Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Emmeline
“Fate Bound Seekers?” Myrella repeated from the floor of Emmeline’s dressing chamber the next day, gowns shoved aside to reveal her evidence map, which now had a new section exclusively dedicated to the cult.
“Yes,” Emmeline said. “Have either of you ever heard of them?”
Lola shook her head, fingers sliding through her hair. “Never.”
“Based on the notes in Rocarri’s office, they’re a cult,” Emmeline explained.
“They originated in the southwest jungles, and their primary beliefs center on deep branches of Fate magic and myths, the kind that are only rumored to be true. Like tears from Pheasantos hold healing properties if caught immediately as they fall.”
“That aligns with what I know of Rocarri,” Lola said. “He and his partner met at an academy in Tortorria decades ago. It would make sense if he had ties to this cult or learned about it while in school.”
Myrella crawled across the floor to study Emmeline’s notes closer, not commenting. She’d been reclusive the past few days. Emmeline had barely seen her, and when she had, Myrella wasn’t talking much.
“Do you think this cult could have anything to do with the ones from Lyra? The Realmspinners?” Myrella asked.
“Nothing is impossible. There was very little information on the Realmspinners on Lyra.”
Myrella only nodded, scanning the pages tacked to the wall.
Worry tangled through Emmeline at her silence.
She missed Myrella’s enthusiasm and unrestrained commentary, the way she lit every room she walked into.
But grief came in waves. One day one would feel a little more okay, and the next, one would find a misplaced note or article of clothing from the person one lost and be shoved back.
Everyone mourned in their own way. Emmeline couldn’t force Myrella through it. All she could do was meet her where she was.
Emmeline rose, crossing to the window. Another rainy afternoon in the Starsearcher capital, another day of the stars being obscured and her feeling abandoned by them. Water droplets speckled the glass, and she flinched with each that landed.
“What if Rocarri is a member of the Fate Bound Seekers?” Emmeline proposed, whipping around to face Lola, needing to look away from the rain. “What if he’s a plant here trying to fulfill whatever their mission is?”
“That would be a ruse a long time in the making,” Lola argued. “It takes years to climb the ranks to Chancellor. You think they’d have that kind of patience?”
Emmeline thought back to the mad gleam she’d seen in Rocarri’s eyes, the spark growing each time they interacted.
“I think when you want something badly enough, you’ll wait as long as you need to get it.
” She pressed a hand to her sternum, the cool metal of Roremar’s ring biting into her skin.
“I’m fairly certain I overheard him talking to a competitor in the Races last week, remember?
It sounded like they were conspiring together. What if they’re both plants?”
Lola’s fingers twisted faster through her hair. “What do you think they want?”
“I don’t know.” Emmeline sighed, toying with Roremar’s ring.
Lola gave her a sympathetic smile, gaze dropping to Emmeline’s hands. “I visited him this morning.”
“And?” She held her breath.
“After my father’s death, Roremar never stopped. He never grieved. He kept moving to take care of all of us. Now…” Lola swallowed. “Each day he’s confined without answers, he’s growing more restless. I think he’s being pushed to his breaking point.”
“What does that look like?” Emmeline asked, reaching inside herself for that part that belonged to him and trying to soothe it.
“I don’t know,” Lola admitted. “But the third trial is less than a week away. And if the two coincide…”
“Reckless.” Emmeline exhaled, understanding Lola’s point. “We need to figure out what Rocarri wants and how this tournament facilitates it fast—how and if Rocarri is connected to Dryvius and how the Fate is meddling in all this—or Roremar could sign his own death warrant.”
“There’re so many pieces,” Myrella whispered, studying the wall.
The notes from Nico’s death.
The other victims on Lyra.
The temple murder in Valyn.
The Warders of Selene, the myths about Dryvius and Anphrosia, the Fate Bound Seekers, and whatever Aldryn Falliare was doing in this Fatesdamned capital…
“There are.” Emmeline was being crushed by the weight of them—by the demands of this city. By the way they grabbed at her magic but didn’t trust her to define it.
“And we need to put them together today. Tomorrow is that all-day, Fatesdamned vineyard party Rocarri is hosting, and then he’ll have engagements for me and the other competitors every day until the third trial.”
Longingly, Emmeline glanced at the journal tucked against the evidence map. The one containing the Averian’s trade routes and Temple of Selene research she’d had to set aside. The only clue toward her sister.
