34. Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
“Damn, Deyric.”
Emmaline shifted uncomfortably, each step a reminder of exactly how thoroughly he’d claimed her. She rolled her shoulders, stretched her spine, but nothing eased the deep, satisfied ache settling into her bones.
“You didn’t have to take it so literally.”
Night draped over them, thick and heavy, the moon casting long shadows along the private road leading to Greymane Castle.
The towering silhouette of the estate loomed in the distance, lanterns flickering along the high stone walls.
The last bit of the path stretched before them, too quiet, too final.
Deyric hummed, the sound low and smug, as he offered her his arm. “You didn’t have any complaints at the time.”
“Not the point.” She wove her arm through his like they’d been walking together for centuries.
The fine white silk of his borrowed shirt was rolled at the elbows, exposing strong forearms. It would be easy to get lost in him, again, she thought, but the closer they got to the castle, the harder it was to ignore the knot pulling tighter in her stomach.
Deyric exhaled sharply through his nose. “Emmaline.” He grit his teeth but didn’t pull away. “You’re more than welcome to mark me in any way you see fit.”
Glancing down, she saw a thin line of red welling up just beneath his sleeve from where her nails had broken the skin.
“But Aeren will have my hide if I get this shirt dirty. She had to sneak it out of the school and still has to return it. And if I have to replace it…” His mouth twitched, somewhere between amusement and resignation. “It would take a month of my salary.”
She huffed, loosening her grip as the gate came into view.
“Is that…” Her voice broke off. Flashes of yellow and green flared through the night. Beyond the high wrought iron, patrol gliders parked in tight formation, their signals pulsing bright through the gaps in the bars.
She stopped short, pulling him to a halt beside her. They were here.
“Are you even sure you’ll still have a salary after tonight? Either of us?”
He shrugged, casual as ever. “There’s always a Lord who needs someone to manage his horses.” He glanced toward the castle. “And who knows? Elder Lord Greymane’s still breathing as far as we know.”
“I suppose.” She turned back toward the gate, but her fingers traced slow circles over the back of his hand.
“After everything that happened, after everything you and your friends pulled off, you’re really worried about something like our jobs?” he asked.
“Someone has to.” She leaned into his side, bumping his hip. “It’s not like either of us is a Lord or Lady with a large savings.” Another bump. “And besides, it wasn’t just my crowd. Your sister was there too.”
“Oh, she’s one of your friends now, whether you like it or not.” His laugh came rough. “You’ve all been officially adopted.”
Something warm unfurled inside her chest. Another friend, maybe… a sister?
“She’ll have to beat Margo to the Speaker’s Seat.” Emmaline grinned sideways at him. “We already started the paperwork to make her part of the coven.”
“Coven. That tracks.”
The murmur of voices drifted down the road, growing clearer as they approached the final gate before the main entrance.
Deyric’s pace slowed. “Are you sure you want to go in?” His voice dropped, quieter now. “We don’t have to. Cassidy already confirmed everything’s going to plan. They believed Margo’s story. Found the Siren’s Song at Caelith’s place. It’s done.”
She took a step back, hands smoothing down the front of her dress—her mother’s dress of blood-red spider silk, clinging to every curve. She hadn’t even realized how hard she was breathing until she felt her ribs rising too fast under her hands.
“No.” Her voice came steady, even if her stomach wasn’t. “I have to see it finished.”
Deyric looked her up and down, from head to toe, and his mouth edged into a smile, almost gentle. Almost.
“What?” Her shoulders hunched slightly, suddenly too aware of the way the fabric scrunched.
“You’re beautiful.”
She snorted, fingers twitching at the seam. “It’s just the dress.” She spoke too fast. She’d had compliments before, but never spoken like that, like fact instead of flattery.
“No.” His hand caught her chin, tilting her face up just enough to force her to look at him. “It’s you.”
He offered his arm again, but before she could take it, he leaned in, brushing a kiss against her cheek.
“You’re beautiful, Emmaline.” A beat. A crooked grin. “For a lunatic.”
She blinked, the words catching somewhere between her ribs. “Why you…” Her fist shot out, catching his shoulder hard enough to send him half a step off the road as they crossed through the gates—and into chaos.
A whole squad of gliders lined the drive, Patrol officers moving between them, tablets glowing as they flipped through reports.
Corgis swarmed the grounds, their noses to the dirt.
Beyond the Patrol, the front doors stood wide, guests flooding out in pairs and clusters, silk and lace rustling as they fled down the stairs.
