Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Emmeline
The saving grace of the evening was that the Presentation of the surviving contestants wasn’t hosted at the Chancellor’s manor. The white stone walls and endless maze of marble halls were stifling.
Emmeline and Lola had prepared for the evening in her bedchamber, flocked by a team of attendants clucking over her appearance.
They’d washed and combed her waves and ignored her request to do it herself, setting one side back from her face with a diamond encrusted comb, the gems artfully arranged in a cluster meant to resemble one of Valyrie’s constellations: the Fated Lovers.
They tightly laced her into a silver gown with a layered tulle skirt, tiny diamonds carving out patterns along the entire thing, and frilly straps sitting off her shoulders.
When they weren’t looking, she slid a dagger on her thigh, partially because she hated being unprotected and partially because she needed to knot the chain with Roremar’s ring somewhere it wouldn’t be visible.
After last night, there wasn’t a chance in all the Fates she was leaving it behind again.
The sun had set early on the late fall day, night bathing Valyn hours before dinner began. As they made their way across the First District, surrounded by the Chancellor’s personal guests, including his own bonded partner, magic pounded through Emmeline’s chest.
She stopped at the stairs to the Council House—multiple tiers leading up to the esteemed government building with its grand pillars and thirteen ornate statues topping it—and twisted her opal ring around her finger.
“You good?” Lola asked, nudging Emmeline with her shoulder.
Emmeline took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. The others climbed ahead of them, only Graves and Eston lingering at their backs, the former excessively grouchy after Emmeline snuck away this morning.
Between their hovering presence and the gossiping attendants, Emmeline hadn’t had a moment alone, nor a moment with solely Lola since they found the scroll last night.
Graves cleared his throat behind them. “We should head inside.”
Emmeline glanced back, her guard’s hard stare sweeping the square at the foot of the Council House and landing on every person who wandered through, gawking at her. Eston nodded in agreement.
“I’m okay,” Emmeline told Lola, forcing a trembling smile. As she made herself place one foot before the other, she whispered, “He’ll be here, right?”
“Yes,” Lola confirmed.
“It’s going to be hard.” To stay away from Roremar, to deter his advances as she’d been unable to last night, to not let him declare to the world that she belonged to him, because, Fates, she knew in her heart a part of her did, but she’d rather he live without her than die to have her.
His parting words last night rang through her memory as they had all day: Tonight gave me a reason to win.
Exhaling, Emmeline added, “Please, don’t tell him that.”
Lola was quiet for a moment, the only sounds their heels on the stone and the clink of their guards’ polished armor, the highest quality for tonight’s event.
“Knowing my brother, he’ll see it without being told. He won’t care about the other men.”
Because Roremar Silventa bled devotion, and perhaps for her he’d bleed most of all.
“We can’t let him do anything reckless.”
“It’s not that easy.” Lola sighed.
At the top of the stairs, in the shadows of the pillars and with Valyn spread before them, Emmeline halted. The clatter of voices and drinks being served flooded through the open doors to the Council House ballroom, but she turned to face Lola, ignoring Graves’s grunt of annoyance.
“I know.” It wouldn’t be easy to convince Roremar they couldn’t be together nor to convince the Governors of his innocence.
Not if she didn’t play her part perfectly.
Inside, a bell rang. The crowd fell silent.
“You really should be getting to your seats,” Eston insisted, almost reluctantly. His concerned stare lingered on Lola, but she plastered on a mischievous smile.
“Let’s go see your suitor, Emmeline.”
And though the idea twisted her gut, Emmeline didn’t miss the fact that Lola had said suitor. Not plural.
The ballroom of the Council House was as grand as the exterior, walls inlaid with frescos and silver plating, the entire ceiling a mural of the Fates’ Dawn, one of the many myths that guessed how the celestial beings were created.
Faceless forms emerged from the stars, surrounded by constellations and artful renditions of the symbols associated with each. An immense chandelier hung in the center, twelve arms reaching out dotted with mystlights, each pointing toward a different Fate on the mural.
Of course, the twelfth was dimmed, the stars bleeding into a swirling crimson pattern.
Emmeline studied the artwork from atop a dais at the front of the room, her spine tingling at the Fates forming above.
Only the highest ranked Starsearchers were invited to the Presentation. They filled the room, talking enthusiastically among themselves as they waited for the competitors to arrive.
On one side of her, seated at the long table overlooking the crowd, was Rocarri’s future Master of City Planning, Simon Missovette. Emmeline made polite conversation when she was first shown to her seat, but she quickly learned he wasn’t someone she’d be able to convince of Roremar’s innocence.
His endless, booming comments barely gave anyone else room to speak as he toiled on about how the tournament was going to benefit the territory and how the latest arrival of the criminal competitor was only increasing funds wagered by citizens.
