Chapter 65 #2
“I’ve been reading about them.” Emmeline pulled back and wiped tears from his cheeks.
“There are rumors Anphrosia and Dryvius had affairs just like she did with the others. It’s possible he’s just as scorned as Arenothos and Aevollon, that he was looking to harm them in the process, hence Desmond’s design book and victims from Alvan.
Truthfully, I think it’s more likely he wanted—”
“Revenge,” the Snake Charmer interjected from his armchair, just as he’d told Roremar at the Mezzanine.
Emmeline had been ignoring Brutus Celvo’s presence, her throat tightening at his voice. Roremar stiffened, glaring at the serpent, but neither of them spoke to him.
“Maybe he wants revenge on the Fates,” Roremar muttered, “for killing him. Or for trying to, since it clearly didn’t work.”
“The star tattoo functioned as a compass,” Emmeline added. “The elongated points always aimed toward Byron—toward the isle dedicated toward Anphrosia and Dryvius.” She placed her palms against Roremar’s chest, his heart thumping erratically.
“But Nico was Serchus.”
Emmeline bit her lip. “One heart of greed entrenched in kin, and many dancing with sweet sin. That’s what Anphrosia said to me recently, and parts of her message were written at the second crime scene, in the victim’s note.”
“Greed…Serchus. Kin…” Roremar shook his head slowly. “My family.”
“Sweet sin…Anphrosia. They’re steps in the ritual.”
Roremar nodded.
“Do you know why Dryvius would have been trying to complete this ritual?” Enya looked between Maeson and Tarli, calling Emmeline’s attention back across the room.
“Beyond inciting his namesake or seeking revenge?” Maeson huffed, looking to Tarli.
The Head of the Accords only shrugged. “We know very little about why he did anything. As Miss DeLeoste mentioned, his lore is not widespread, and that which we do have has little to cross-reference, like the Birth of Chaos.”
The myth referenced a time when Dryvius’s illicit affair with a noblewoman on a faraway land caused an attack on Starsearcher Territory.
He was fleeing, and the chaos followed him to Gallantia.
It was one of the few confirmed pieces of his history, but it supported their theory that so much came back to scorned lovers and revenge.
“Anphrosia…” Maeson muttered. His isle, after all, honored her and Dryvius.
Emmeline straightened. “That’s why I originally wrote to you, sir. Does the Warders of Selene mean anything to you?”
Every official in the room shook their head.
“Selene is a name for an almighty, three-pronged being. Goddess, Angel, and someone unknown. And the Warders aren’t a cult as we thought.
The name refers to the Fates.” Roremar’s eyes widened at her explanation.
“Their mark was at the scene of every murder. Makes sense if it was a Fate himself committing the crimes.”
It had been Regina’s notes on the cult that pushed Emmeline into that final reading.
“How did you figure it out?” Roremar asked her and Desmond, seeming to bury his pain for later. That awed look he often gave her lit his grey eyes the slightest bit, like the very real loss of his brother and the lives taken at his hands were shadowed beasts, claws ripping into him.
“I had help with that part. But your Fate tie…You lied to Desmond about who you were aligned to.”
Roremar’s brows scrunched as he turned to his friend. “You knew?”
“Spirits, no,” Desmond said. “Emmeline figured it out when she asked me who your tie was.”
Roremar’s eyes dragged back to her, and she explained, “You can’t be aligned to Pheasantos. Or I supposed you could, but it’s highly improbable. I don’t know the odds on it.” She shook her head, getting back on track. “Pheasantos rarely forges ties the week before or after the summer solstice.”
“You didn’t believe I simply had a rare alignment?
” But from the way he pursed his lips, he already knew the answer.
“I messed up with the quarter centennial.” He sighed, dragging his hands through his hair, the chain between his wrists clanging together and making Emmeline flinch.
“The first time I told the lie, I was barely ten. I didn’t know what that was.
All I knew was that this impossible voice was speaking to me—one that was supposed to be dead, shamed, and cursed. ”
Her heart broke for that little boy, probably so afraid of what it meant. But what she didn’t understand was why Roremar didn’t seem relieved? What he’d done would haunt him, and that was no small fact, but his truth was out now.
Why weren’t they unchaining him?
“Emmeline read after we guessed you were lying. She put together the pieces from there…” Desmond said, leaving the rest to her to explain.
She was restless as she did, eyes continuously dropping to Roremar’s chained wrists. She fidgeted with her opal ring.
“The Storyteller’s Lair. There was a shadowed figure there, too. They said he never spoke.” Roremar nodded grimly. “I was too lost to the incense at the time, but that was Dryvius’s Storyteller. And during my reading, wine poured over everything. The entire scene was Chaos and Revelry.”
It was the wine that struck a note in her mind. The Twelfth Fate’s sigil bore two wine jugs: one cracked and one overflowing. And sitting beside them…
“And Cirre. How she took to you.” And your tattoo, she didn’t add aloud. The one across his back. It was for the panther who adopted his family, but also his homage to the Fate who had ruled his life, a reminder of who kept him behind closed doors.
“Too smart for your own good, Huntress,” Roremar muttered, lips turning down, sadness dripping off every syllable.
It was for his own good that she’d been able to figure it out. Right?
“This still presents a problem,” Maeson said, snapping shut a history book she hadn’t realized he’d been flipping through.
“A problem?” Emmeline’s spine stiffened. Desmond shifted toward her. And Roremar…her reckless warrior only averted his gaze.
Brean, Head of the Trade House, said, “Roremar may not be the one who wanted to kill those innocent people, but he became the weapon.”
Her eyes flashed to Roremar’s, widening. And she knew why he hadn’t displayed even a sliver of relief. Why that tormented resignation never left his expression.
He whispered, “You should have let me go, Emmeline.”
The Snake Charmer shifted near the window, grinning broadly as he toyed with a chess piece, the serpent tattooed on his scalp making her sick. Falliare’s arms were crossed as he exchanged harsh whispers with Tarli Richmond.
But it was Maeson who nodded at Brean and said, “If Roremar has such a rare Fate tie that is able to kill innocent Starsearchers, it can’t be allowed to remain. Aldryn.” The Temple Master looked over, frowning. “Take us to your isle’s seeing chamber.”