Chapter 34 #2
“That’s how I landed at poisons.” Myrella pointed to the top of the page.
“We know the first portion of this scroll is about the duels. There’s enough evidence to draw that conclusion.
But the second”—Emmeline scanned the words as Myrella explained, familiar names jumping out at her—“none of them are exact, but the bell-shaped killer hath wrenched another death.”
“Bell-shaped killer,” Emmeline repeated. “Aconite.”
Myrella nodded, practically glowing. “And around it, these other phrases are descriptions of plants. And all these speak of killers, venom, lethality.” Now that Myrella had unlocked that one translation and Emmeline knew what to look for, the other codes were more obvious.
“If they’d named the flowers, we probably could have figured it out days ago, but whoever wrote this had to get poetic with it.” As the Fates always did.
“What about poisons, though?” Lola asked.
Emmeline scanned the page again, her skin buzzing as she understood. “Rocarri keeps saying this isn’t only a tournament of brawn, but brains, as well. Perhaps the second trial is meant to test their cleverness.”
Lola beamed. “Roremar will stand a chance, then. He’s smarter than all those men combined.”
“Does he know anything of poisons?” Emmeline asked Lola. “He’ll have to be very careful.”
With poisons, one wrong move spelled death. This could be more lethal than the duels, the only weapons one’s own mind.
But that was all Roremar would need.
“We have two days to prepare him,” Lola said. “I’ll pull all the books I can find. Write to Desmond and tell him you’ve found something.” Nodding determinedly, she shoved her chair back and flitted through the adjacent door leading into the manor’s library, Eston following her.
“I’m going to grab a few more research books on languages,” Myrella said, hurrying after Lola.
And as Emmeline scrawled a note to Desmond, dashing over to the mystlight lantern atop the mantle and tossing it in, something very dangerous dared to bloom in her chest: Hope.
Before she could squash it, she chanced too close to the lavender incense lingering from Lola’s session. Pouncing when she least expected it, the Fates captured her.
The plane swam into view with starfire burning at the edges, but it was as alive and realistic as it had been when she spoke to Serchus the other day, all colors more vibrant and landscapes complete.
Different than during her joint reading with Desmond.
As if drawn from watercolors dropped into a still pond, the Fate of Secrets and Greed swam into existence before her, reclining high in the tangled, stretching branches of his tree once again.
This time, Serchus didn’t speak to her—he didn’t acknowledge her at all. Resting against the thick tree trunk, the scraggly arms of the branches cradled him. His face tipped toward the sky, feet crossed at the ankles and tapping musically.
It was as if Emmeline was seeing a window into his world. One she shouldn’t have been gifted.
Serchus waved a hand lazily. Overhead, the stars followed his motions in time with the dreary song dripping off his lips, laced with haunting longing and anticipation.
Emmeline both wanted to run and lean closer, to feel the vibration of the aching melody against her skin and plug her ears so it couldn’t touch her.
A breath skittered down the back of her neck, and Emmeline jolted, spinning.
Nothing was there, but she swore laughter rolled along the breeze. With it, her chest tugged. Once, twice.
The third was more demanding, like whoever stood on the other end of that rope was clamoring for her attention.
“What is it?” Emmeline whispered.
No one answered. Serchus went on with his song, and slowly, Emmeline backed away from the ghostly breeze and toward his perch.
The tombs do rise,
To Her heart’s demise,
Oh, the graves do call,
So, Her life’s work fall.
A streak of silver-edged lightning sliced through the sky, and Emmeline jumped.
In the distance, carved stone monuments rose as if from the earth itself, a palatial structure beyond them.
Grapevines wove to life, Serchus’s song amplified among their rows, each note wrapping the grapes and statues and even the iron bars between them, sprouting from the ground one by one.
This time it wasn’t Serchus’s words that played on the air, but ones from a reading just days ago.
Tombstones and ribbons of flesh,
Candles and tears spread mourning.
Feathered remnants for reliquary memories,
Seek and be sought, child.
“Tombstones,” Emmeline whispered. The unmarked tombs before Serchus’s tree…
Her mind raced, sprinting down the path to an answer.
With a second streak of lightning, a familiar face stood behind the iron bars.
