Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
Roremar
She shouldn’t have been here. Fucking Fates, why had she come? Why had Desmond? Were they trying to make this even harder for him?
It was the torment he deserved. A penance after all the crimes he’d committed—and fuck, there’d been so many. Sitting in this damp cell surrounded by his own vomit and piss wouldn’t be enough. Being plagued with images of his brother wouldn’t be enough. Not even torture would be enough.
To see her, though. Her crying and desperate and wrecked over him in a way he’d promised them both he would never leave her…that twisted a fear he hadn’t expected to meet in here.
He’d stopped crying over Nico at some point. The tears had run dry, the impossibility of it settled. It became real. A raw ache in his chest that he’d pry open again and again, because he fucking wanted to bleed out.
The shadows in the corners of the cell wavered in his delirium. They’d always cloaked him—this darkness he couldn’t shake. For so long it had slumbered. For so long, he’d thought perhaps he’d outrun it. Or better yet, maybe even imagined it.
He scoffed as he laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. “A fool’s hope.”
The cold seeped into every inch of his skin, and he closed his eyes. The darkness waited there too, taunting. It waited everywhere, and while Emmeline’s starlight had been working to burn it away, it won now.
He let it win. Gave himself to it.
It was so much easier than living with what he’d done. And staying in this cell ensured he never did it again.
He should have taken Emmeline’s blade and ended his own life.
That would have been the most surefire way to guarantee no one else suffered.
But he was a fucking coward. He’d hoped for a moment she might have seen the pleading in his eyes, the desperation he let claw through the darkness, and do it for him.
It was better that she didn’t.
He could handle his own demise. He could hold the rubble together as he had all these years. It was what he was building toward anyway—his inevitable doom that an hourglass somewhere was ticking down toward, slowly but surely.
But he couldn’t handle hers. He couldn’t be the ruin of Emmeline DeLeoste, the woman who was made of starlight that the world tried to force into darkness. He wouldn’t cast shadows on her when she could craft the stars and Fates themselves.
He could not ruin her.
There was no way to track time in this infernal cell. His mind was slowly tipping toward madness, anger and hysteria stirring with each hour.
Perhaps that was how this all began. With madness descended from an ever-present isolation. At least pondering that would fill his time for…however long. It was a puzzle in and of itself, trying to unravel what came first. The insanity or the solitude.
But he had never experienced real isolation, had he? He ran his thumb over the spot where the ring his father had given him once sat, lost somewhere in the chaos following Nico’s death. Misery would be his shadow now, filling the void someone else had once walked.
His entire life, Roremar had never been truly alone. Not in the way he’d thought, at least.
And he didn’t know what was worse.
“Round and round we go,” Roremar whispered to the shadows.
He swore they whispered back.
Food always came, but it wasn’t scheduled. Just regular enough to not alarm him when boots echoed down the corridor. It was served with water, some of which he used to keep clean.
They never spoke to him, never even made sure he was restrained against the wall. He’d proven he wouldn’t try to escape for the fleeting seconds the bars opened. He just laid sprawled on his back, staring at the ceiling and recounting the events that led him here.
This time, when the boots stopped outside his cell, there was no metal clanging as the tray was set inside the door and the lock refastened. No footsteps retreating to join the world above.
Still on his back, he rolled his head toward the bars, eyes well-adjusted to the dark by now.
An amused exhale slipped from his lungs as he saw who waited there, turning his gaze back toward the low, cramped ceiling, studying the pattern of the stones. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to speak with you,” his uncle said.
“How long has it been?”
“Three days,” Aldryn told him.
Three days. At least Emmeline and Desmond hadn’t come back. Des had kept the promise they swore in that final silent exchange. Perhaps they’d given up on him, too. For the best.
Uncle Aldryn didn’t sit. He didn’t grip the bars as Emmeline had or hold a vigil beside Roremar’s cage. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, glaring down at his nephew with all the derision Roremar deserved.
