Chapter 84
Chapter Eighty-Four
Roremar
“Realmspinner?” Emmeline gasped. “Like the cult?”
Myrella shook her head, frame still trembling violently. “No. I-I don’t know what he’s talking about. I swear.” Her eyes were so wide, so horrified, and it triggered every one of Roremar’s protective reactions.
But before he could snap at Dryvius, Desmond said, “It’s not a cult. Valyrie told us tonight. A Realmspinner isn’t a cult—it’s a rare magical being that can open the bridges between realms.”
“No,” Myrella exhaled, her shock stinging Roremar, making her appear so vulnerable. “I can’t—that’s not me. I’m not—that.”
Fates, this poor girl. First she’d lost Nico, and now she was accused of being this rare magical being? Of having a coveted power she’d never even known about?
Dress ruffling over the floor, Emmeline rushed to Myrella and tucked her arm around her. She was still wincing from whatever Rocarri’s ritual was doing above ground, but Roremar could tell she was fighting through it to defend her friend.
“It is you, little dreamer,” Desmond said softly as Emmeline walked Myrella back toward Roremar.
“Valyrie figured it out. She can’t read Realmspinner magic, but she read other things about you and connected it.
It’s why she sought me out tonight. She thought you’d be with me, and when you weren’t, she sent me to find you. ”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Myrella hissed. She bunched her hands in her skirt, taking trembling breaths.
Desmond’s gaze dropped to Lola. “Little busy. And I didn’t know the fucking Fate was involved.”
“Why were you looking for her?” Roremar directed the question at Dryvius, stepping in his line of sight to Myrella.
“You do not need to guard her. I already have what I need.” Dryvius laughed, waving them off as if their fury was the most hilarious thing he’d seen all day.
“You broke into their room at the tavern,” Emmeline accused. “You were looking for Myrella.”
Dryvius didn’t confirm, but he didn’t need to. Khasson had always been around, had likely seen Myrella with them, sensed whatever this Realmspinner magic was, and wanted to do some reconnaissance.
They’d thought it was his uncle, or someone he hired, looking for the imbued carving Desmond and Myrella bought at the sanctuary.
They’d been so fucking wrong. About all of this.
“As your Angelblessed friend said,” Dryvius explained, seeming overjoyed with their questions, “a Realmspinner holds the power to cleave open the bridges between realms. It is a power not even the gods wield, the Balance of Power gifting it to this one type of being to check them. However, the gods slew all Realmspinners many, many centuries ago. Or so they thought.” Dryvius shook his head mockingly.
“That part of history is very chaotic, obscenely bloody, rewritten many times to please he who holds the pen. But what the gods didn’t know at the time is that Realmspinner magic is impossible to contain for good. It will find a new home.”
“You’re saying this magic reincarnates?” Rocarri asked. The glee in his voice made Roremar sick. He wanted him and his uncle gone now. He wanted everyone gone but him and Dryvius, but he had a feeling if anyone moved too quickly, the Fate would snap.
Impatience sent Roremar’s blood pounding.
“In a sense. It plays by a unique branch of rules, as dictated by the Balance.” Dryvius’s attention lit on Myrella.
“I thought it would take me decades to track down one of you. You’re practically impossible to source.
I had been researching for quite some time on Lyra.
I figured with the Constellation Isles’ predestined proclivity for magic, it was a likely place for a Realmspinner to resurface, but you fell into my—well, Roremar’s—lap when Emmeline brought you in on their investigation. ”
“You won’t touch her, Dryvius,” Emmeline seethed, the ferocity of eleven Fates lacing every word. The silver glowing in the Warder Mark flared, Roremar’s heart pounding with her fury.
“You act as if I haven’t already.”
Myrella whimpered, and Emmeline whipped toward her friend. “What happened?” she asked softly, reaching for her hand.
Roremar’s heart thudded with stark terror.
“I-I don’t know.” Myrella’s teeth chattered. “There are days I don’t remember. I was dizzy, tired. Some days are cloudy. I didn’t—I didn’t think anything…”
She grabbed her arm, as if an instinct, and Emmeline’s gaze followed the movement.
“That scar,” she whispered. Roremar wasn’t sure what she meant, but worry washed down the Fatesworn bond, a douse of cold water, followed by understanding.
“Right before the second trial. You said you slept through it, but those days—after Roremar was attacked, we were all sequestered to the manor with our supposed illness, but you’d been at the apartment working on the scroll translation.
