Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Roremar
For once, being the only contestant to spend so much time in the barracks today was a blessing. This morning, Roremar had investigated which windows squeaked when opened and which had bars on the outside. Which had easy access to ledges or ladders and which led to a steep drop below.
Unfortunately for him, the only panes that looked like they opened were sealed with rusted iron locks.
Fortunately for him, he was creative. And he’d stolen that dagger off Rian at the Presentation.
He kept half of his attention on the corridor, still shaking off the haze from his first intentional reading in years as he used the thin tip of the blade in combination with a pin he’d found in one of the drawers. They weren’t ideal tools for lock picking, but he wasn’t about to be selective.
When Lola had a plan, it was best to follow. His sister was born with a disobedient streak that, combined with his own recklessness, often ended in a heap of trouble.
Roremar wasn’t sure how they hadn’t given their mother a heart attack by the time he was ten, but Nico’s sweet countenance had always balanced out their mischief.
His chest ached as he remembered the gap-toothed smile his brother flashed when he was six, Roremar twelve, and Lola eight, and they’d tried to lure a jungle cat into the attic.
Footsteps sounded down the corridor, and Roremar froze. He listened carefully, barely daring a breath, but they continued past this room, the owner whistling an off-key folksong.
No one should be coming back for hours—not with the festivals—but Roremar stacked chairs before the door to be sure. Enough that if he left the window open, he should hear the racket of someone returning before they got inside and, Fates forbid, sneak back in before they realized he was gone.
What he’d say about the chairs that would have to be broken to get through, he hadn’t decided. He’d figure that out later.
“Come on,” he whispered as he returned to the lock, working to trigger mechanisms that were so old and rusted, it was possible they wouldn’t—
A resistant click reverberated through the metal.
His heart lurched as the lock popped open, flakes of rust dusting his hands. Roremar slipped the lock off the hooks and jammed it in his pocket. Quickly, he tied back one side of the bars so they couldn’t close on him and propped the window open with a chair leg.
He checked the courtyard and street beyond, but none of the festivities had made it to this neighborhood.
With the echoes of revelry a steady beat in the distance, he shimmied out onto the ledge and used the carved ornaments on the barracks’ facade to climb the short distance to the roof.
His arms and legs were strained from even that minimal lift.
Despite how he’d performed in the duel yesterday, the weeks of being chained up without a regular training regimen were taking their toll on his body, and slaughtering that many men had left him sore.
Pitching himself over the ledge, he landed in a crouch less gracefully than he would have liked but still nearly silent.
“Out of practice?” The teasing voice was a beautiful melody that pulled every ache from his muscles.
Roremar’s head snapped up, gaze immediately finding Emmeline beneath the stars. He rose slowly, as if he’d spook her if he moved too quickly. “Haven’t had my Huntress to lead me around.”
She was dressed in those starscursed leathers that didn’t hide a damn curve, knives and triple blades strapped to her body, and Fates fuck him, did he want to reach for her.
To pull her close and feel her heart beating against his, to seal their lips together and remind her that she didn’t belong to any of those men from the Presentation, regardless of what Balmour Rocarri said.
But Emmeline dropped his gaze.
We only ruin each other.
He took a step toward her, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her, but a second voice cut in, “We needed to have a little meeting.”
Lola emerged from the shadows beside the door leading to the roof. His sister. The note. The very real time crunch hanging over their heads.
Roremar rushed to Lola, wrapping his arms tight around her.
Though he’d had some time with her last night before she led him to Emmeline, his chest still constricted at the sight of her. He hadn’t realized she was on that platform during the trial, hadn’t considered it was a possibility. His mind had honed in on Emmeline and shut everyone else out.
When he’d seen Lola outside the estate last night, he nearly broke. But he didn’t allow himself to. He made his fractured spirit bear every emotion associated with what he’d done. Why did he deserve to let out all that pain? He was the one who caused it. He would take it to his grave someday soon.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“I’m okay, Rore,” she whispered, but he knew her well enough to know it wasn’t entirely true. He pulled back, holding her shoulders. Lola gripped his in turn and squeezed. “I swear.”
The two of them had always had an unspoken language. It frustrated Nico to no end when they were little. They’d make rules in a game he didn’t know without even realizing it, and he’d end up in tears until they started over, all cards on the table.