She sighed in relief when he flagged down the Governor of the Fourth District as he passed with a plate full of appetizers. That man didn’t seem too pleased, though, quietly eating his snacks as Missovette laughed at his own jokes.
The Governor may have made a good target for her mission if Missovette paused his prattling long enough for her to get a word in.
On her other side was Rocarri’s partner, the woman quiet and dazed enough that Emmeline was fairly certain she was high.
Low, stringed music floated on the air as Emmeline’s nails drummed against her wine glass. Each note heightened her nerves, pinched her chest.
Lola and Cyren had found seats at a table directly in front of her, and her gaze flicked to them every few seconds as the crowd quieted and faced the Chancellor. Everywhere, eyes cut to her, too. Her throat tightened.
Coveted.
Desired.
Trapped.
And that cursed music continued.
Lola gave Emmeline an assuring nod as Rocarri stood. The white robe draping his shoulders was trimmed with silver-threaded brocade that caught the light as he lifted his glass and everyone followed.
“We are here tonight to present the thirty contestants who passed the initial test in the Angel’s Races”—survived the test, Emmeline mentally corrected him—“and will be moving onto the second round, all vying for the hand of our dear Emmeline DeLeoste.”
She stiffened, Rocarri’s threats running through her mind. Coiling down her spine. Pulling her strings of magic like a puppeteer.
You have this effect on them. What will your existence drive them to do?
The doors at the back of the room cracked open, drowning out Emmeline’s sharp inhale as she tried to chase off the memory. Beneath the table, over too many layers of her skirt, her fingers curled into the ring tied to her thigh.
“Please, welcome your competitors of the Tournament of the Angel!”
Emmeline scoured the two lines of men marching through the doors, keeping her expression as disinterested as possible. Much like in the arena, she felt as though she were looking in on the scene from behind fogged glass, preserved and kept apart.
The guests were applauding and hollering as if these men hadn’t been covered in the blood of their peers only the day before. Nausea twisted through her as the noise mounted, as the music grew louder.
Most of the men waved, flashing sparkling white grins at the warriors who favored them, but Emmeline caught the flickers of doubt behind a few smiles.
The ghosts of the blood they’d shed. They’d dressed in fancier clothes, groomed and prepped, but for some of them it was impossible to wipe the haunting away entirely.
One man—boy, she wanted to say based on the roundness of his cheeks—was so pale beneath his red curls she thought he’d be sick.
She scanned every face, every pair of eyes, committing them to memory but also searching for grey irises that lit up her soul.
When the last competitor entered, a towering bulk of a man taking up both rows without a companion, Emmeline’s attention flashed to Lola. She was gripping Cyren’s arm worriedly. When she met Emmeline’s eye, Lola shook her head.
Emmeline counted the men who scattered among the tables, finding seats between the highly-ranked Starsearchers. One, two, three…
Twenty-seven.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-nine.
There were only twenty-nine of them when there should have been thirty. An even number, half of the initial fighters who’d entered the duel.
She counted again as Rocarri introduced them each by name, and she committed them to memory, who had the most supporters, what their presentation tactics were.
Twenty-nine.
She pressed her palms into the table to brace herself, fighting to not show a single ounce of confusion or care that Roremar was missing.
Perry gave her a grin from the first table that she supposed was meant to be charming but only had her stomach pitching.
When Rocarri was done speaking, there wasn’t an empty chair in the room.
They hadn’t planned for Roremar to come.
Starfire rippled at the edges of Emmeline’s vision. Where was he? Where was—
“As some of you may have noticed,” Rocarri began, slicing through the dying noise, “we are missing one of our competitors tonight.”
A groaning echoed from the opposite end of the dais.
“As you all heard of the triumph of Emmeline DeLeoste recently, you have heard of another’s downfall.”
Emmeline’s skin prickled as hundreds of eyes bore down on her. As whispers of her name and her magic trickled across the ballroom. As they scowled at her and muttered distasteful critiques, remembering her outburst in the arena.
Coveted.
Desired.
Trapped.
“We do have a thirtieth contestant in this tournament. He arrived later than most, but fairly won the duel against his opponents, and so, he, too, will make it to the second stage of the competition.” The whispers mounted, Emmeline’s ears buzzing.
A clatter resounded against the marble, a repetitive squeak tightening her nerves.
“In pursuit of equality among the Fates, he is also available to place your wagers on. So, as many of you requested, we have granted his attendance tonight. But given his unstable history, we thought precautions were necessary.”
Snickers hid behind hands and eyes widened. Attention flocked to the right of the dais. Lola’s face paled, and Cyren gripped her shoulder as if keeping her seated.
Emmeline couldn’t see what everyone was looking at from her seat, but her body was numb. Her chest pounded a war beat, visions of constellations freezing and bending a cacophony in her mind. The mural of the Fates’ Dawn spinning.
She pressed shaking palms to the table and rose, leaning forward.
And she nearly screamed when she saw Roremar—
Within a cage.