Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Emmeline
“It’s different than on a battlefield,” Emmeline explained to Desmond as they walked to the vineyards the next morning with Myrella. Graves led the group, Eston bringing up the rear with Lola.
Though they were all dressed for the extravagant affair Rocarri was hosting, shadows framed their eyes from staying up all night.
If Emmeline slept for an hour, she’d have been surprised.
Still, she’d dressed in the dazzling ice-blue gown that was expected of her, layers of beaded skirts swishing over the cobblestones as they made their way to the carnival Rocarri was hosting, woven around his own personal vineyard outside the city.
The rain had cleared overnight, the late morning air fresh, an inquisitive breeze wafting down the cobblestones. Songs poured from the lips of the crowds spilling out of taverns and lounging in gardens. The event today was invitation only, but most Starsearchers were celebrating regardless.
Though, Emmeline had to admit, something in the air had shifted after the second trial. There was an aftershock of nerves on the streets now, as if Starsearchers hadn’t loved seeing magic used against the competitors. Killing over a dozen of them.
“How do these readings differ?” Desmond asked as they passed a group of children attempting to draw on the wet cobblestones with chalk, getting frustrated with each line that blurred.
“On a battlefield, Arenothos and Anhala are primarily read, and there’s strategy to it—the timing, the questions asked—but each of those readings are intended to be independent.
Here, today, if we can light the incense Myrella and I carefully composed to employ joint reading properties, we can orchestrate a large-scale connection, and hopefully, I can pull multiple Starsearchers in together without them even realizing. ”
Then, like she had with Myrella at the pottery studio, she could feed off their magic to strengthen her own and get the constellations that had been stuck on the horizon to click into place in that star map.
Hopefully that would reveal whatever the Fates wanted her to know about how this all connected.
Wind chimes swung on the breeze, the stained glass reflecting a myriad of colors across the stone path, and Emmeline’s nerves pricked higher with each gentle chime. This had to work.
“And it won’t cloud your own session to have so many voices reading at once?” Myrella asked, worry darkening her eyes.
“No,” Emmeline assured her, though she didn’t truly know. “I’ve been practicing with intense readings for years. It will be powerful—a bit overwhelming, probably—but my magic has been like that a lot lately. I’ll be okay.”
“No one else will realize it’s a joint reading?” Desmond checked.
“Not if Myrella and I got the proportions correct while mixing everything. The ones we’re leaving in the public areas are partially recreational.
They’re tailored to draw in Starsearchers but not completely absorb them.
It should be enough that I can siphon off their magic but they’ll be lulled into a normal session if anything. ”
They’d had to sneak into apothecaries in the First District and lift the supplies, leaving behind generous sums of coins. Then, she and Myrella had spent the entire night mixing everything in her bathing chamber while Lola kept watch.
Emmeline’s gut twisted at the memory of stealing from innocent shops, but it caved in entirely at the thought of Roremar in a cell, suffering for crimes he didn’t commit. At the memory of Serchus referring to him and Dryvius as locks and keys, their paths forever entwined.
She uncurled her fingers from her palms, smoothing down her skirt as the gate to the vineyards rose in the distance. “It will work.”
As they approached the entrance to the vineyards, the crowds lining the streets pressed closer. Many craned their necks, drinks in hand as they tried to see through the wooden fence ahead.
One man reached for Emmeline, lunging over the roped boundaries with outstretched fingers. He brushed her sleeve, but Desmond shoved him back, and he toppled on top of the people behind him. A fight broke out, more and more warriors eagerly reaching for her.
The commotion caught Graves’s attention. He instantly whirled around, blocking Emmeline so she could enter the vineyard.
Her heart ricocheted through her chest as onlookers called her name, some with sneers in their voices and some with adoration. It didn’t matter which drove them, all made her sick.
Unstable, the accusation clanged through her.
Coveted.
Trapped.
“Ignore them,” Lola whispered, looping her arm through Emmeline’s and tugging her ahead.
“They aren’t worth it,” Myrella agreed, taking her other side.
Emmeline swallowed, nodding though her throat was thick. “We have more important priorities.”
Graves barked orders at the crowd, casting Emmeline a glance to ensure she was okay. Before disappearing inside, she smoothed her skirt one more time, the vials tucked beneath the piles of icy-blue fabric clinking together.
“This is going to work,” she swore in a whisper.
It had to.
The third trial was only days away.
They were running out of time.
