Chapter 39 #2
“Ironic or targeted,” Desmond agreed, leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed, fingers drumming out a beat against his biceps.
“I’d say the latter,” Emmeline admitted. “But the question is, why?”
Because he was with me. I let him in.
A physical ache sprouted through her chest as that realization settled.
“Excuse me,” Emmeline whispered. She bent to press one more soft kiss to Roremar’s forehead, this one lingering in a way that felt like a goodbye she’d never be prepared to face.
She crossed to her dressing chamber, closing the door behind her. A tall window stood at the opposite side of the narrow room casting a rectangle of cloud-marred light over the glimmering gowns and jewels she’d been gifted.
As if she were a ghostly specter, body numb beneath the weight of her realizations, Emmeline stripped off her bloody gown.
In only her chemise, baring all her scars, she floated to the bench beneath the window and fell onto the cushion.
Her face tipped to the stars, and quietly, one languid drop at a time, tears rolled down her cheeks, each one an acceptance.
“I can’t have him, can I?” she whispered to the stars, but the storm had rolled through Valyn, and none of them were visible. “I always knew I couldn’t keep anyone, but a part of me hoped…”
With each word, her composure cracked further, her haunted self unraveling.
“A part of me hoped he’d been made for me to keep.”
Her pieces fell apart one by one, each like knives in her chest.
“Thought maybe I’d love him.” Emmeline’s voice was small as she admitted it, giving that worry up to the faceless stars.
“I know even if that’s true, I can’t keep him.
But I promise, if you help me get him out of this tournament with a clear name, I’ll let him go.
I swear I’ll let him go. Just show me how to help him live freely, okay? ”
Invisible stars took her worries, not answering, but she swore she felt a whisper down her cheek, a caress of a vow. She leaned into it, stealing that comfort over the pain in her chest, over the thread that threatened to rip out her heart and send her to smithereens if she ignored it too long.
She had to ignore it.
This…
Her eyes dropped to the blood still faintly smearing her hands.
This was all her fault.
Because someone—many someones—wanted her. And someone knew she wanted Roremar more than anyone. Enough that no matter how hard she tried to keep away from him, she’d painted the largest target on his back.
But if the stars helped her, she swore she’d do it.
She’d let Roremar go, so he could live.
“Please,” she whispered. “I love him.”
She only hoped he didn’t fight back when she pushed him away.
“What was it?” Roremar asked when he was finally stable enough to be filled in. He was propped against the pillows in Emmeline’s bed, the bloodied sheets replaced.
“Cyren doesn’t know exactly,” Lola explained from the foot of the bed. “Their best guess is some kind of venom extracted from a snake or possibly an arachnid.”
“Fates,” Roremar said, tipping his head back against the headboard.
His face was wan, dark circles beneath his eyes punching Emmeline in the gut every time she glimpsed them.
Cyren had changed the bandages around his torso when they stitched up the wound, but Roremar’s tattooed skin was on display, and he looked so comfortable in her bed.
A labored swallow worked the column of his throat, and Emmeline watched the motion as if her life depended on it, rooting herself at her desk across the room.
“You feeling okay?” Desmond checked, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was perched in an overstuffed armchair he’d dragged in from Lola’s suite, circles beneath his eyes that mirrored his best friend’s.
“Fine,” Roremar said, pushing upright and reaching for the papers spread across the bed.
He didn’t try to stand, and that was confession enough that he wasn’t truly feeling fine, but Emmeline turned her attention back to the work on her desk, underlining more helpful passages.
She’d spent the entire night alternating between taking notes and reading her Fates for any hint of what might help, waiting for Roremar’s eyes to open.
“I need to learn a lot about poisons,” Roremar deadpanned. “And all in a day. So, yes, I’m fine.”
“Here,” Emmeline said, bringing more notes over to him.
“These are on flower varieties that are unlikely poisons. I’d guess you’ll see some of them since they’re fairly common.
I marked identifying factors like scent and color and how to combat them if they’re accidentally ingested.
I think, given that the trial is to test knowledge somehow, the antidotes are important. ”
She set the pile on the nightstand without meeting Roremar’s eye and turned away, but a cool hand gripped her wrist. Emmeline inhaled, eyes squeezing closed as she composed herself.
Lola and Desmond were watching, could see her shuttered expression, but she didn’t care. They weren’t who she needed to fool.
After a beat, she turned to Roremar, his eyes swimming with worry.
“Everything okay, Huntress?” he whispered.
Nothing about this situation was okay. He could have died.
She could never keep him, and she loved him so much it would break her.
But she didn’t voice any of it, turning each truth over to the stars instead, and she hoped Roremar couldn’t read the longing ripping through her as she could his.
Emmeline slipped her wrist from his grasp and insisted, “You need to focus.”
Without waiting for a response, she strode into the bathing chamber and shut the door. Pressing her back to the cool wood, she sank to the floor and ignored the murmurs from the other side as her tears fell.