“Graves?” Emmeline whispered to herself. A third strike of lightning brightened the details of the stones. “Graves…” And there it was, gifted to her by the Fates.
She breathed, “A graveyard.”
“Tonight?” Myrella asked, where she sat on the floor of the two-bedroom apartment Lola had helped her and Desmond move into in the Ninth District.
It cost an exorbitant amount per night thanks to the tournament, not that it was furnished well enough to deserve the steep coin, but it had an old sofa, a settee, and large cushions in one corner and room for them to gather around the wooden table in the tiny kitchen, the legs carved with initials of former residents.
Myrella and Lola were sorting the books they’d collected, all of them agreeing they had to split their focus on preparation for the second trial and this new clue from the Fates.
Desmond sat with his feet propped on the table, arms crossed as he listened to Emmeline, crankier than usual. He’d barely spoken since she and Lola arrived.
“Tonight,” Emmeline confirmed. “Serchus has now hinted at tombs and graveyards twice, and I’ve gotten other hints before. It has to be urgent if he’s being so blatantly repetitive.”
“He didn’t say anything else, though?” Myrella asked, wary. “Whether it was about Dryvius or the trials?”
“No. I don’t even know if he knew I was there.” The way the Fate had sung to the stars, perched in his tree, flashed through her mind. She sighed, twisting her ring around her finger. “But I’m willing to risk going in with little information to find out what it means.”
Call her reckless, but she would do anything to get answers about Dryvius, clear Roremar’s name, or give him a leg up in this tournament.
“Do you know where the graveyard is?” Myrella asked.
Lola dropped a book entitled A Woman’s Killing Methods on top of one of their piles and said, “It has to be the one beyond the Twelfth. You said you saw vineyards, too, right?”
Emmeline nodded.
“There are vineyards beyond the Eleventh and Twelfth Districts at the edge of the city. There’s a graveyard there. It’s large, so it will probably take a while to get through it.”
“Lovely,” Desmond hummed.
Lola went on, ignoring him, “Based on what Serchus showed, I’d start on the edge bordering the vineyards.”
Desmond dropped his feet to the floor, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden boards, and addressed Emmeline. “Tonight. We find whatever the Fates are pointing you toward during the horse and chariot races.”
“Yes, but we can’t all go. I’m expected to attend the event, so I’ll need to slip away from my guards at some point. Graves has been extra attentive since the murder.”
She hadn’t told her friends about him following her to the temple and saving her from those men. It wasn’t worth the argument, and she was perfectly fine other than the rage the whole situation ignited in her.
“I’ll stay in tonight. I’m suddenly feeling very ill.
” Lola winked. “Eston will stay to guard the perimeter. You come up with a reason to ditch Graves at the race, and if he comes looking, I’ll say you came home and turned in early, afraid you’re catching whatever illness I have.
Then, I can keep sorting through these books, and we can get information to Roremar tomorrow. ”
“I’ll go to the races with you,” Myrella offered. “I’ll distract Graves. It will give us a chance to talk to Rocarri’s supporters and see who we can sway. And I can keep an eye on Falliare, too, since all Rocarri’s guests will be in attendance.”
If any of Rocarri’s council would even bother to listen to them, but Emmeline didn’t add that obstacle aloud.
“Graves is going to take some convincing,” she emphasized.
“It was a sudden illness, and I saw you off with one of Rocarri’s advisors because Graves was patrolling the corridor.
” The lie slipped so easily from Myrella’s tongue, Emmeline was inclined to believe her.
It wouldn’t keep Graves long, but it would get her away, and that was what mattered. She’d figure out the rest later.
She flicked a glance at Desmond, who was staring daggers at Lola.
He sighed and said, “Looks like I’m in the creepy graveyard with you.
” Standing, he stretched his arms overhead.
“I’m due to visit Roremar soon. He’s not going to the chariot races tonight, but I’ll fill him and meet you at the graveyard as soon as you can get away. ”
“See you then,” Emmeline said, and she forced down the longing that tugged at her chest. The desire to go with him and see Roremar herself.
But as Desmond left, that yearning became a fainter beat, as if her heart were on its way to giving out with each passing second without him.