Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Emmeline
For the first time since arriving in Valyn, Emmeline felt like herself.
Beneath a thin blanket of stars, air prickling before a storm, she hopped between rooftops in the Fourth District. With her leathers hugging her body in a familiar embrace and her hair braided back, nothing obscured her from the night, but no eyes were on her unless she dictated it.
She was free.
Still learning the layout of the city, it had taken her some time to locate a shop that was open, but Alana had told her earlier today the Fourth District was where she’d find Mystique ink.
Now, three tiny jars clanked in her satchel as she hopped across narrow alleys, the soles of her boots gripping easily to the rooftops of Valyn’s apartments and shops.
The tiles were less worn than those on Lyra, but all were made of similar enough materials that, for a heartbeat, she could pretend she was back on her isle.
Emmeline let that feeling bloom in her chest, soothing the aches from earlier. Only when that shroud of anonymity had settled and her control was stable did she find an incense den near the border of the Third District.
Prophecy’s Demise, the sign read. The windows were lined with crystal-studded candles and blessed necklaces that supposedly enhanced readings. Based on the name, Emmeline assumed it was a tongue-in-cheek reference to Metrina, the Fate of Prophecy and Demise.
Dense clouds of incense lined the packed tables, but Emmeline wove her way to the back corner and leaned against the wall. A warrior stood at the head of the shop with his glass raised in one hand and a roll of herbs in the other. He gestured to a couple standing atop the polished-oak bar.
“To the freshly bonded couple!” His cheer was followed by the entire room applauding and the man atop the bar dipping the woman—his newly bonded partner, apparently—to kiss her passionately.
Emmeline stomach twisted.
Every thought of a bonding ceremony—of the vows warriors took to swear themselves to one another and the more rare, mythical types of bonds that existed—was like snapping jaws around her heart. But she was determined to begin her hunt for her sister tonight.
So, she wound her way through the crowd a few times, stopping at the bar to purchase fresh incense from their hundreds of vials, and she listened.
Most people were discussing the tournament Rocarri was hosting, theorizing about what it would entail. Perry was right. The public had been given very little concrete information which only encouraged their interest.
Whatever Rocarri’s plan was, it appeared to be working.
Unfortunately for her goal tonight, most of the conversations weren’t tipping toward drug movements or other, seedier habits like the temple trades. Apparently this tournament was really going to skew her plans.
When she heard a few warriors discussing rumors of the woman tied to eleven Fates or Fateblessed as they were calling her, she ducked beneath the beaded curtain at the back of the room and left.
She doubted they knew what she looked like, but she wasn’t willing to risk being caught.
Emmeline took to the roofs again, hastily hopping a few streets over until she was in the Third District. Though she hadn’t expected to find answers about her sister on her first hunt for Valyn’s underbelly, she couldn’t help the disappointment blooming behind her ribs.
This city was vast—and entirely new. How long would it take her to find a lead?
She looked over the edge of an apartment building, trying to orient herself. Ominous clouds rolled in, obscuring the stars, but even without the coverage, from three stories up, she’d be no more than a shadow to anyone below.
What light did peek through the clouds highlighted the theater and opera house standing opposite each other at the end of the cul-de-sac, both of their silver-gilt doors shut tight for whatever shows were currently on.
A barely-distinguishable hum of music echoed out, mixing with the dim wash of voices from the nearby taverns.
Emmeline squinted down the way, barely making out the sign: Angel Brew.
And the next door down: Angel Kiss. Partner establishments, based on the matching silver charms hanging on the signs and deep ruby curtains trimmed in thick tassels.
A number of the surrounding shops boasted glittering costumery, tailors, and feathered masks, hinting at places to disappear.
Or hide secrets.
Emmeline perked up as the pieces clicked.
This entire district was dedicated to the Fate of Secrets and Greed.
There weren’t outright mentions, but the elaborate masks and implied discretion combined with the opulent entertainment and ornate details sculpting lampposts and building facades into masks and feathers was pure Serchus.
And Prophecy’s Demise was in the Fourth District. Many of the art museums Alana had shown her—a mark of Aevollon—were in the Seventh. Was each of the twelve meant for one Fate in particular?
As if the thought of the celestial beings had flipped a latch, readings rumbled down her Fate ties, eleven strings pulling tight.