And then you didn’t remember anything that happened with Valyrie’s arrival.
You’ve been different since. More subdued. I thought you were grieving.”
Myrella nodded, tears gathering along her lashes. “I don’t remember any of those days.”
Her fear was so potent, it made Roremar shiver.
“What did you do to her?” Roremar snapped at Dryvius, not sure he really wanted the answer.
“I barely touched her. I just needed to extract a little of that Realmspinner magic.”
He wasn’t foolish enough to tell them where he’d hidden it. To flaunt it. No, while Dryvius thrived on chaos, he orchestrated it to his liking.
“And why are you here now?” Emmeline asked, clearly diverting attention away from Myrella as she processed this all. “Why this place?”
Roremar could tell from her tone that she’d put something together, but he didn’t know what. The trial was still trying to suppress his mind. He battled against the dark waves, kept pushing to the surface.
“Have you figured out yet what these monuments are?” Dryvius asked.
As he waited for an answer, he strode to the base of the largest statue, the winged form at the front of the room.
He placed his hands on the stone, head bowed. The reverence almost eclipsed the evil rolling off him. But when he cast a cruel smirk back over his shoulder, that thought vanished from Roremar’s mind.
“This is the sacred grave.” Dryvius’s words rang through the space like a bell chiming, starfire flaring up the walls, filling channels along the statues and floor until the entire space glowed white and silver.
“What does that mean?” Emmeline asked, eyes aglow with stars in the reflection of white fire. “Valyrie isn’t dead.”
“She isn’t, but every Angel has a grave should they one day be laid to rest. Valyrie’s was buried beneath this city thousands of years ago when she first created her tournament.
She is not allowed to visit it again until her demise.
And thanks to the careless rulers since, they have forgotten all about that piece of warrior history. ”
He flicked a distasteful glance at Rocarri that Roremar mirrored. If only leaders like him hadn’t been so fucking selfish and struck historic accounts down while prioritizing their own motives, they may have been able to piece some of this together better.
“A grave,” Emmeline whispered, partly to herself, partly to Roremar. “The scroll spoke about a sanctuary. I thought it meant the graveyard where we found the mausoleum, but it meant this—everything below ground.”
“Because this place isn’t only a grave for the Angel,” Roremar said, scanning the monuments—all twelve of them. Even the Fate of Chaos and Revelry himself. One of the few places in Valyn that included Dryvius at the same level as the others. “It’s for the Fates, as well.”
Dryvius’s smile curled.
The Fates.
No other warrior clan had something like them. It solidified this spot as entirely unique—and rich with a source of power few other places in the realm would know.
Not one grave. But thirteen.
Dryvius said, “When we ascended to the Fate Realm, we left our bones behind.”
Roremar’s jaw dropped open, and he took in the monuments again. The careful craftsmanship of each, the fortified marble plinths, cracked from age but sturdy enough to stand millennia.
“Our magic felt more powerful in Valyn,” Desmond said to Emmeline. “It makes sense. Everyone’s probably is, but ours is more noticeable.”
Because they each had more Fate ties to manage. And the sources were so fucking close.
Roremar’s gaze flicked to the monuments. “The bodies of the Fates—they’re all here?”
“The bones,” Dryvius clarified. “They have been a sort of guardian legion to threats beneath the city since we left the realm. Making sure no one found this place that wasn’t supposed to.
Mine came back to me when I returned to this realm, but we were linked to these tombs when we became Fates in the original tournament. ”
“It’s always been about these fucking trials and everything they hid,” Roremar grumbled. His free hand fisted, knuckles cracking as he watched Dryvius.
“Points of Constellation,” Emmeline whispered.
“That’s what this place is. The tunnels connect to each district and are modeled after the Fates, leading back to their graves.
And it’s why Valyrie seemed impressed when I’d put together the purpose of the districts.
It was easy enough to figure out, but she knew that, combined with all the other information I had about the tunnels, it could lead us here. ”
“The cavern is rich with magic, and the tunnels form a star map. The entire city is a constellation with enough power you can feed off. This point is the patron star.”
Roremar’s stomach dropped at the implication. If they were standing in a Point of Constellation, a point of heightened magic, that also branched out to twelve other points around the city primed through their connection to the bones of the Fates…
Finishing his thought, Emmeline declared, “You’re going to open a bridge to the Fate Realm.”
“You are quite clever, Miss DeLeoste.” Dryvius smiled as he looked between her and Roremar. “I can see we chose wisely for the two of you.”