“So the Revels…”
“In full swing now.”
At least he didn’t have to attend them. All his life, he’d dreaded the festival. Each year, it felt like knives digging into his mind, his memory, an invisible, acute torture formed specifically for him. Being locked away was good for something besides caging him.
Sighing, he sat up, his body creaking from the stone floor as he crossed his legs.
Falliare’s navy cloak was pristine, not a speck of the grime that coated these cells reflected on the esteemed Temple Master.
The pin clasping the velvet shone in the flickering torches, the Lyra sigil carved in silver a reminder of what was at stake.
But that wasn’t what caught Roremar’s eye. It was the precise shade of the fabric—one his uncle always wore.
“You left your cloak at Desmond’s mother’s,” he accused, voice flat. “Saw it there a few days ago.”
“You didn’t say anything?” His uncle hid any surprise, but Roremar could tell from the minute wrinkle of his nose that he’d caught him off guard. When would Aldryn stop underestimating him?
“Haven’t had much time now, have I?” Roremar lifted his chained wrists and let them crash to the floor.
“It took me a few hours to realize why I recognized it. Then, I was suspicious. You’d been acting odd.
Showing up at our house, pulling Emmeline back to the Academy.
It was just another reason for me to be wary of you. ”
“Another?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know how I feel. I’m my father’s son, am I not?” The truths were pouring out now like red fucking wine staining the relationship between them.
“Tell me, Roremar. What else do you think of me?” Aldryn crossed his arms, looking down at him. It wasn’t derision or hate, simply curiosity quirking his brow.
“My father had no love for you, and he was the best man I’ve ever known, so there must be a reason why.”
He shrugged. “Your father disagreed with my aspirations.”
“Of how you want to control Lyra?”
Aldryn nodded.
“That’s what everything you do goes back to, isn’t it?
Every move you make—it’s all a chess match.
Lyra is your prize.” He thought about how the isle had been suffering lately, how certain places seemed immune but trades like Desmond’s ink were impacted.
“You’re restricting what comes and goes on the isle, aren’t you?
You allow places like the Mezzanine to import whatever they need, because you have a financial stake in their success, and you restrict others.
You allow drugs to be smuggled in through other imports and tell Isle Guard it’s not a priority so people will be happy even if it endangers them.
So everyone will be under your control.”
Aldryn didn’t deny it.
“Fucking Fates.” Roremar looked back at the ceiling, pulling up every thread of memory.
“The Snake Charmer knows, and my father did, too. It’s why you allow the serpent to work on this isle and why you and my father never got along.
” Not that Lyra had been suffering as greatly when Deacon Silventa was alive, but he’d spotted those ambitions in Aldryn, and he’d stood against him.
What would life be like now if he hadn’t died?
“That’s pretty fucking despicable, you know?” Roremar asked, not expecting a response.
But Aldryn said, “The continent has ignored the Constellation Isles for centuries—until it pleases them. We deserve to be independent of their influence or to have a seat on their council and a hand in decisions that impact the entire clan. I am simply going to get us there.”
Roremar didn’t see how that would play out, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he could change anything from in here.
“My suspicions of you when I saw that cloak at Desmond’s mother’s weren’t quite on track. You were there because you knew of Des’s illegal trading.”
A sharp nod.
“It was you Emmeline saw on the cliffs with him the night of the first murder, wasn’t it?” For weeks Roremar’s suspicion had been growing. He’d been putting the pieces together while he laid here, trying to figure out how his uncle fit into this entire mess.
“It was,” Aldryn confirmed. “Though, I didn’t know she was there until you informed me of her accusation of Desmond being the killer.”
“What a fucking mess that was.” Roremar dragged a hand over his face. “You weren’t going to charge Des with anything?”
“Not if he remained discreet. He and I are in the process of working out a deal, and it’s in both of our best interests to allow him to operate as he has been. But I did visit his mother’s new home to ensure he was being honest about what he was importing. Due diligence and all that.”
