Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
Roremar
Three days until the final trial.
Three days until twelve of the thirteen remaining competitors could die.
Three days until Emmeline would be given to the victor, if whoever was threatening her didn’t get to her first.
Roremar, unfortunately, couldn’t be at her side at all times.
But since they’d realized the meaning of those threats yesterday morning, she hadn’t left the manor alone.
This meeting was the first free time any of them even had with all of Rocarri’s events, and Emmeline’s personal guards were outside the door.
There hadn’t been anyone watching his cell since Rocarri came to taunt him, though Roremar couldn’t figure out why, but it made getting here easier.
“During the joint reading at the vineyard party, they said falls and feathers,” Emmeline reminded the group as they stood in a receiving chamber in the Council House with Desmond, Lola, Myrella, and, to some of their hesitation, Perry.
Roremar had been the one to suggest he be invited, and Emmeline agreed. If he was Rocarri’s plant in the Races, Roremar wanted to see what he’d let slip. He’d seemed so eager to help the other night, and didn’t appear to be the Chancellor’s biggest fan, but they weren’t sure what to make of him.
Emmeline went on, “We visited the falls. And she speaks Endasi, so even if this isn’t what the reading meant, she can help us with the third trial.”
“I still can’t believe you executed that vineyard scheme without anyone noticing,” Perry said, impressed. He leaned against a wooden writing table set between two pillars.
Twelve stone columns wrapped the circular room, and between each sat a different small desk, marble bench, or sculpture before a window or painting. It was a rare sunny day in Valyn, light streaming through the glass and dappling the tiled floors.
Desmond and Lola were studying the art, bickering beneath their breath, and Myrella gazed out a window overlooking the busy streets of the First District. She’d been awfully quiet lately, and guilt scratched at Roremar’s throat as he tried and failed once again to figure out what to say to her.
Instead, he joined Emmeline and Perry. “I agree.”
“Underestimating me?” Emmeline asked, hiking a brow from her seat on the marble bench a few feet away.
“Never.”
Her cheeks flushed, the sight sending a shot of victory through Roremar’s veins, but she looked away. “I think Starsearchers likely noticed something was different about their readings, but they’d never guess what. I hope it was worth it.”
“Do you truly think she’ll answer your letter?” Myrella’s fingers twisted in the butter yellow sleeves of her dress.
“She’s intrigued with Emmeline. She will,” Roremar said.
No sooner had he said it than a thud sounded on the terrace, and the doors flew open on a breeze shimmering with lilac ether. Valyrie entered gracefully, lavender gossamer gown billowing around her. On the balcony, looking in the door with pitch dark eyes—
“Holy fucking Fates,” Desmond swore with a whistle.
A gryphon, white as moonlight with feathered wings tipped in silver, blinked at them.
Valyrie hummed contentedly as if nothing was out of the ordinary and shut the glass doors behind her. Desmond continued to stare at the beast, but Roremar shifted his attention to the Angel.
Exactly as it had during her cataclysmic crash into the arena, her very presence ebbed across the artfully tiled floors.
It wasn’t visible, but something that trickled along Roremar’s skin, that made the mystlights gleam brighter.
From the way everyone straightened before bowing, Roremar was certain it called to the magic tying Starsearchers to the Fates.
Emmeline stood, stepping forward when Valyrie stopped in the center of the room. “Prime Warrior.”
Valyrie offered a kind nod, silver hair rippling with the motion. “Emmeline.”
The Angel looked around the room, and Roremar had the distinct impression she knew each of their names and personal facets of their magic, though she didn’t say anything.
Her stare lingered on him the longest, turning hazy for a brief moment, and he recalled Emmeline explaining Valyrie couldn’t read definitively of either of their futures.
A shiver worked down his spine.
“Thank you for answering the request,” Emmeline said.
“It sounds like a pressing matter.” Valyrie folded her hands before her. With the light beaming down from above, she looked for all the realms like she was a statue carved to perfectly fit this space. “What may I answer exactly?”
Emmeline fidgeted, the only tell that admitting any of this to the Angel and asking for help made her uncomfortable, but they’d all agreed Valyrie was the best tool at their disposal.
“Two nights ago, I spoke with Serchus, and there’s more we need to clarify.”
“You spoke with the Fate of Secrets and Greed?” Valyrie asked.