Fragmented voices trailed after them, broken bits of scandal and horror:
“He’s been taking women. For years.”
“So has the mother.”
“You won’t believe what they found.”
Emmaline turned, her pulse hammering in her ears as she took it all in—the churn of Patrol officers whispering in small clusters, heads bent close.
“Noble scum.”
“Someone has to stop them.”
“How did this go on so long? We’re supposed to protect our own.”
The shock and anger rippled like a current through the crowd, outrage boiling just beneath the surface. Then, above it all came a softer sound—a high, delicate chime, like a silver bell rung from nowhere and everywhere at once, though no one else seemed to hear it.
Emmaline’s hand found Deyric’s. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”
He didn’t look away from the scene unfolding before them, but his thumb brushed over her knuckles. “It looks that way.”
Before either of them could speak again, the front doors slammed open hard enough to rattle the glass panes of the nearest windows.
Four Patrol officers stumbled through, struggling under the weight of a thrashing, shrieking woman—a tall, thin blonde draped glittering with jewels.
Hair once likely pinned into an elaborate twist now hung loose around her face, strands catching in her mouth as she fought them every step.
“You will all pay for this disgraceful behavior!” Her voice cracked, shrill with rage.
Emmaline’s stomach turned to ice. “Is that—?”
Before she could finish, a young Patrol officer leaned toward the man beside him.
“That’s Lady Isolde.” His voice held both awe and disgust. “Apparently, she was working with Lady Allistair.”
The other officer’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “How many of them do you think there are? Doing that?”
“I don’t know.” The younger officer’s fist clenched at his side. “But we’ll find them. Noble blood won’t protect them from their crimes this time.”
Emmaline’s hand tightened on Deyric, her other arm folding around her own waist, grounding herself in the feel of the smooth spider silk.
This was real. This was the Goddess’s plan all along.
One of the Patrol officers glanced up, eyes widening slightly as he took in Emmaline’s gown.
“Our apologies, my Lady.” He gave a quick, awkward bow. “But I believe the Greymane Ball is ending early tonight.”
Deyric leaned close, his breath stirring the hair at the curve of her ear. “They think you’re a Lady. But I know exactly what you are.”
Her stomach flipped, heat flashing low and fast. “Behave!” She coughed, shoving him lightly in the chest. Maybe coming here wouldn’t be so bad. Seeing Isolde arrested was the icing on the cake. Maybe they could still have a nice Solstice…
“Lady?!” Isolde’s head whipped up, her eyes locking on Emmaline, her entire body stiffening as recognition slammed into her like a physical blow.
“That’s no Lady!” Spittle flew as her voice pitched higher. “That’s just some servant! The one I told you about, the slut who seduced my son!”
Emmaline’s nails bit into Deyric’s arm, but her smile held steady, watching as understanding dawned—slow, crawling, and terrible—across Isolde’s face.
“She… she’s the one who orchestrated this! All of it!” Isolde’s struggles doubled, heels scraping uselessly against the stone steps as the officers hauled her toward the waiting glider. “You have to find my son! She’s done something to him! You have to save him!”
The original investigator—the older, grizzled officer who’d been called after Lady Allistair’s disappearance—elbowed his way through the crowd, grabbing Isolde’s arm with a grimace. “Enough.” He forced her down the stairs. “You’re done. It’s over.”
“It was her! All of it! You have to arrest her! I’ll see you all exiled! You pathetic, half-breed excuses for a—”
The officer shoved her into the glider, slamming the door once, twice, before she forced her head past his grip, sticking it out like a demented puppet.
“Just question her! It was her! I’ll kill you myself—” She sputtered, eyes darting frantically. “Whoever you are!”
The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest of her rant as the glider lurched forward.
Emmaline huffed, leaning into Deyric’s side. “She still doesn’t know my name.”
Deyric shook his head, biting back a grin.
“Let’s go.” She tugged him back toward the private road. “I’d bet my last gold piece Ursula’s still holding court at that tavern near the glider stop.”
Deyric raised a brow.
“There was a pretty barmaid…” Emmaline laughed, waving a hand. “Don’t start.”
She took a step forward, and the weight in her chest shifted—the kind of weight you don’t notice until it’s gone. And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, her shoulders didn’t feel braced for the next blow. It was over.
She exhaled, turning to leave, when footsteps scuffed behind her.
“A moment, please. Lady—”
She turned, pulse kicking up again as the older Patrol officer stepped closer. The same one who’d dragged Isolde into the glider.