Chapter 61 #2
Finally, Emmeline addressed Valyrie again, “Back on Lyra, while we were searching for the murderer who turned out to be Dryvius, he killed someone very important to us.” Emmeline spoke slowly, as if choosing each word precisely.
Roremar’s throat tightened with every syllable, but he kept his expression calm.
Emmeline had told him, Lola, and Myrella they didn’t have to be here for this, but they all wanted to.
He’d been trying to understand how this happened for weeks, and he finally felt like the pieces were before him.
“Serchus told me when Dryvius killed Nico, it freed the Fate. That it had to do with a promise Serchus made. What does any of that mean?”
“A promise?” Valyrie asked.
“That’s what Serchus said,” Emmeline confirmed. “He said he or Nico was a key. I thought at first he meant Dryvius and Roremar, but that was wrong.”
“And my readings have been different since,” Roremar added.
“Your readings…” Valyrie’s lashes fluttered as if she were searching fortunes, attempting to put it together. “As you know, it is impossible to read the Fates. Even for me. Serchus could have been referring to any number of pasts or prophecies with such vague wording.”
Roremar groaned and ran a hand through his hair, the pieces slipping between his fingers. There had to be something—one of the hints they had—
“What about this?” Desmond asked, rummaging through Myrella’s satchel.
He pulled out a ball of colorful scarves.
“We’ve been finding this mineral or stone.
Seems like it’s melted down sometimes, forged into objects others.
It’s shown up on two, at a mining location outside of the city, and near Wisteria Falls.
” With the letter from Lola and his family showing up, Roremar had forgotten about Desmond’s erratic behavior in the jungle entirely.
He wasn’t sure this was the sort of thing they should discuss in front of Perry if he really might be colluding with Rocarri and by extension Falliare, but Roremar was desperate, so instead of stopping Desmond, he asked, “Is that why you were searching the ground?”
Desmond nodded, a strand of blond hair slipping from its knot and dancing in his eyes as he unwound a teal scarf from the object.
“I found a cache of it beneath the dirt. It looked oddly similar to the inky substance at the Quarry Locke and the object Myrella and I got at the temple sanctuary. Plus your ring.” Desmond looked back at the Angel. “Do you know what it is?”
It was the first time Desmond had spoken to Valyrie, and when her attention landed on him, her navy eyes glazed deepest silver. Roremar’s skin prickled, but Valyrie blinked, clearing the effects of whatever that was.
Roremar exchanged a glance with Des, but his friend only shrugged.
“May I see the objects in question?” Valyrie asked.
Desmond passed the stone to her, and Roremar crossed to Emmeline.
Though the chain was long enough to slip over her head, he brushed aside her hair and unfastened the clasp, taking any excuse to touch her, for his fingertips to brush the sensitive skin at the top of her spine.
To relish the sharp intake of breath his touch elicited.
She turned to face him. Holding her eye, Roremar slid his ring off the chain and into her waiting palm.
The Angel’s eyes burrowed into them, something that felt like wonder acknowledging things he’d long suspected.
It took Emmeline a long moment to turn away from him and hand the blackened steel ring to Valyrie.
The Angel weighed both items in her palms, looking like some kind of ancient scale measuring the paths of fortunes, how so many statues and paintings depicted her, palms splayed and face tipped toward the stars.
Her lips parted, understanding widening her eyes. “Oh, dear Angels,” she whispered.
Roremar’s entire body tensed.
“What is it?” Emmeline asked.
“Magic can be imparted into inanimate objects,” Valyrie explained as they hung on every word. “It is a complicated skill, typically only conducted by Angels or those even more powerful than us, but it is not unheard of for mortals to fabricate a similar practice.”
“Is that what’s happened here? The items are imbued with magic?” Desmond asked.
“Not exactly,” Valyrie said. “If magic was imbued in these objects, I would be able to peel it out, decide what source it came from, given that Angel magic—Angellight, as it is called—and the source of power within the Mystique Mountains are so intrinsically connected. It doesn’t appear to be imbued in these items, but coating them. ”
Lilac ether hovered over her white feathers as she said it, vibrating in the air as if tense at her words. The magic—her Angellight—twirled around the ring and stone in her hands, testing, tasting.
“There is magic at play in the oils these have been treated with. Powerful magic, frightening if employed correctly.” Swirling eyes found Roremar. “Do you know the composition of this ring?”
He flexed his hand, the empty spot on his finger heavy. “Not entirely. It’s from my father.” His eyes flicked to Lola, and he swallowed, throat thick. “He said it’s a type of metal that’s delicate but nearly indestructible once forged.”
Two things at once, just as he himself was.
Murderer and innocent.
Grieving and guilty.
Utterly in love with Emmeline and a terrible risk to her.
“I think he may have hidden its more unique properties from you.” Valyrie held the ring out to Roremar.
He took it, slipping it back on the chain and placing it around Emmeline’s neck where it belonged.
His skin prickled with anticipation as he turned back to Valyrie.
“Your father was from the Constellation Isles, as well?”
“Yes,” Roremar and Lola said in unison.
“Such as Points of Constellation, there are places on Ambrisk that hold significant magic.”
“Like the Mystique Mountains?” Myrella asked.
Valyrie observed her, ether around her wings stirring rapidly. “Not exactly. The magic in the mountains is what powers all the realms in existence. That is pure ether whereas these are unique to the Fates. The isles are rife with them.”
“Fatetouched land,” Emmeline breathed. Perry was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Not all Fatetouched land is potent enough to be a Point of Constellation,” Valyrie clarified, “but the earth on the isles is steeped with the dust of the stars, touched by the Fates. Many secrets and myths lurk there.”
Roremar glanced at the map, at the seven smaller land masses that had been wiped from modern memory because of this power. At his home, a land infused with magic.
“And my ring…”