Chapter 58
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Roremar
Roremar’s heart pounded the entire ride back to the city.
Lola’s handwriting was messy, harsh across the parchment. Rushed or in distress?
Lola. Another body.
No. No. No. He had to protect her.
Nico gripped his wrists, digging in until he bruised him.
His father’s blood coated the earth around him, dampening the air.
A blade was cold in his hand.
Only Emmeline’s body pressed against his and her constant whispers of “she’s okay” kept him from giving into the tunneling panic.
He flew up the steps to the apartment Desmond and Myrella were renting, panting as he flung the door open and it cracked back on its hinges. A thunder of boots followed him up the stairs.
“Lola?” he called, rushing into the cramped foyer, wet soles squeaking against the tile. It was dim, light barely spilling into the corridor from the sitting room, the hall so narrow, walls so close, boots and cloaks everywhere—
As he rounded the corner, a body slammed into him.
A small body, arms encircling his waist.
And a young voice cheered, “Rory!”
The sound sank into his bones, unknotting a stress he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. He gripped her arms, gaping down at his baby sister. “Siena?”
The youngest Silventa blinked her big blue eyes up at him, grinning as wide as he’d ever seen. And a piece of him—one he thought he’d lost forever, one he was certain he wasn’t worthy of—clicked back into place in his heart.
Roremar hauled Siena to his chest and fell to his knees right in the doorway of the sitting room, cradling her head against his shoulder. He held her tiny form—somehow seeming taller than he’d remembered—and plastered kisses to her temple as she squirmed.
“Sisi,” he breathed, disbelief making every breath tight. He had to be dreaming, reading. If Dryvius was tricking him—
Vivienne and Leo burst into the room, launching themselves at Roremar, too.
He couldn’t see as they surrounded him, gangly arms everywhere.
All he could do was feel their crushing grasps as his three youngest siblings—three of the people he’d fought for for years—repaired something within him that had shattered.
Something only the innocence of their love—the way they clung to him despite what happened with Nico—could heal.
“Are you all okay?” he asked over the knot in his throat, his head spinning. “What are you doing here? How are you here?”
“Rory, we took the biggest boat I’ve ever seen!” Siena gushed. “And I only threw up twice because of the waves. Leo threw up six times!”
“It was five, and it was only the first two days. I was fine after,” Leo corrected, his face more solemn than normal. His gaze burrowed into Roremar as if he’d vanish if he looked away. A viselike grip squeezed Roremar’s heart at the pressure.
“I was okay,” Vivienne said with a quiet shrug. Her nose scrunched. “Leo was kind of gross, though.”
“Sounds like it,” Roremar laughed, voice thick, but he forced the tears back. He cupped Siena’s cheek, tugged Vivi’s messy braid, ruffled Leo’s hair. Needed to solidify that his siblings were here.
They were safe.
He hadn’t ruined everything.
“By the Fates, what are you all doing here?” Roremar stood, Siena clinging to him so she went with him. “Is Lola here?”
“Yes.” Lola emerged from a hallway Roremar assumed led to the bedrooms with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her footfalls were softened by the faded, woven rugs, dim yellow mystlight exposing her splotchy cheeks.
But it was the person behind her who finally had Roremar’s tears springing free.
“Mother,” he exhaled.
Her eyes were red rimmed as she stepped around Lola and strode forward. As she embraced him, the rest of his siblings followed. They stood there, the broken family he’d held together for years picking up his pieces now.
“Your note said there’s another body, Lola?” Roremar repeated as he sat on the sofa across from his mother. Emmeline was tucked into his side, spinning her opal ring around her finger, quieter than usual since they’d arrived at the apartment.
Fates, it was a relief to have her there. Like a rope that had been tied around his lungs was cut, and now he could breathe again. Even if she’d only promised him tonight, Roremar was taking whatever she offered.
Thankfully, Desmond and Myrella had taken Siena and Vivi into the bedroom, telling them they could draw or read despite the fact that it was well past midnight.
Siena was thrilled, barely taking a breath as she dragged Desmond down the hall and talked his ear off.