But if she couldn’t stop this tournament and claim both her freedom and Roremar’s, she’d never have a chance to find Addie anyway.
Lola jumped to her feet, clapping. “We need a fresh perspective. Come on, both of you. I have an idea.”
“What is this place?” Myrella asked as she pushed her hood back from her face. Emmeline’s chest squeezed at the dark shadows rimming her eyes.
Lola had led them to a flat stone building in Forger’s Way in the Tenth District. The walls were lined with old pottery pieces and broken sculptures, like a graveyard of artistry.
Based on the amount of stone monuments in this part of the city, this district was dedicated to Pheasantos, the Fate of Passion and Exile, honored by blacksmiths, artisans, sculptors, and more.
Her conversation with Valyrie on the roof last night came back to her. She couldn’t figure out why the Angel had been so interested in Emmeline realizing the connection between the districts and the Fates when others had, too.
Graves and Eston waited outside under the awning framing the main entrance.
The rain was a blessing in one regard, Emmeline had to admit as she shook back her hood, water droplets rolling down the smooth fabric.
It kept the streets empty enough that she didn’t think she was recognized on the walk here.
“This used to be a sculpture gallery,” Lola explained, “but the owners have upgraded to a larger space. Before that, it was a pottery and stained-glass studio for academy students.”
“That explains the decor,” Emmeline muttered as she wandered the shelves, stopping before a bust of Anphrosia, a large chip missing from the side of her head and dust coating her veiled features.
“These are all pieces that are no longer usable,” Lola explained as she unclasped her cloak, taking Myrella’s and Emmeline’s and hanging them by the door. “They were either damaged, aged, or unwanted.”
“And we’re here because?” Emmeline asked, still not following.
“Miss Silventa!” a cheery voice called. A woman with high cheekbones and wine-red hair in a silky sheet down her back strode out of a back office.
A roll of herbs smoked between her fingertips, the scent of clove and apple heavy on the air, but it didn’t pull at any of Emmeline’s Fate ties. Recreational, she assumed.
The woman approached Lola, kissing both of her cheeks with dramatic smacks. “I’m so happy you’ve returned!”
“You know I always come back to you, Amelia,” Lola said. She wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulder and turned her toward Emmeline and Myrella. “And I brought friends.”
Recognition lit Amelia’s eye, but she didn’t say anything and Emmeline’s nerves unwound. “Welcome! I’m thrilled you’re here.”
“Thank you.” Emmeline exchanged a puzzled look with Myrella. “But what exactly are we here for?”
Lola smiled that mischievous Silventa grin. “To get our frustration out so we can find answers.”
“We’re going to break them?” Myrella asked in a small voice once Amelia had set them up with mallets, gloves, and glasses, and disappeared back into her office.
A large vase sat in the center of the room, a crack already splitting its side when Amelia took it off the rack for them.
“She has to clear up the shelves anyway,” Lola explained, heaving her mallet over her shoulder, her blue-tinged braid swinging down her back. “I come here when I’m particularly stuck on a piece and need to clear my mind. For other reasons lately, too.”
To be angry, Emmeline understood. To channel that energy somewhere destructive that wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Emmeline’s outlet had always been hunting. Getting predators off the streets to soothe the pain she didn’t know how to handle. Now, with so many eyes on her in this city and the hectic tournament schedule, that method had been taken from her, too.
They were all still for a beat before a laugh bubbled out of Myrella.
She spun toward the shelves, grabbing a statue carved in the shape of a small crumbling stone bridge and threw it to the floor.
Then, she brought her hammer down.
Crying out, she did it again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she released every bit of her fury, the tainted emotions rolling into the air around her so forcibly, Emmeline nearly started crying, too.
“They took him!” Myrella cried, letting out her grief and frustration one swing at a time. “They involved him in their stupid, unfair rituals, and they took him.”
A choked sob had Emmeline meeting Lola’s eyes, her own cheeks stained with tears as she clutched her mallet.
“He should still be here,” Myrella raged, swinging again. “And I shouldn’t be so…”
She panted, continuing to swing. Emmeline didn’t know how Myrella would have finished that sentence, but the bubble that inflated in her chest at that moment was a mix of pride for her friend letting all of this out and anguish for her feeling it in the first place.
For everything they were all battling that was so unfair.