Prophecy and Demise.
Reign and Ruin.
“Always so demanding,” Emmeline tutted as the words pounded repetitively through her mind.
Sighing, she dug into her satchel and pulled out a small jar of fruity oil she’d purchased at the incense den. Metrina really wasn’t her first choice tonight, but the Fate of Prophecy and Demise was insistent, and Emmeline would never be able to read another if she didn’t do this first.
Emmeline popped the lid and set it on the ledge beside her, nestled in the trailing vines of a pothos plant. Not wanting to be found, she opted not to light incense sticks. With how hyper-sensitive her readings had become, the gentle aroma wafting off the blend was enough to trigger her magic.
Emmeline closed her eyes, reaching for the Fate ties within her, and the pressure in her head and chest exploded.
She bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out, the tang of iron flooding her mouth.
She wasn’t sure where she was in the reading, but it wasn’t the dusty landscape with towering spires in the distance from earlier. Lilac and sky-blue swirls of stars whipped around her, downy soft feathers raining down calmly.
Emmeline dug her palms against the rooftop, grounding herself in the grainy stone that scraped against her skin. The session pulled her further, begging her to give herself over, but she couldn’t completely. Being in a new city, she needed to keep her wits about her in this realm.
“What was meant by the reading I received earlier?” Emmeline was determined to get something out of Metrina if she was forcing her way into this session. “What did they mean by: A fortune spun by Fated hands. A choice taken from forsaken bands. Two hearts staked through with malice.”
Eleven constellations flashed overhead, there and gone like a lightning strike, but each stretching out to her, pulling on her magic. She gritted her teeth against them.
That is an answer we cannot give you, Metrina said, a star-strewn, shapeless form springing to life before Emmeline.
“Why not?” she shouted as the storm of ether and raining feathers picked up.
Because you are not ready.
Emmeline dug her palms harder against the roof. Refusing to get frustrated, she chose a different topic. “I know you will not tell me of my sister, but can you tell me where in this city I will find hints of her? Where do I begin?”
The Fates had never indulged her requests in the more than twenty years since her sister had been taken, but Emmeline had never been in Valyn before.
Metrina hummed. There is much to speak of regarding your family. Seek the riches of nine, and you shall unveil truths. Do not overlook that which lies beneath your feet, the history written in the walls around you.
Shops and narrow streets flickered before Emmeline’s vision, a hand-painted sign with swooping letters there and gone in a blink, so quickly she almost missed it. Crushing, she thought it said before it was engulfed in orange peels and flower petals, more feathers raining around her.
Emmeline exhaled. Though it wasn’t precise, relief bloomed in her chest. This was more of a hint than she’d ever been given by the Fates before.
And perhaps if Metrina was feeling generous…
“What does Dryvius want?” Emmeline called into the wind, the raw wound in her chest pulsing. “Why did he do this to Roremar?”
We speak not of him. Metrina’s voice rushed around her from all directions, Emmeline’s braid whipping through the air.
“What can you speak of?”
In time, everything. You must only turn beyond the veil, collect the pieces, and all will be revealed.
“What does that mean?” Water rushed in the distance, silver ropes slithering along Emmeline’s arms, binding her wrists. “What—”
She will lead you if you are brave enough to follow, but you will need him, too. Two parts of a whole—two ends of a tie.
Lightning flashed, the towers silhouetted in the distance. Dark clouds wrapped tightly to their masked facades, enough to obscure the details. The starlight and ether surrounding Emmeline were unable to penetrate that spot.
“Who is she? Where will she lead us?” Emmeline choked out, eyes locked on the scene.
The towers disappeared, and the sky wavered with shades of soothing blue that dripped down like watercolors over canvas. They melted to the ground, sticking to Emmeline’s feet in thick, glassy pools.
At her back, light exploded, and Emmeline spun. A dawn of breathtaking amethyst broke the horizon, streaming violet rays across a star-strewn land.
Each place the sun touched ignited, each inch of glassy colors at her feet tugged at her, like there was some place she was supposed to be that she’d never known.
“What is that?” Emmeline asked.
It wasn’t Metrina that answered.
That is what waits, a calming voice rumbled. The kind that lured you to its depths yet soothed you as you sank.
“Polyr?” Emmeline spun in circles.