Control. That was how Falliare fit into all of this.
He was the most powerful man on the Constellation Isles, and he orchestrated deals and arranged trade very precisely to keep it that way.
A master upholding the balance, pulling every string to give the slightest bit when he needed it to, but never allowing anyone to wrench them from his grasp.
“Remember, Roremar, very little occurs on this isle that I do not know about.”
That truth sank like a rock in his chest, deep into the void that had ripped wide with Nico’s death.
“Even this?” he verified, holding up his cuffed wrists once again.
His uncle nodded. “Even that.”
“How long had you known?” Roremar asked.
“I suspected for over a decade.” The confession punched Roremar in the gut, ricocheting him back to that moment, but at least they were finally having a fucking honest conversation about it.
“That all?” he joked. “A little slow on the uptake.”
Aldryn damn near grinned. “I had an inkling earlier, but there wasn’t much to go off other than your childhood behaviors and your tells when lying.”
Roremar narrowed his gaze. “I’m an excellent liar.”
“Perhaps to those who are also bad at lying.”
He huffed a laugh. “If you’ve always known, why assign me this case?”
“Because regardless of what I suspected, you were the best man for the job.”
Roremar didn’t quite understand how those two things could be true.
“It’s why you pulled Emmeline away from me recently, isn’t it? There was no need of her back at the Academy. You just wanted us apart.”
Aldryn pursed his lips. “I believe what had been occurring between you and Miss DeLeoste runs deeper than my interference can dismantle. But yes, I did think getting her away from you was for the best. For all involved.”
“She’s special. She’s…powerful.” Memories of her flipped through his mind. Her, reading and the magic that seemed to ebb around her. Her, on the counter, legs spread and lost for him. Her tracing each of his tattoos before falling asleep in his arms. “I don’t know if even she knows how powerful.”
“I don’t think any of us do,” Aldryn agreed.
And Roremar wouldn’t be there to see her realize it, to watch as she set the realms alight and Starsearchers bowed at her feet. They would, he was damn sure of it. One day, Emmeline would have all she dreamed of.
“You don’t touch a damn hair on her head, or I’ll figure out a way back from the Spirit Realm and drag you there with me,” Roremar threatened, and this time, his uncle truly did smirk.
“As I assumed.”
“I belong in here,” Roremar said, forcing himself to meet his uncle’s eyes. “Don’t let them free me.”
“That’s truly what you want?”
“It’s what I need.”
“Okay,” Aldryn agreed. “But you should know, I have very little control over what happens next. With you being my kin, the heads of the Trade House and Accords have contacted the leaders of the other isles to be the final authority. It was a choice I had to make if I wanted to keep my seat and continue caring for everyone else.”
The derision in his voice at having control wrested from him was severe.
It satisfied a cold piece of Roremar’s heart to see him having to compromise on something, but he was certain his uncle would have his retribution for that.
Plus, with Aldryn in charge of the isle still, Roremar had a sliver of hope that his reputation wouldn’t stain his family.
It was a trade he was more than willing to make.
Roremar swallowed at the sure death lying beneath those words. But all he said was, “good.”
The decision wouldn’t weigh on anyone he cared about at least. He knew how this ended, and the Spirit Realm was the only place he’d see.
With that heavy truth out of the way, Roremar forced himself to ask the question he’d been trying not to consider for three days. “How are they?”
“Devastated.”
His heart clenched. His siblings, his mother, they were all devastated.
All his fault. All of it was his fault.
This cage truly was for the best.
“Take care of them, will you?” His throat thickened at the words, regret for what he’d done, whom he’d hurt, and what he’d be leaving behind pouring through him like bitter wine. “They’re going to need it.”
“Of course, Roremar,” Falliare said. “I’ll see you.”
He turned to leave, but before he rounded the corner, Roremar asked, “It really all was inevitable, wasn’t it?”
His uncle didn’t answer. But Roremar didn’t need him to to know the truth.