Chapter 81
Chapter Eighty-One
Roremar
Holy Fates, Emmeline was the best sight he could have seen in these Fateforsaken tunnels.
He’d ditched the wax from his ears when the ringing cut out, stuffing it in his pocket in case it returned.
Without it, he could freely hear the relief in her voice when he pulled her to him.
As he held her so tightly his shoulder barked in pain, but he didn’t give a Fate’s fuck with her in his arms.
His eyes slipped closed, his heartbeat syncing to hers. Fighting through this trial was the most worthwhile thing he’d ever done. He’d conquer every fear, climb every mountain of self-worth, if Emmeline stood at the summit.
Why was she down here, though? Did he know she was here? Was she supposed to be?
Before he could ask, Emmeline did. “What happened to your arm? The trial…What are you doing down here?”
“Had the same question.” Roremar quickly explained what they’d figured out—how he didn’t remember much, and Emmeline’s grip around him tightened with each word.
“Are you okay, though?” Roremar echoed her question, looking around this odd chamber for the first time, monuments carving the space. “What are you—”
And then he realized who else was here.
In his best friend’s arms.
“Lola,” Roremar gasped, his sister’s kidnapping flooding back to him.
Horror drenched him as he raced to Desmond.
His shoulder beating with pain, but he turned Lola’s pale face toward the light.
Dark hair fanned across her features, ruffling in her soft exhales.
“You found her like this? How did you know where she was?”
“My Fates,” Emmeline answered from his side.
“She’s breathing,” Desmond said, holding her carefully. “But Rore…”
He met his best friend’s gaze, and Des gave a tight-lipped nod, eyes flashing down. Roremar leaned closer, fear thick in his throat.
“Fuck,” Perry exhaled as he and the others leaned over Roremar’s shoulder to see the twelve-pointed star.
“She’s alive,” Emmeline reassured him, fingers slipping between his.
Every touch centered him further, helped him think a little more clearly.
“Her breathing is steady, and her pulse is strong. Dryvius knocked her out, but I don’t smell the florals he normally uses.
For whatever reason, he didn’t finish the ritual. ”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Roremar asked, gaze locked on his sister’s face. On her closed eyes, lips nearly blue even in the dim light. On the dark hair fanning around her cheeks, making her look impossibly pale, veins stark.
“I have a guess,” Emmeline said. At least her mind seemed to be working okay. “I think she’s the final sacrifice—that he needed twelve total. The rituals have been working, but each was a step. I can explain more, but we really need to get her out of here.”
Mind sluggish, Emmeline’s words took a moment to sink in.
When they did, Roremar jolted. “Get her out of here. What are we waiting for?”
He hadn’t been too late this time. He may not have been able to save his father or Nico, but Lola was still alive.
Two things at once, he repeated to himself as the truth settled.
He could still protect her.
Roremar brushed Lola’s hair from her face, cupping her cheek. Heart barely daring to feel relief, he whispered, “You’re okay, Lola. We got you.”
He wanted to offer to carry her himself—to ensure with his own two hands that she arrived safely back above ground—but with his shoulder, he let Desmond take her.
Plus, Roremar had unfinished business down here.
He looked at his best friend. “Take her to the apartment so my mother can care for her.” His gaze flicked to Myrella, who Emmeline was helping to stand. She trembled and twitched, eyes dazed. “What happened?”
“We don’t know,” Desmond whispered. “She said she was hearing voices and kept saying Nico’s name.”
That sliced through Roremar’s chest. Was it an effect of the trial mistakenly messing with her?
“Get her back, too?” Roremar asked.
Desmond squinted at him. “What are you doing?”
“I have to find him,” Roremar swore, voice gravelly. That feeling of his skin not belonging to him returned. “I have to fucking end it.”
Desmond hesitated, clearly warring with allowing Roremar to stay here without him, but his eyes dropped to Lola in his arms. Roremar couldn’t name what flashed across his friend’s expression, but it was enough to make Desmond relent. “Take your sword, at least.”
One-handed, Roremar got the leather band over Desmond’s head while his friend still held Lola. They secured the belt across his good shoulder, a bit awkwardly, then Desmond called to Myrella. “Come on, little dreamer, let’s get you out of here.”
