Chapter 70
Chapter Seventy
Roremar
Roremar forced his eyes to focus on the page, ink smudged as if it had been clenched in Desmond’s sweaty palm.
You tempted Fate, and realms do wrest—
At the slice of midnight, the bridges crest.
Say goodbye, my Heir of Chaos.
Her ruin is your greatest loss.
The handwriting—it was familiar. Through the commotion, that was what his mind fixated on. The slightly pointed tops of the E’s, the dramatic swoops.
HE WILL HAVE HER.
“It’s the same handwriting,” Roremar choked out.
“What?” Emmeline asked.
“The note left for me in the barracks. The words at the murder scene. It’s the same.” Roremar couldn’t pull his gaze from the note, his voice flat and body numb as pieces clicked. “I thought it was about you, but it was Lola. All this time, Dryvius has been telling me he was going to take Lola.”
Not Emmeline. Lola. One of the five people in this world he was meant to protect had been taken by a serial killing Fate.
His jaw ground, images of Nico flooding his mind.
Say goodbye, my Heir of Chaos.
“Where was this?” Emmeline asked Desmond urgently.
Graves and Eston formed a wall before them, keeping anyone else from approaching.
Rocarri, Falliare, and a number of guests still watched, but Perry, Rian, and Khasson took new partners to the floor, Perry requesting the rowdiest dance possible.
The rest of the room followed as the notes picked up, wary glances thrown their way between steps.
“In her suite,” Desmond said. “There was a body left in the room.”
“Who?” Emmeline pressed.
Desmond shrugged. “Some staff member of the Chancellor’s based on her uniform.”
“Was it…” Emmeline barely spoke above a whisper, but she didn’t need to finish the question.
“The tattoo, the Warder Mark. It was all there.”
“Another ritual attempt,” Emmeline said.
So many women dead, and none of them fulfilled whatever Dryvius was attempting to do. Had the Fate of Chaos and Revelry just been playing with his food? Taunting them all until he got who he really wanted?
Lola.
Desmond’s entire frame trembled. “I was supposed to meet her in the foyer, but she was taking so Fatesdamned long. I should’ve known something was wrong. If I’d gone upstairs earlier.” He kicked a chair at the nearest table. The wood cracked as it tipped over, heads whipping their way.
“Desmond,” Emmeline reprimanded. “You need to keep it together, or we won’t be able to help her.”
“Keep it together?” he spat, but he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Dryvius took her! And you want me to keep it together?”
“We all have to,” Emmeline said. Roremar hadn’t noticed her hand slide into his. Hidden from view of the other guests, she squeezed once, warmth shooting down the Fatesworn bond.
The contact jolted Roremar into action. “What happened exactly, Des? No detail is too small.”
“She was running late from the Archives—seemed excited about whatever she’d found about that cult, and it took her longer than expected.
I waited in the foyer, but eventually, she was taking too long.
I went to remind her we were already late to this thing to begin with, and all that was in her room was the body and this note, pinned to the door.
” Desmond scowled at the parchment as if it was responsible, and Roremar couldn’t blame him.
His sister.
His first best friend, the one he’d gotten into the most trouble with.
“She’s tied to Anphrosia. The other woman must have been, too,” he muttered. His words were distant, as if someone else spoke them. He dragged his thumb over the note as he spoke. “Whatever it is, Dryvius’s ritual…he’s finishing it tonight. He’s been saving her for when he knew it would work.”
Midnight.
They only had a few hours to find her.
He blinked and saw his father, Nico…Lola, eyes unseeing and a twelve-pointed star tattooed on her chest.
Throat slit and skin pale.
“We’ll find her before then,” Emmeline swore. “We—”
Before she could finish the thought, the music sliced into piercing silence.
And every mystlight in the room extinguished.