Chapter 84 #2
Roremar’s stomach pitched at the reminder that he and Emmeline weren’t only in love but destined. That it had been Fates like this one who approved that bond.
Suddenly, the Fatesworn bond left a sour taste on his tongue. He loved Emmeline, but he didn’t want that associated with the Fates.
“You didn’t choose her for me,” he swore.
“That bond says differently.” Dryvius tilted his head, the move as feline as Cirre. “Though, isn’t it odd that you didn’t receive the Fatesworn tattoo?”
Roremar exchanged a glance with Emmeline. Truthfully, he didn’t know a thing about how Fatesworn bonds worked. But from the concern striking Emmeline’s features, she did.
“Why are you bothering to tell us all of this anyway?” Roremar asked, shifting the topic.
“Because every kind of magic has rules.” Dryvius pressed a hand to Valyrie’s plinth again as if testing, lazily tracing the carvings in the marble. “And I had to linger long enough for mine to pass.”
Long enough…
He hadn’t left Lola here, unguarded and alive, on accident.
He’d left her because he was waiting.
And Roremar’s entire being, the tide of grief he’d been working to swim through, it all drowned him when Dryvius moved.
Faster than a jungle cat, he spun toward the altar and jammed a triple blade into Desmond’s gut.
Roremar roared, running for his friend, shoulder blaring with every stride.
Lola screamed, too, falling forward with Desmond as he crumpled, his blood coating her dressing gown, staining the lilac bright red.
Dryvius grabbed Lola by the throat as she slipped off the altar, backing her toward Valyrie’s statue. Lola scratched at his hands, drawing blood as she cried, but the Fate was undeterred.
“Rore!” His sister called out for him, the choking sound ripping down to his spirit.
With a wave of Dryvius’s hand, a ring of starfire sprung up between them and Roremar, flickering with maroon streaks.
Only Desmond’s bloody form, writhing from the pain of each labored breath, was on Lola’s side of the line.
And his sister—she was still too weak to fight off the Fate.
Dryvius lifted the triple blade to the nearest channel of starfire, swiping one point through with a burst of white light.
Then, he pressed the tip to the plinth holding Valyrie’s monument.
Roremar tried to leap over the flames, but they grew higher with each attempt, lashing at his skin.
As Lola writhed, Dryvius carved a twelve-pointed star, roughly hewn in the marble. Desmond’s blood splashed from the blade into the carving, starfire licking it up.
Smoke spiraled up around the monument, drenching the air in a blend of scents so tangled, Roremar couldn’t pick one from the next. Desperation ripped through him.
Lola—Desmond—he had to get over there.
He wouldn’t lose them.
He took a charging step, prepared to run straight through the fire, but as if he heard the thought, Dryvius whipped around—
And pointed his dagger at Lola’s throat.
One blade still dripped with Desmond’s blood, another burning white hot, but the third was clean.
Waiting for Lola.
The Fate tsked. “I don’t advise that. Reckless you may be, but you are better than stupidity, my Heir.”
Behind Dryvius, the twelve-pointed star expanded. The edges wavered, starfire ripping outward. Silhouettes flashed behind it, landscapes and breathing worlds, tempests of magic glowing and crashing in the maelstrom.
A thousand glasses shattered as a veil to another realm ripped through the air, right there, in the base of the Angel’s statue, widening and expanding, rimmed in silver starfire like an ornate frame.
As it formed, Myrella screamed and crashed to her knees.
Her magic. Whatever she contained as a Realmspinner—what Dryvius had stolen from her—that was what did this.
And he’d just used it to open a fucking bridge between two realms. One he planned to take Lola across.
“Don’t take her, Dryvius,” Roremar said.
Hatred burned through him, tensing every muscle in his body to the point of pain.
But he didn’t feel it. All he felt was the terror in Lola’s eyes, the grief already wanting to drown him.
He bit out, “If you hurt her, I will kill anyone you have ever cared about, no matter what realm I have to reach to do it.”
“That’s the thing about becoming a Fate,” Dryvius mocked. “The humanity we sacrificed in exchange for eternity? It took so many benign cares with it.”
“Love isn’t benign,” Roremar argued. “It’s a gift, and I will take every gift from you if you take my sister.
I will destroy anything you have cherished, become your personal monster.
There will be nowhere you can run.” He seethed, power burning through him, past every layer of fear that had pummeled him tonight.
“You and I are connected, Dryvius. You may have your body back, but I will always be able to find your mind.”
He’d used the tie he scorned to do it. He would do whatever it took if Dryvius harmed another person he loved. Commit any crime as retribution for the frightened look on Lola’s face alone. Blue eyes so wide and terrified.
With every ounce of sincerity in his bones, Roremar swore, “I promise, Lola. I will hurt him so much worse before he gets a chance to hurt you.”
“Remember, Reckless,” Dryvius taunted, “you and I are not that different at all.”
“Don’t say that.” Roremar boiled at the words the Fate had spoken to him in his last reading.
Dryvius tilted his head, the veil behind him shimmering, growing larger each second. That breaking glass echoed again and again. “Then let the games continue.”
“Please,” Lola begged, bare feet struggling for purchase, fingers clawing. And Roremar wasn’t sure if she was begging him or the Fate, but for the first time in years, Lola looked so lost.
Roremar would have given anything in that moment to fix it.
Racing up beside him, Emmeline screamed, “Take me instead!”
Roremar would have given anything—except for that.