The vineyard was a maze and carnival all in one. Tents had sprung up in paths between sections of grapevines, and games, vendors, or musicians waited around every corner.
Drinks flowed, children frolicked, and all the while, Emmeline’s heart pattered out of her chest.
Once inside, Lola and Desmond each headed to different areas of the festival—the former to socialize with highly ranked warriors she’d met at Rocarri’s prior affairs, the latter to mingle among strangers who looked deep in their cups. To Desmond’s great pleasure, Eston follow Lola.
Each took various forms of the incense, herbs, and oils Emmeline and Myrella had mixed, but Myrella stayed at Emmeline’s side, keeping the strongest strands of pressed oils and incense with them as they wound to the competitors’ tent where she had to make an appearance—the giant silver structure gleaming in the heart of the vineyard.
Emmeline and Myrella each took a glass of sparkling wine from a passing server and settled at a table in the back corner, Graves a few feet away. Though Emmeline had objected to him originally, she couldn’t deny she was getting used to his steady presence.
A few activities were set up in booths around the tent, the twinkling mystlights stringing along the peak reflecting in the shining wooden planks that had been arranged as a makeshift dance floor.
“I can’t believe I’m expected to bond to one of these men,” Emmeline grumbled, taking a sip of her wine as she watched competitors circle the room like vultures.
Myrella didn’t respond, and Emmeline nudged her. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Feeling okay?” she echoed.
“You’ve been quiet the last few days. Since the second trial.”
“The trial, yes. How was it?”
Goosebumps peppered Emmeline’s arms. “You don’t remember?”
Myrella’s shook her head, blinking rapidly.
“Sorry, yes. I heard about it. I slept through it, though. Woke up when the sun was already down.” Her eyes went distant for a moment as she watched a wooden stand near the entrance to the competitors’ tent where a young couple strung up a lantern they’d painted, the mystlights within casting colors across their blissful expressions. “I’ve been…tired.”
She’d been coming out of her fog periodically, smashing the sculptures yesterday helping for a bit, but as they’d worked on the joint readings supplies last night, she’d fallen silent again.
Around them, the crowd chattered and stringed instruments picked up speed, but Myrella’s sorrow permeated it all.
Fates, Emmeline wished she knew the right thing to say.
“Miss DeLeoste,” a voice interrupted.
Emmeline turned, coming face to face with one of the competitors in the tournament—the youngest, she recalled, a sweep of red curls across his brow. “Devinli,” she greeted pleasantly, feeling Myrella sink back to stand with Graves. “Call me Emmeline. Are you enjoying the festivities?”
“Tremendously, Emmeline,” he said, green eyes glinting bashfully as he stepped forward and extended a heftily filled glass of wine. “I was hoping we could see some of the property together.”
Emmeline’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
From behind, Myrella squeezed her hand, a silent inquiry if she wanted intervention, but if they were going to pull off their plan today, Emmeline couldn’t call extra attention to herself.
Rejecting one of the competitors she was meant to mingle with could cause a stir.
She smiled politely, casting a glance over her shoulder. “I’ll find you all in a bit.” Stick to our plan, she begged with her eyes, turning back to Devinli. “Yes, I’d love to.”
Graves took a step to follow Emmeline as she took Devinli’s arm, but she raised a hand. “Remain with Myrella, please.”
“No.”
“Graves,” Emmeline warned.
The guard narrowed his eyes, but Emmeline didn’t bow beneath the punishing stare. Myrella was clearly hurting, and Emmeline didn’t want her to be alone.
“Fine.”
Myrella looked about to argue, but Emmeline didn’t give her a chance, turning away with the competitor.
“It’s a bit crowded in here,” Devinli said sheepishly as they crossed toward the tent’s entrance. “There’s a well on the southern edge of the grapevines surrounded by a natural garden. I thought we could walk there?”
The hope in his voice rang through Emmeline’s chest. She’d been so preoccupied trying to save Roremar, she’d forgotten many of the other men who had entered this competition were innocent. And likely to die.
“It’s awfully loud,” she whispered, leaning closer and squeezing his arm. “I could use a break from the attention.”
Devinli led her out of the tent. Shouts and music mingled together over the vineyard. “There’s a lot of fanfare with this tournament.”
“Not a fan of fanfare, I’m guessing?” Emmeline asked.
“Not really.” The tips of his ears burned red.
“Can I ask why you entered, then?”