Vivienne had given Roremar a suspicious stare but was convinced by Siena going on about this new, enthralling adventure.
Leo refused to leave, so he sat cross legged on the floor with Lola. And as much as Roremar wished he could continue to shield his brother, he knew it was a futile effort at this point.
Cirre—who had come on the same boat as his family—laid on the balcony, paws crossed over the open threshold and accusing stare on Perry constantly.
In his panic over Lola’s note, Roremar hadn’t realized Perry had followed them all the way here.
He wanted to shove him out the front door when he did, but his mother had more questions about this tournament than Roremar could answer.
“They found her outside the vineyard when they were tearing down the event,” Lola said, pulling her blanket tighter. “Cyren wrote to me.”
“Cause of death?” Roremar asked at the same time Emmeline asked, “Evidence?”
“All the same,” Lola explained.
The twelve-pointed star tattoo. The slit throat. The incense.
Another Dryvius victim.
“He’s still trying to make the ritual work,” Emmeline whispered.
Roremar scrubbed a hand down his face. “How is he doing this?”
Was it possible this went back to the rituals Falliare was attending?
Emmeline had explained her theory that Falliare was working with Rocarri and the cult he was somehow involved in, the Fate Bound Seekers.
Did these new murders fall on their shoulders, too?
While similar, Dryvius’s had very distinct steps, but was it possible this was Falliare recreating them to aid the Chancellor’s goal of creating a Fate?
Or was it possible it was Roremar killing these women again?
Dryvius’s voice from his reading tonight skittered down his spine—
Horror tensed his entire body. “I read tonight. And last time—the victim hung at the temple—I tried to read the night before she was found.” No, no, no.
This couldn’t be him. It couldn’t. “What if that’s what Serchus meant about Dryvius being free?
My readings changed after…” He couldn’t say Nico’s name aloud right now.
“What if Dryvius was freed from those normal bounds and now can use me when I’m awake and reading, not just unconsciously? ”
She considered. “How lucid do you feel during your readings?”
“Not like you. I don’t have that control.”
“No one does, though,” Lola argued. “And the Fates don’t control us during readings.”
“Maybe Dryvius does.” Panic shortened his breaths.
It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t—
“Why don’t we all take a breath,” their mother cut in from her spot opposite him. “We don’t know what happened today, but your brother and I also don’t know what’s happened these past few weeks. Can you tell us?”
Roremar tried to sink into the calm his mother provided, explaining the concept of the tournament. From his spot leaning against the wall beside the sofa, Perry interjected to fill in the details.
As his family had gotten settled, Emmeline had briefly explained her suspicions of Roremar’s ally potentially working with Rocarri. They’d have to be very careful about what information they voiced aloud in front of him, but Roremar wanted to watch his tells. See if he let anything slip.
“So, the Chancellor has known this entire time you were on your way here?” Roremar finally asked his mother.
She nodded, her frame seeming feebler than ever. “All the families of the”—her lips twisted—“competitors were invited. We received word two weeks ago and left as quickly as possible.”
“What did the letter say exactly?” Roremar asked.
As if knowing her son would want evidence, she removed an envelope from the pocket of her threadbare dress and passed it to him.
It was fanfare. Thick parchment and dramatic, swooping handwriting. A celebration of the races mentioning Roremar as a competitor, but nothing about their deadly nature or what the end result was.
“This is twisted,” Roremar muttered, tossing it on the table. He looked over his shoulder at Perry. “Did your family receive one of these?”
Perry scoffed, twisting the silk fabric tied around his waist as a belt. “My family is in Rocarri’s pocket, remember? They’ve known about every aspect of the Races since his inaugural idea. They’re his largest financial backers—it’s why I’m the favorite to win.”
Emmeline stiffened, but she didn’t address Perry.
“This is how Rocarri operates,” she said to Roremar. “He wants them here to keep you in line, the same way he’s used you to control me.”
“Used you?” his mother asked.
Roremar’s gaze flashed to Leo, uncertain how much he wanted to shatter his youngest brother’s naivety. But Leo’s expression was impassive. Lola scooted closer to him, tucking her blanket around them both.
