trick him into thinking this was a nightmare, he would inhale and know it wasn’t. It was the least he deserved.
He had actually done this.
He had taken Nico’s life.
His thoughts were so burdened and numb with shock that he couldn’t put together the pieces as he normally would. He could barely feel any of the agony that had pierced him when he blinked and watched that blade slice.
Watched his brother’s eyes widen.
Watched the betrayal. The surprise. The pain.
His wrists and forearms were raw and bruised from where Nico had fought him.
Digging beneath the manacles, chains ringing with piercing clinks against stone, he pressed his thumbs into those scars as his body trembled.
He clenched his eyes, leaning back against the wall, and wagged his head, trying to shake that image free.
“Stop. Stop,” he begged. “Don’t make me watch it again.”
A laugh echoed through his memory. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. He dug his nails in deeper.
It wasn’t just Nico now. It was their father.
“Stop,” Roremar whimpered.
The blade sliced.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until his chest was heaving and he was crawling to the corner to vomit. Until the tears he’d kept in for years flowed. Until he was dragging his hands through his hair, nearly ripping it from his scalp as he relived the memory of killing his brother over and over.
He was an utter fool, he realized as he collapsed against the wall in the grime he now belonged to. How did he expect any of this to ever work out?
The signs were there that it was crumbling, but he hadn’t realized what they were.
Let Emmeline continue to build her theories, followed her around like he wasn’t absolutely infatuated with her, like he hadn’t been created with his heart tethered to hers.
He’d suspected it for a bit now, but last night the suspicion deepened.
And the way she’d answered his silent plea this morning as he cried over Nico’s body only confirmed it.
Nico.
His brother’s name was a knife to his gut. Each of his heartbeats echoed it, a reminder that Nico would never get another.
Nico.
Nico.
Nico.
Stab. Slice. Twist.
He wanted that pain, needed to feel every last moment of it. His body had gone into shock to protect him from the agony earlier, but he didn’t want to forget how badly he hurt. How badly he’d hurt others. He deserved every last drop of the torture awaiting him.
He appreciated the chains. Their weight dragging his wrists to the stone was grounding. Their iron digging into his flesh was a punishment.
Not enough.
He deserved way worse.
He begged for it after what he’d done. To the Angel Valyrie, his father’s spirit, even the Fates, he begged. Fuck, if the Fates had ever done one single thing for him in this shameful existence, let it be this.
Let him receive every wretched thing he deserved.