Chapter 29 #2
“Yes.” Emmeline looked back up at the window, reading those horrible words. Her attention lingered on the bloody wings, another pair flashing through her mind. “I know where we need to go.”
It took Emmeline a while to find the street Angel Brew was on in the Third District, but once she did, it was no time at all until she located the mark.
“See,” Emmeline whispered to Desmond and Myrella as she crouched beside the wings, brushing her fingers over the ashy insignia. “It’s still here. And it doesn’t wipe away. It rains so much in this city, it should be gone by now.”
“What do you think that means?” Myrella asked, scuffing it with her boot. No matter what they tried, the winged insignia of the Warders of Selene wasn’t moving.
“I don’t know,” Emmeline said.
A rowdy group of men wandered by, and Desmond stepped closer, eyeing them until they were gone. Eston lingered beneath the canopy outside Angel Brew, far enough away that he shouldn’t overhear their conversation. Still, Emmeline stepped closer to Myrella and Desmond.
“We know this symbol is associated with Dryvius’s ritual, but why is it here—on the cobblestones—in the exact spot I was attacked—a few days before the first murder in Valyn? That has to mean something, right?”
“It does,” Myrella agreed.
“But it doesn’t help us figure out anything about said murder,” Desmond said as if finishing her thought.
Emmeline sighed. “I know, but it can’t have been Roremar. He wasn’t here when the first symbol showed up.”
She toyed with the Mystique ink note that had appeared from Lola a minute ago telling them Roremar was safe and she was dealing with him.
She hadn’t elaborated on what that meant.
No one could reasonably blame him for this murder, but Emmeline’s stomach turned at the ominous note.
“Remind me when it first appeared?” Desmond asked.
“I don’t know, I was a little preoccupied fighting off an attacker.” Emmeline sighed, trying to think back. She squeezed her eyes tight. “I’d thrown a dagger at him. Missed. Readings were pummeling me, and he tried to pull me back, so I clawed at him, and when he staggered away, I saw it.”
It could have already been there. Maybe the light hadn’t hit it until then.
“Assuming the murder and this symbol are related, it isn’t Roremar and Dryvius,” Myrella said.
She’d shaken the entire way here but was gathering herself now, Desmond’s cloak around her shoulders.
“We’re looking for someone who knows exactly what Dryvius was doing on Lyra and how he was doing it.
Emmeline, they knew what he wrote on your wall. ”
TO TEMPT THE FATES, AND REALMS WILL WREST—
HE WILL HAVE HER.
The first part was exactly what had been written in blood on her dormitory wall.
Emmeline shook her head, drifting toward Angel Brew to get away from wandering warriors.
They claimed a table in the back corner—Eston seated at the bar, much to his annoyance and Desmond’s satisfaction—and Emmeline sank into her chair, bones and mind exhausted from all the readings she’d conducted today. The stiff wooden back creaked as she leaned against it.
“I don’t know who’s doing this,” she said, spinning her drink between her hands. “You’re right, though. They’re recreating Dryvius’s steps and have very intimate case details. What if…” Emmeline leaned forward. “What if it’s Falliare?”
“But…why?” Desmond asked. “He willingly sent Roremar to his death. If he was trying to use Dryvius’s killings for some reason, why not fight to let Roremar free?”
“Because the problem grew too big for him not to respond? You saw him in that sanctuary yourself a few nights ago. You said he didn’t seem disturbed by the ritualistic killing.”
“He didn’t,” Myrella agreed, worry wavering through her expression.
“I’ve got no love lost with the Temple Master,” Desmond said, “but I don’t see the motive.”
“When I read Anphrosia yesterday, she said ‘he is lying in wait,’ and something about ‘remedying a past scorned daring.’” Emmeline brushed her palms over the scratchy cushion beneath her, the rough material piercing through her nerves.
“I think she meant Dryvius. That he isn’t done with whatever he planned—the ritual must not have worked correctly on Lyra, right?
That’s why he’s trying again. With an accomplice other than Roremar. It could be Falliare.”
“You think Falliare has a Dryvius Fate tie, too?” Desmond said skeptically.
“No, I stand by my theory that Roremar is the only one. Falliare could be…taking over the mission.”
“What about a fanatic mimicking what Dryvius did?” Myrella suggested. “One of the people betting on Roremar in the tournament?”
“Who knew every detail? Including the words written on my dormitory wall?” Emmeline asked, shaking her head. “No one on the continent pays attention to the isles like that. This feels like a personal message. For me.”
HE HILL HAVE HER.
Desmond drummed his fingers on the wood. “We don’t—” A couple sat at a nearby table, and Desmond dropped his voice. “We don’t want to go accusing Falliare of anything unless we’re sure. Trust me.”
Emmeline’s gut soured as she remembered how wrong everything went when she’d accused Desmond. No, she couldn’t do anything that rash again.
But she would never trust Aldryn Falliare after how he’d treated her.
“Whatever ritual Falliare is a part of, there’s going to be a second attempt.
We need to keep an eye on him.” She sighed, her entire body heavy.
“As bad of an idea as it is, I think I need to see Roremar.” To speak with him and lay out all the facts they knew so they could work through them piece by piece.
“You won’t be able to for the next few days,” Myrella reminded her. “He’s likely being watched closely, and the Chancellor has you in back-to-back meetings with each suitor.”
“Fates,” she swore. “He wants me to be seen socializing with them all. Each suitor except Roremar.” As she determined a way around that, Emmeline pulled his ring from beneath the neck of her gown and slid it along its chain.
Myrella shot upright, slapping Desmond’s shoulder. “Look at that,” she blurted as he complained, “You’re stronger than I’d think, little dreamer.”
“What?” Emmeline looked behind her, but it was only an empty wooden wall, a few holes from where frames had previously hung dotting the paneling. When she turned back, Myrella was looking at the ring hanging between her fingers.
Desmond rubbed his shoulder, but when his eyes landed on the ring, he froze.
“That’s Roremar’s, isn’t it?” He looked at Myrella. “Fuck, I never realized, but it looks the same.”
“The same as what?” Emmeline asked, holding the ring closer to her chest.
“The first time we followed Falliare,” Myrella explained, dropping her voice lower, “when he went to the sanctuary at the port, he purchased a carving coated in a paint or oil—we don’t know what it is.
But we bought a similar one to study.” Her gaze dropped to the ring.
“And the color, texture, everything—looks exactly like that.”
Emmeline unfolded her fingers, holding Roremar’s ring out for them all to see. The blackened steel—or whatever coated it—caught the light, a rainbow aura reflecting across the curves and markings.
“Now the question is,” Desmond said, “why?”