Page 10 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Were the fortunes seeming to creep up their throats until the fingers of a Fate latched around their minds and whispered alluring secrets in their ears?

Or was it bliss stealing over them as they studied the chart? Perhaps a desperate desire for something like knowledge or secrets? Magic—and Fate ties in particular—were so personal. They manifested differently for everyone, as Emmeline had discovered at a young age.

Her own magic was a living heart, beating like an extension of herself, her skin heating and pulse racing as clouds of readings pressed to the surface.

Pointing to the third line from the top, Emmeline said, “Arenothos, the Fate of Wrath and Redemption, can foresee the same war as Anhala, the Fate of Foolish Hearts and Wisdom, because wisdom is crucial to strategy in battle. However, they will interpret the readings and communicate them to their Starsearchers in very different manners. Thus, everyone will receive unique fortunes and must use them to aid the other six Gallantian Warrior clans as best as we can.”

Brynn’s hand shot back into the air, a book slipping across the desk and to the floor with the jolt. Emmeline pointed to him, and as he ducked under the table to grab it, he asked, “What does this have to do with the festival, ma’am?”

“Don’t worry, Brynn, I’m getting there,” she clarified with an encouraging smile. “Legends also assume the Fates embodied their respective spectrums through their demeanor.” Emmeline gestured again to the three words she’d written. “Chaos and Revelry. Following those beliefs, the lost Fate was one of indulgence.” She propped herself on the corner of her desk as that word hummed through the room. “He threw lavish parties where wine poured in abundance and dreams were brought to life. However, because of the other half of his title—chaos—he tended to cause problems among the other Fates. And though rumors swirl about how exactly—that chaos is what ultimately led to the lost Fate’s downfall.”

“Miss?” Aviana asked, her hand lifting gently.

“Yes?”

“You call him the lost Fate, but my grandmother always says he was shamed from his place among the stars.”

Heated frustration gathered in Emmeline’s chest at that diluted description, but she curled her fingers around the edge of her desk and continued calmly, “Your grandmother is partially correct. All legends agree that we celebrate the demise of Chaos and Revelry because he committed a great sin, but I believe the realms lost something the day the Fate died.”

“What did they lose, ma’am?” Brynn asked.

“The appreciation for revolutionary thinking,” she explained. “We may have banished chaos, but we also lost the beauty derived of its ingenuity and individuality. And while the Fate of Chaos and Revelry turned the realms on their heads before his downfall, he also had a purpose within the Balance of Power that upholds all the worlds in existence, just as we all do.”

Every warrior and magical being did. The Balance was the agent of peace, prosperity, and power. When it was challenged or upset, the realms quaked beneath its fury. But Emmeline believed that even those scorned had a purpose to the Balance.

She may have been a scholar, but she held faith not only in the words she found on a page, but also the way they could inspire, especially for this next generation. The tales one could spin when their minds were attuned to the world around them and the revolutions wrought of divine creativity.

And with her own connections to the Fates and how deeply her magic was woven in her bones, a part of her wondered if they should be mourning the lost Fate rather than celebrating his demise.

“Now,” she continued, shaking away the sacrilegious thought, “the festival isn’t for over a month, so we have plenty of time to discuss the customs and traditions. As your brother said, Brynn, this year will be larger because it is a centennial celebration, marking another hundred years in the thousands since the Fate was slain. But for today, I’d like you each to take out your journals.”

Emmeline filled three shallow wells on her desk with oils from her tincture collection, placing an incense stick in each—the least potent, meant for beginners, usually involving lavender for relaxation, myrrh for purification and positive energy, and sandalwood for focus. Weak enough that she’d be able to block out her own session as she patrolled circles up and down the aisles and instructed the students.

Eventually, they’d move on to each student crafting their own specialized incense, but it typically took years to discover the right combination that appeased both Starsearcher and Fate. Some didn’t figure it out until their Fatorum Revelus, when they were attempting the unique series of tasks the Fates called them to complete.

For now, they’d use the generic blends.

“As we began last week, we’re going to attempt controlled readings for brief periods,” Emmeline instructed in her most meditative tone. It was important to exercise command over the magic from a young age. The older they got, the more it steeped, the more the power would try to take the reins. It had to be wielded with a practiced hand, and that training began from the moment the windows to the Fates opened, familiarizing themselves with its call. “When you’re done, I’d like you to write down what your Fate said to you or what you saw.”

She took slow steps, the pace lulling the students into a hum of contemplation, and recited instructions to loosen their own ties and allow the alignments to flow through them.

It wasn’t until they were near the end of the hour that Myrella appeared in the doorway, waving to catch Emmeline’s attention without disrupting the silent scribbling of pens on parchment.

“Hi,” Myrella whispered when Emmeline met her at the door. “How are they doing?”

Her tawny skin glowed in pale-yellow silk trimmed with dainty white lace, two bows tied at her shoulders. The ribbons trailed down her arms like personified rays of sunshine that made Emmeline smile.

“Well, I think,” Emmeline answered, gaze drifting over the students as a few started fidgeting, eager for the end of the lesson. “It always varies, and it’s early still, but many are taking to their readings.”

By the end of their first year with Emmeline, that was what they needed to master. To be familiar enough with their Fate ties that they could open and close the connections to conduct readings when the magic became pressing without succumbing to its delicate nature. Stifling fortunes was never a good idea, but if a Starsearcher didn’t know how to filter the Fates properly, the power could become consuming.

With it only being the third week of term, they had plenty of time to fully grasp that level of control and for Emmeline to ensure they were ready to move on next year.

“That’s good.” Myrella beamed and extended a folded piece of paper. “The Temple Master’s secretary asked me to give this to you as soon as I could.”

Emmeline scanned the note, freezing at the summons. What could the Temple Master want with her so immediately and early in the day? He was the most powerful person on Lyra, and while she had plenty of contact with him based on her position here, this was unusual.

Her mind briefly flashed to the man she’d killed last night. She’d been so careful to cover her tracks, but had she left something behind?