Roremar sighed. “The tournament is a death trap. The first task had sixty competitors, and only half survived. The second saw seventeen more dead. Thirteen of us remain.”
Color leeched from his mother’s face, a thick silence descending.
Leo, hands fisted atop his knees, finally broke it. “So, you’re going to die, too?”
“No,” Emmeline said immediately.
Fuck, Roremar’s heart shattered at Leo’s words.
“The Chancellor entered me into this because…” He thought about what Rocarri claimed when he visited him in his cell.
If you still think I want you dead, you aren’t as smart as you seem, Reckless.
Roremar blew out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I don’t know why. But he’s too cowardly to kill me himself.
He thinks with how strong my tie to Dryvius is, it would upset the Fates. ”
“Pussy,” Perry whispered. His eyes flashed to Roremar’s mother and widened. “Sorry, Ma’am.”
“It’s not untrue,” she said. Roremar pursed his lips at his mother’s unexpected—improper—response, but she looked him right in the eye and, as if needing to say it herself to understand, repeated, “This man is threatening you.”
Hearing those words cracked the lock Roremar had shoved his emotions behind for this conversation. His mother’s hands trembled. She’d lost her husband, had lost a son, and now this.
“I’m not letting him win,” Roremar swore.
Finding Lola’s eye, he knew she was thinking of their conversation, too. She nodded, scrubbing a tear from her cheek with the heel of her palm.
We’d only be grieving another brother.
A stifled sniffle sounded. Leo had his face turned to his shoulder, subtly wiping his cheek there, pretending to be entirely unaffected.
“Leo,” Roremar said, but his sheepish brother ignored him, clearly not wanting attention right now.
Roremar’s mother folded her hands in her lap and looked around at all of them. “There’s one more trial in this competition, correct?”
“It’s in four days,” Lola said. “There’re other events before then. Temple ceremonies later today, sparring competitions, an opera attendance for all the Chancellor’s guests.”
“Including us,” Emmeline groused.
“We’ve been told very little about what to expect in the third trial,” Perry added. “The first was brawn, the second brains…”
“Actually,” Emmeline said, sitting up straighter. “During the second trial, I started to think of them differently. Valyrie required more of her victors than the average warrior.”
Roremar could tell she was choosing her words carefully, not wanting to reveal to everyone in the room what they’d learned about the Angel’s creation of the Fates.
That they feared Balmour Rocarri was trying to create his own Fate now, too.
“She would have tested them beyond simple brawn and brains.” Emmeline bit her lip as she thought.
“I think the first trial was about sacrifice. She was stripping them of their morals.” To forge them into the Fates.
“And the second wasn’t typical poison. It bonded them to her.
Gave her a piece of each of them. A magical focus, which is why Rocarri targeted your Fate ties. ”
Partially true. He also was testing them for his own sick use.
Roremar watched Perry closely as Emmeline spoke, looked for any fidgeting, aversion. Any indication that Perry was in the Chancellor’s pocket and knew exactly what Rocarri’s motive was for hosting the Races.
He was entirely collected. Either Perry was a very good liar, or he wasn’t the competitor working with Rocarri. Roremar didn’t know which was worse.
“How do you know all this?” Perry asked, eyes narrowed on Emmeline.
“Eleven Fate ties,” was the only explanation she gave.
“What of the other competitors?” Roremar’s mother asked.
He exchanged a glance with Perry, who said, “A few put up a good fight. Not many more than your son. He has the best motivation.” Perry winked at Emmeline.
“Svalla wants to see me dead more than anyone, though.” Roremar remembered that note he’d found beneath his mattress.
HE WILL HAVE HER.
Ritheus Svalla, or anyone else for that matter, would have Emmeline over his dead body.
“See if your father knows anything about the upcoming trial,” Roremar said, and Perry nodded dutifully.
Still eyeing Perry with suspicion, Emmeline added, “Myrella and I will keep decoding the scroll, but…Feathers and falls.” She straightened, eyes sparkling in a way Roremar was weak for. “Maybe there’s someone here who can help us with all of this.”
Understanding, Roremar joked, “Anyone know how to contact an Angel?”