Roremar squeezed Desmond’s arm. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Cirre bound toward the exit, pausing at the mouth of the cavern to let Desmond pass with Lola and Myrella, Eston following. As he watched them go, his chest tight, he prayed his sister would be okay.
The panther’s jade-green eyes tracked each person, flicking back to Roremar and Emmeline lingering in the center of the chamber.
“How did you find her?” Emmeline asked.
“I didn’t.”
Something else he was adding to the long list of mysteries to figure out after this trial.
He took in Emmeline’s appearance. “What are you wearing, Huntress?”
“A dress,” she said plainly.
Roremar stepped back. “I can see that. It’s a little different than your usual, though.” He met her gaze, a soft caress coming from her end of the Fatesworn bond. “The color?”
“I was tired of pretending I’m not yours,” Emmeline said.
She’d chosen him, publicly and vibrantly. Not with a secret bond, but in a display to the entire city that laid ownership to her. Emmeline had chosen him, adorned in the reason they all hated him. Loud enough for the whole territory to hear.
After weeks of him being scorned and a lifetime’s worth of blame on his shoulders, after years of thinking he didn’t deserve good and so many days trying to convince himself to say goodbye to her—Emmeline chose to belong with him.
“Fucking Fates, I love you,” he sighed, hauling her lips to his.
The Fatesworn bond went wild when they met, as insatiable as before. He was sure high above Valyn, the stars were racing for them.
Pulling back, Roremar looked around the cavern. “Do you know where we are?”
“I saw it in my reading in Valyrie’s seeing chamber.
She said a lot of places in the capital have been lost to time.
I think this is one of them. And I think…
” Emmeline’s brow pinched as if trying to form her theory.
“The places that have been lost like this and the seeing chamber, the original locations of the Races that no one knows of anymore, they all make a constellation of sorts. Like the history of Valyn is one big star map.”
Roremar blew out a rough breath. He couldn’t begin to figure out what that meant. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he finally realized what symbol they stood at the head of.
A Warder Mark.
Here, too? How?
Roremar’s head snapped up, finding Perry still hounding Rian with attempts to escape as the latter inspected the monuments closer. Roremar called Perry over, gesturing to the mark on the ground.
“I learned something tonight, too,” Roremar began as Perry approached.
“Good to see you, Emmeline.” Without another word of explanation, Perry started taking off what was left of his shirt.
Emmeline blinked. “I understand you’re happy to see me, but—”
“Em,” Roremar said, and her attention flitted to him. Under different circumstances, Roremar would have laughed at her uncertain expression, but now he wrapped his good arm around her. “Look at him closer.”
Emmeline leaned forward, squinting as Perry turned toward the candlelight. And her eyes widened.
“What in the Fates?” she blurted.
Roremar and Perry explained what they knew of the symbol being a mark of Fate magic being used.
When they finished, Emmeline looked like she had a thousand theories on the tip of her tongue, all spinning over everything she’d learned about the Warders of Selene and why the marks kept appearing around her, if it was connected to her sister and the Temple of Selene somehow.
Giving her a moment to collect her thoughts, Roremar turned to his allies. “You three finishing this trial?”
Perry laughed, eyeing Roremar’s grip on Emmeline. “Seems like the tournament is pointless. You already won.”
Roremar kissed the back of Emmeline’s hand. “This part was never up for debate. But the Chancellor has other plans. Whatever his goal is, the trial isn’t over. You can all keep going if you’d like.”
“And you?” Rian asked.
Roremar turned to Emmeline.
He could already see the stubborn set of her mouth, the challenge in her eyes, the argument she was ready to spring at him if he tried to make her leave.
“You in, Huntress?” he asked.
Emmeline lifted her chin, so regal in that damn dress. “Always.”
Roremar glanced to Cirre at the entrance, her tail swishing patiently. Her intense stare said she wasn’t leaving either.
He turned back to his allies. “Go on without us. We have unfinished business here.”
He’d find Dryvius tonight. Even if it killed him.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Desmond’s voice echoed back through the cavern, dread sinking into Roremar’s gut.
He whipped toward the exit his friend had disappeared through, nerves spiking. Des walked back into the cavern with Myrella and Eston, Lola still cradled to his chest and expression burning.
“Don’t think any of us are getting out this way after all,” Des growled.
Tension framed Roremar’s muscles. “What do you mean?”
But Desmond didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because Balmour Rocarri strode into the cavern. With Falliare on his heels.