But for the first time, their unspoken language wasn’t enough.
“I’m going to fix this,” he promised. “All of it.”
Worry flashed through Lola’s eyes, but before Roremar could address it, the door flew open.
Emmeline shifted in front of them with a triple blade in each hand, but a familiar voice said, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, darling.”
“Desmond?” Roremar and Emmeline gasped in unison. Roremar’s wide-eyed stare swung to his sister as Myrella Corvus followed Desmond onto the roof.
Lola shrugged. “I never said this meeting was only us.”
“Fate’s fucks, Lola.” He kissed the top of her head, then ran at his best friend.
Desmond caught him, laughing. “Not wearing the chains anymore?”
“Only for special occasions,” Roremar said as he slapped him on the back.
“They made a good accessory.”
Roremar pulled away. “Want to see if I can get you a pair?”
“Can you ask if they have gold? Goes better with my eyes.” Des blinked dramatically, and Roremar couldn’t help laughing.
“I’m sure they can accommodate your vanity.” Fates, it felt so good to do something as normal as joke with his best friend. “How are you here? What about Fated Ink? And your mother?”
“As soon as you were taken, my mother insisted I couldn’t stay on Lyra. Said she’d look over things at the parlor while I helped you out. Check on your family, too.”
Roremar’s eyes stung. He was lucky to have Des.
Emmeline met Roremar’s eyes over Myrella’s shoulder as she embraced her, and though she tried her best to hide her emotions from him, Roremar felt her gratitude like a blow to the chest.
He was so relieved Emmeline wasn’t alone anymore.
For a moment, it was like waking up after a nightmare, panting and sweat soaked but realizing the monsters were only your imagination. Everything would turn out okay now that none of them were alone. These five people here who were tethered together one way or another would be able to fix this.
But when Myrella glanced at Roremar, the mourning in her expression palpable, doubt flickered through him. He wasn’t sure what to say to her—what to say to his sister or anyone who loved Nico.
The world blurred as he turned away.
He shouldn’t be here.
He should have taken that knife and turned it on himself the second he’d realized what he’d done. Then everyone would be safe—
A hand squeezed his wrist.
He shook off the blur and looked down, but Emmeline was already walking away. She didn’t say anything, but that touch grounded him. Myrella averted her gaze, and Roremar chose to have that conversation another day.
“Myrella, this is my sister, Lola,” Roremar introduced, gesturing between the two. “Lola, Myrella.”
“I know.” Myrella giggled, glancing at Des.
“What are you guys doing here?” Emmeline asked. “Desmond, your letters didn’t say you were on the continent.”
“I didn’t want to write it.” Desmond took a seat on the roof, leaning back against the wall, and the rest followed suit.
Roremar stayed close to the ledge he’d have to go back over in case someone entered the barracks.
To his annoyance, Emmeline sat far enough away that he couldn’t reach her.
“You never know how accurate Mystique ink is, and I didn’t know exactly what you were dealing with. If someone else had read it.”
“Letters?” Roremar asked, looking between his best friend and Emmeline. Last he’d known they’d barely tolerated one another. Though, they’d worked together to clear his name, so he supposed a truce had been called.
“I wrote to find out if he knew your whereabouts,” Emmeline admitted, spinning her opal ring around her finger. “Before the tournament.”
“She wrote every day,” Myrella blurted. Emmeline shot her a wide-eyed stare that said she’d been trying not to reveal that part.
Roremar couldn’t help the adoration that shot through him. That was proof Emmeline had been worried for him. And if she was worried, she cared, even if she claimed they weren’t good for one another.
“We need to talk about this tournament,” Desmond said, and Emmeline fidgeted. “You did good yesterday, Rore.”
Roremar’s attention shot to his friend. “You were there?”
“We were in Valyn. When we met a couple drunkards a few nights ago who told us what the winner of the trials will receive, we figured we should attend.”
Anger burned through Roremar at Desmond’s words. “She’s not a fucking object.”
“I know, Rore,” Des said, stare as harsh as Roremar’s own.
“You were already coming here?” Emmeline asked with that uncertainty that broke something in Roremar every time he heard it. It killed him that she didn’t understand people cared for her when she’d become so precious to him.