Chapter 5 #2
She must have seen Emmeline’s scars, then, more obviously than when she laced Emmeline into her dress last night. Alana didn’t mention them, though. Despite the vulnerability slinking through her, Emmeline was grateful.
“How did I get back here? I don’t remember anything.”
Alana waved over the other person in the room. Emmeline blinked a few times for their face to come into focus.
“This is Cyren,” Alana explained. “They’re one of the clan Generals. Don’t hold their rank against them, though. They’re actually quite fun.”
The General stepped closer, giving Emmeline’s bed a wide berth but leveling Alana with an admonishing look that Emmeline thought conveyed…friendship. The sight had an ache pulsing through her chest.
“Thanks, Alana,” Cyren deadpanned, then directed their sharp attention to Emmeline.
With dark brown hair in a flawless braided coronet, regal bone structure, and silk robe finely pressed around their lean frame, they looked every bit of their rank, but their eyes were soft, a worried crease between their brow that softened Emmeline’s initial uncertainty.
“I was leaving one of the pleasure houses and found you sprawled across the cobblestones.”
Their voice was guarded, like they were assessing how she’d take that information. Emmeline felt so sheer, her emotions on display as a general picked apart a subject—an opponent maybe.
“You knew who I was?” Emmeline asked.
“I guessed when I went through the contents of your bags and found jars stamped with labels from the Isle of Lyra.” Cyren winced. “Sorry about that. I was looking for anything that would identify you to get you home.”
“That’s all right.” She didn’t like the idea of a stranger pawing through her belongings, but at least there was nothing worth finding in there.
She didn’t address the notion of home, though.
She supposed this manor was her home until she moved to the Academy.
A lump hardened in her gut at the thought.
She’d longed for a home for so long, yet this one didn’t sit right.
“We haven’t found the culprit yet,” Cyren said. “If you’re able to give us any distinguishable information, I’ll be sure Valyn City Guard is on alert.”
Emmeline relayed what she could, leaving out the bit about the insignia stamped on the stone and what the man had said to her about tempting Fates. She wasn’t prepared to share those details with a wider group.
Cyren tucked the notes away and gave Emmeline the kind of stern look one wore when entering a fight. “I think it would be best if you have guards assigned to you while in the capital.”
“Guards?” Emmeline repeated. Not a chance on the Fates. She didn’t need any more attention on her than she already had.
Cyren nodded, tightlipped, but Alana challenged, “That’s ridiculous. She was probably jumped by some drunken man. You can’t expect her to be followed everywhere now. Especially not when she begins teaching.”
Emmeline’s chest warmed at her defense.
“It’s for your own safety,” Cyren said to Emmeline, then their gaze flicked to Alana. “Probably wouldn’t hurt you, either, since you two will be together for the foreseeable future.”
Alana huffed.
“I don’t want a guard,” Emmeline argued.
“I’ll appoint you the least bothersome.”
“If we have to have guards, I want to choose them.” Alana flashed Emmeline a brow-raised glance, asking if that was okay.
Too tired to fight, Emmeline nodded. Alana turned back to Cyren, considering for a moment.
“Graves and Eston. Two is plenty, and they’re some of the least annoying in the City Guard. ”
“Eston?” Cyren repeated, giving Alana a knowing look.
Alana waved them off. “Oh, not for that reason! Though, that doesn’t hurt.” Alana looked at Emmeline. “Eston and I were involved.”
“Still are,” Cyren corrected.
“Barely.” Alana winced. “Well, he may think we still are. It’s messy. But he’ll be cooperative, so we’ll take him.”
Cyren laughed, agreeing, and left with a promise both to write with any pertinent leads on who attacked Emmeline and to send their guards over later.
“Where’s my satchel?” Emmeline asked once the door closed.
Alana retrieved the leather bag from the floor beside her clothes. Emmeline thanked her as she dug out the vials of Mystique ink, her head still spinning slightly. “Could you grab me some parchment, too?”
“You snuck out for ink?” Alana asked, brows shooting high as she handed Emmeline a blank sheet.
Though it wasn’t the only reason she’d snuck out, Emmeline nodded.
“I have plenty in my bed chamber, and I’m sure every guest staying in this manor does, too, as well as stores in the library.
You should have asked rather than wander about the city alone. ”
“Right. I’ll remember that in the future.” Emmeline swallowed the lump in her throat. It was an abundance of resources she still wasn’t used to—wasn’t sure she ever would be. She added, “I also needed to get some fresh air after that Fatesforsaken dinner.”
Alana was quiet, propping herself on the edge of the bed hesitantly. “Rocarri was looking for you.”
Emmeline’s hand froze over the parchment. “He was?”
“I told him you’d gone to bed early,” Alana said. Based on the question hanging at the end of her words, Alana knew Emmeline wasn’t telling her the entire truth.
But Emmeline didn’t trust anyone in this city, so all she said was, “Thank you.”
She continued her letter. She’d send this and then start organizing her research about the city districts, decoding her readings about her sister, and interpreting new theories about Dryvius and Roremar.
“Who are you writing to?” Alana asked, pretending she wasn’t leaning closer to read the name at the top of the page.
“Someone back on Lyra. I want to check in.”
Alana tore her eyes away from the paper. “Best be quick. It’s already midday.”
“Midday,” Emmeline echoed without taking in the word. Once she folded her letter and tossed it over the mystlight lantern beside her bed, the importance behind Alana’s words registered.
“Midday,” Emmeline repeated.
And for the first time she took in Alana’s resplendent dress, the rich purple silk and embroidery, tiny gems lining the bodice.
She peered around the curtains framing her bed to see a gown of her own hanging on the door to her dressing chamber, another heavily-beaded periwinkle piece with cascading sleeves.
“Fates’ fuck,” Emmeline swore.
Alana snorted, and reality came rushing back.
Emmeline flopped back against her pillows. So much for the research on her sister and Roremar. “The opening ceremonies for the tournament are today.”
And attendance was mandatory.