Chapter 69
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Roremar
The moment Emmeline crossed the line of magic, the seeing chamber erupted in a deafening blow.
Marble and glass poured all around them, raining down in heavy chunks. The bubble of starfire the web had formed protected the two of them, but rubble bounced off the surface and clattered to the floor.
Roremar’s ears rang. His entire body throbbed from the pain of the seeing chamber ripping up a Fate tie that wouldn’t budge.
“Emmeline,” he choked out, trying to reach for her.
He forced his eyes open, prepared to see her sprawled out beside him, the seeing chamber taking its toll on her power next. The sky wavered into focus—
The sky?
He blinked a few times, and sure enough, the force of that explosion hadn’t just cracked the windows and pillars—it had blown the chamber to smithereens. The sky was just fading to night, a dusty purple with only a few stars fully lit.
One by one, more popped into view. In a dizzying dance, Roremar swore the constellations were moving, rearranging. Could have sworn the realm shuddered below.
He coughed, throat dry from his screaming. “Emmeline?”
“Roremar,” she whimpered. He rolled toward the sound of her voice.
She was kneeling on the floor at the edge of the starfire web that swirled and rippled around them. It didn’t look like there was a scratch on her, but tears rolled down her cheeks as he dragged himself over to her, body wrung out.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry I lied,” she said, voice cracking. Her hazel eyes took on a silver sheen. The starfire burned hotter around them, flames shuddering. “But I’d give it all up for you.”
He reached her, pulling himself onto his knees and cupping her cheek. “What do you—”
The magic around them exploded, blinding sparks crackling in all directions. Eyes closed tight, Roremar clung to Emmeline, tucking her into his chest as they were thrown back. They skidded across the ground, rubble shredding through his tunic, and slammed into a crumbling pillar.
“Are you okay?” he choked out over the crashing magic, a low hum in his ears.
Emmeline whispered, “Yes.”
The web of flames and burst of whirling, night-kissed air tried to pry them apart, but he held on to Emmeline with every ounce of strength he had left. The stars above spun, constellations shattering and reforming over and over again in a cosmic light show. Puzzle pieces searching for their match.
The room had collapsed enough that the walls into the Trade House were demolished. Roremar struggled to his knees, lifting his head as he panted.
Guards and isle officials watched them from what remained of the hallway. Desmond met Roremar’s eye, shaking his head. He didn’t know what was happening either. This—whatever Emmeline had done—hadn’t been a part of their plan.
At Roremar’s back, beneath the bursts of magic, all of Lyra sprawled. The oceans reflected the starry eruption above and crowds lined the streets to watch. The best view on the isle, putting them on display.
Cradling Emmeline to his chest, Roremar tilted his head to the sky. Dust swirled from the explosion, stinging his eyes and catching in his throat, but he watched as eleven constellations aligned in a halo overhead.
And from the remaining shreds of the seeing chamber, much gentler than when they’d been ripping at him, beams of light stretched out. They reached for the woman in his arms, each connecting her to one of the constellations above.
In their depths, stars swirled and symbols sprang to life.
A hammer, forge, and hounds in one.
A serpent, lyre, and sun in the next.
In a third, poppies both wilted and in full bloom.
Roremar named each Fate they belonged to as they went, and when he got to the end, he’d accounted for every Fate but the one whose tie he bore. Shock barreled through him.
Magic continued to roar around them, the building shaking and stars burning, but he whispered, “How many Fate ties do you really have, Emmeline?”
When she looked up at him, her eyes were solid silver. And she answered, “Eleven.”
At the confession, starlight exploded, shooting into the sky and across the isle. He gripped her tighter, squinting against it.
Eleven?
Emmeline had eleven fucking Fate ties.
Fortunes whirled through the tunnel of light that shrouded them. Her fortunes, he realized. The seeing chamber, in all its destruction resulting from Emmeline jumping into it, was projecting the fortunes the stars passed her into the sky for all the Starsearchers of Lyra to see.
For his uncle and the other isle officials to see.
So many of them were of him. A thousand ways his life could play out if they allowed him to live.
This was what Emmeline was searching for in that moment. A path from the stars that guaranteed he wouldn’t be a threat to anyone else.
It wasn’t likely, he knew. The Fates were inevitable—that’s what his father had taught him—and that included Dryvius. With the stains already on his conscience, not even the Fates could guarantee he wasn’t a danger.