The Fate of Eddies and Lost Luck formed in the same obscure starry shape as always.
Emmeline knew the Fates much better than she ever cared to admit. They were ingrained in her spirit, her bones and magic built of them. Each left a unique imprint on her mind.
Metrina delivered twisted fortunes after her own loss had warped her mind many years ago, and they were always streaked with giddy, troubling turns of her words. But Polyr…the Fate of Eddies and Lost Luck always left behind a sense of hope.
Emmeline clung to it, drinking the promise off the tips of his next words.
Misfortune may have graced you, but the tides have not ceased carrying your future yet, my child.
Stay the course, and we will reveal more as time permits.
Stay the course, Emmeline DeLeoste, despite the bloodshed and hardship that awaits, and the Reign will begin true.
“But—wait! What is the fortune? And what is the course?”
Her questions drowned in the rush of lilac ether. The violet sun flared in the distance, its light blinding.
The wind reached a deafening crescendo and more feathers rained down.
Emmeline’s eyes watered, starfire igniting at the edges of her vision.
It burned—her skin, her irises. Her blood. Every part of her burned.
White flames engulfed the scene and pressure weighed on her head and palms, pulling her back.
“No!” Emmeline shouted.
The feathers at her feet became ashes and silver blood dripped from the clouds, melting in that shining purple light.
Somewhere, glass shattered. Laughter rang on the melodious wind. A laugh she swore she knew.
A fortune spun by Fated hands,
A choice taken from forsaken bands.
Two hearts staked through with malice—
She was ripped from the reading.
Agony tore through her, and that laughter followed.
Gasping, Emmeline shot upright.
She blinked, taking a moment to adjust to the cool dark of night after the blinding light. To the damp air hanging from the clouds, waiting to fall. Lifting her palms, she found them so embedded with tiny pebbles, she was bleeding.
As she picked them out one by one, she went over everything the Fates had said to her.
Aside from the somewhat helpful hint about where to look for information on her sister, it was vague nonsense, as it so often appeared, but everything in the stars always had a meaning.
She jotted it all down in her notebook now.
Then, pushing to her feet, Emmeline slung her satchel over her shoulder, the vials within clinking, and crept to the edge of the roof, partially hidden behind a hedge of dying ivy.
Do not overlook that which lies beneath your feet, the history written in the walls around you, Metrina had said.
Many of the buildings in Valyn may lack the antiquity of the isles, but that didn’t mean its districts didn’t house secrets.
She looked at the city differently from this vantage point, the homages to each Fate hiding out there.
It was a puzzle she had to construct, every street and plaza holding pieces.
Secret history of the temple trades. Clues of Dryvius’s motives, maybe.
She only had to unravel them.
Seek the riches of nine, and you shall unveil truths.
Well, it appeared she had a semblance of a place to begin her research. A bead of hope lit in her chest at the promise.
Light rain sprinkled the roof, and Emmeline sighed. She needed to head back to the First District, and she was pretty sure this street had a direct route, but the gaps between the buildings were wider than she felt like jumping after that session had wrung her dry.
Tugging her mask up over her mouth, Emmeline scaled the trellis against the building, her hands tangling in the thick vines. Her boots hit the street as silent as the jungle cats she used to prowl the isles with.
The impending storm sent a shiver up her spine, but Emmeline paused in the shadow of two buildings, head tipping toward the skies to collect herself.
Cold drizzle flecked her face above her mask, but she forced herself to feel the rain instead of fear it, instead of allowing it to drag up the memories of the night her mother died.
Numerous constellations looked down on the city, but the twelve prime constellations were the brightest, faintly visible even during the day. The twelve that had been rearranged by her magic on Lyra.
Including Dryvius’s, the lone celestial being she wasn’t aligned to, whose constellation had been carved from the sky upon his execution thousands of years ago. Though she knew every other Starsearcher was cursing Roremar for its presence, she welcomed the connection to him.
It was a sign of what they’d endured together, a reminder that though everyone told her otherwise—though they all insisted he was a reckless, murderous threat—he was out there somewhere, reeling with the grief of what Dryvius had used him for.
And Emmeline would find him.
With the presence of the constellation warming her, Emmeline stepped out of the shadows.
But she’d barely moved when an arm latched around her waist.