“Yes,” Emmeline admitted. “Often, my readings are more of a conversation with the Fates than purely a conveyance of fortune.”
“Interesting,” Valyrie mused. Roremar had the feeling even the Angel wasn’t sure what to make of Emmeline’s magic.
“It is,” Emmeline agreed. “I recently conducted a reading that led me to Wisteria Falls, which is where I spoke to Serchus, but it also led me to you.” She took a breath, and agitation burned through Roremar, his reluctance to trust the Fates creeping up his spine.
“Serchus mentioned something called Points of Constellation. What can you tell me of those?”
Valyrie assessed their group, then strode across the room toward Perry, ether undulating in lilac and silver around her wings.
She reached over the writing desk he was propped on and pulled down a rolled map.
Gallantia was displayed, split into the seven warrior territories, but there, to the northwest of Starsearcher land—
“The Constellation Isles,” Perry observed, jolting off the desk with a surprised stumble.
The others hurried to gather around them as Perry stared, slack jawed at the map, palm rubbing his sternum.
“I’ve never seen the isles on modern maps.
None of the ones in school had them, only the ones my grandfather showed me. ”
“This one is not modern.” Valyrie quirked a brow at Perry. “You are intrigued by the isles?”
Roremar eyed Perry for any hint of deception, but he flashed Valyrie the smooth grin that won him the favor of all the capital’s citizens. “I’m a worldly man.”
Valyrie tilted her head as she looked at him, but she didn’t seem taken by his charm. When she turned back to the wall, Desmond’s snicker echoed in the quiet room. Myrella smacked his shoulder, scolding him, and Desmond yelped.
The Angel extended a hand to trace the isles, stacks of silver bracelets jingling on her wrist. “This map dates from the Age of Angels, one of the earliest renditions, created when we first split the land into seven territories. Some of the names and border designations are no longer accurate. Cities have risen and fallen, magical wells have expanded in the land, but for today, it serves our purpose.”
“Which is?” Roremar asked.
Valyrie offered him a smile. “To show you how ancient parts of this world are. And that while some of it has been forgotten”—her graceful touch lingered on Lyra, and Roremar swore her expression turned wistful—“it all relies upon one another, as much in these realms does.”
Valyrie turned from the map. Her gaze landed on Myrella, eyes glazing over with silver ether, and she whispered to herself, “All forgotten bridges respun.”
A shiver rolled through the room, and Myrella squirmed, looking around nervously. Desmond and Roremar both shifted a step closer.
“You have lost a part of your soul,” Valyrie whispered.
The words hit Roremar like a blow to the chest. Myrella’s jaw popped open, but she didn’t say anything.
Valyrie’s attention refocused as if nothing had happened.
Fates, did her magic always take over like that? He would have expected the Angel to be in complete control.
Roremar exchanged a glance with Emmeline. Diverting the conversation from Myrella, she continued, “Does this—do the isles—have to do with the Points of Constellation?”
“Points of Constellation are simply places where magic has been left behind,” Valyrie explained. “Places such as Wisteria Falls, and yes, the Constellation Isles. It is part of why the continent ignores them.”
“Encouraging willful ignorance,” Perry said.
Roremar frowned. “At some point in history, Starsearcher leaders knew the isles held magic, and rather than let it be known, they directed everyone to forget about them.”
“Either because they didn’t want it to be a spectacle warriors became obsessed with or because they wanted to hide something,” Emmeline finished. “But why? What could possibly be there that they don’t want others to know about?”
“Even I do not know all the history that has occurred on those shores,” Valyrie said. “It was routine land when I claimed it as part of my territory.”
“How did it change?” Emmeline asked.
“That is one of the wonders of this realm,” Valyrie answered.
Roremar mused, “When something is powerful, people want to control it. And if they can’t control it, they’ll remove it.” His attention locked with Emmeline’s. She swallowed, jaw quivering as she pulled her focus back to the map.
But Roremar’s vow to protect her from this damn city only strengthened.
“Serchus wants us to figure out something about the Points of Constellation,” Emmeline muttered. “He said to pay attention to them.”
Perry’s eyes were alight as he threw out theories about the isles, things the continent was taught to believe versus stories his grandfather told him. Roremar, Lola, and Desmond countered or corrected each. Myrella remained quietly in her head.