Magic poured off Emmeline, gathering in the air around them. The pressure of it cracked against his skin like tiny stars exploding.
This was it, he realized. This was her final secret.
It was the reason her mother died. The reason they’d been hunting her in the first place.
The reason she thought she should have been taken instead of her sister, and the reason she never allowed anyone close to her.
Eleven Fate ties—an impossibility; an abundance never before seen; a power people would covet and kill for.
And she dove right into this seeing chamber after him tonight knowing there would be no way to hide it any longer. She gave it all up for him.
Roremar pressed his lips to her head and whispered, “Thank you, Huntress.”
Eleven Fate ties.
He’d never heard of anyone having more than two, but his Huntress was tied to all the living Fates, and he was the twelfth.
Together, they fulfilled the entire pantheon.
Held the Fates in the palm of their hands, some twisted star-crossed puzzle that both forced them together and wrenched them apart.
Because she was pure magic, and he was nothing but carnage.
No wonder he’d been so infatuated with her.
Fuck, infatuation didn’t even begin to cover it.
No wonder he…His throat tightened.
She completed him. She didn’t just make it so that he could breathe again, she was the missing piece of a bridge that would carry him across the choppy water he’d been toiling through for so many years.
Emmeline gasped as power ebbed off her, her hands gripping his biceps. It was waves of starlight and stardust, things ripped straight from the skies that no mortal was ever meant to touch.
Lilac ether wove among the magic blasting fortunes into the sky, lifting the strands of hair that fell free from her braid. The eleven constellations—one of each of her Fate ties—circled above Lyra.
“Star’s Reign,” a voice rang out with a prophetic tenor of a fortune.
“Star’s Ruin,” another added, the echoes of each overlapping.
“United among realms. For tragedy or fortune. We all shall learn.”
The ground shook with the strength of that declaration.
“What’s happening?” Emmeline whispered, her eyes still swirling with starfire.
“I don’t know.” The stars were moving, those voices echoing their three lines again and again as the constellations burned brighter.
Roremar snapped his attention to the ruined halls of the Trade House, and—
They were kneeling. Every official and guard had taken a knee, all their eyes on Emmeline. Enya and Maeson and even his own damn uncle showed an ounce of humility as her magic pulsed through the night, declaring fortunes spanning well beyond his own and those prophetic lines echoed through the air.
Star’s Reign.
Star’s Ruin.
“What are you doing?” Roremar called as the earth’s quaking slowed, magic still whirling through the air.
His uncle answered first. “I never knew how deep your power ran, Emmeline.”
Her attention snapped from the skies to him. Her eyes widened to find them all looking at her with such reverence. “You didn’t guess?”
“Didn’t fathom it was eleven,” Falliare said.
How did his uncle feel about the fact that someone on Lyra had been evading the full extent of his notice for all these years? Roremar tensed at the hint of greed he thought flashed through his uncle’s eye.
“Good,” Emmeline answered. “Why are you kneeling?”
Behind them all, still standing, Desmond and Darcy exchanged a confused glance.
“Because this makes you extremely valuable, Emmeline.”
“No,” she whispered, horror cracking across her features, fighting into Roremar’s dull chest, too.
“You, my dear,” Falliare said, “are going to be magnificent.”
“But not with him,” Maeson added, glaring at Roremar. “Being close to the Dead Fate will only ruin you.” Emmeline went still in his arms, but he’d known this entire time that this was how it would end.
Her eyes went to Roremar’s, and he swore the rest of the world could have imploded and he wouldn’t have noticed. All he knew was the fear in her starry gaze, and the hate for himself that he couldn’t absolve it.
“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “It’s all going to be okay. Go on, Huntress.” He kissed her forehead. “This is what you’re meant for.”
Valyn. That’s where she’d always wanted to be, and that’s where this power could get her, even if it wasn’t how she’d imagined.
She’d be able to find her sister, and that was her greatest dream.
Never mind that his had become holding on to her.
She deserved to be magnificent, and it was enough for him to know he hadn’t ruined her.
He and Emmeline stood frozen, so many unspoken things between them, but with a nod from a bloodied Brean, the guards converged on him.
And because holding onto her would only taint any chance she had of a future, he let them.