Page 107 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

The boat rocked, her shoulder grazing his as she glanced at him. His entire body was starfire at the touch.

“Nothing happened to me,” Emmeline whispered.

So much clearly has, he wanted to argue. There was no doubt in his mind that Emmeline DeLeoste was haunted. It was obvious from how visibly she forced everyone out. But something told him that wall of hers wasn’t ready to crack.

Clearing his throat, Roremar forced his attention back to the conversation. “We need to figure out why Anphrosia Fate ties.”

Catching Nico’s eye, he knew they were both worried about one Starsearcher in particular also tied to the Fate of Cruelty and Adoration. But she was miles away from Lyra, safely on the continent.

Still, that wouldn’t stop him from writing to her the first moment he could. Wouldn’t stop the knot in his chest from growing until he saw her handwriting in response. Pressure clouded his throat and ears as he listed off all the ways to ensure she was safe, like he was being held beneath a wave and each task was another kick toward the surface.

Toying with her opal ring, Emmeline said, “It must involve Arenothos and Aevollon.”

“Clearly,” Desmond grumbled, taking another lengthy sip of rum. All attention lifted to him, Roremar narrowing his eyes warily. Des was unpredictable when he wanted to be, and right now, that restless energy rolled off him in palpable waves. “We have to know more than that.”

“What do you mean?” Roremar asked.

“I don’t know, Rory,” he said, sounding angry with himself for not knowing. “I don’t know what it all means, but if anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

Fates, he was trying to, but his mind was so muddled. It got like this when he was overwhelmed, the facts and figures he so neatly organized spinning over one another. This, though? This was the worst it had been in ten years.

Blood staining his hands, the ground soft beneath his knees. A cackle ringing in his ears.

You will be her ruin.

No. No, he wouldn’t give that memory control right now. He took a swig of rum and held his friend’s honeyed stare as it burned down his throat.

“The Storytellers,” he finally exhaled. “Everything they told us applies to this. It’s a puzzle.”

“Seems like Anphrosia was a pretty loose woman,” Desmond filled in, his entire demeanor tense.

“It’s not like someone would be going after her Starsearchers for that,” Roremar said, scowling. “It happened so long ago. Most of it is no more than legends exaggerated around bonfires. Besides, who in the stars cares who a Fate fucks anyway?”

“A fanatic might.” Emmeline gripped Roremar’s arm at the same moment he put the pieces together. With the contact, the knot in his chest uncoiled a fraction. “A fanatic could believe every word of those legends. Someone who worships a Fate she hurt, or who believes she was toying with them and is trying to get revenge against her.”

“Someone tied to Arenothos or Aevollon,” Roremar finished, exchanging a glance with Des, whose eyes brightened as he encouraged him to go on. “It’s plausible.”

Emmeline shifted onto her knees. Roremar sat up straighter, her energy fueling him, too. “We need to access records of all Starsearchers aligned with either of them,” she insisted.

“That’s not going to be easy.” There were no official records for every Fate tie. Searchers weren’t required to report them. It was considered a breach of privacy, a boundary inspired by the Fates’ reluctance to share their own histories with anyone.

“The Accords will have those on file who have enlisted in government jobs or the army,” Emmeline said.

“Most, not all,” Roremar qualified, but he couldn’t help himself now. The edges of their mystery were pulling closer in his mind. “But we can cross reference them with different intake forms from ship ledgers to see who may have been coming and going from Lyra at the times of the murders.” Fuck, that would be a lot of documents and tedious research, but it might be their most thorough option right now.

Emmeline nodded, her chestnut waves spilling around her. “We should write to the heads of the other isles too—or Falliare can since they’ll likely respond more quickly to him.”

“I’ll meet with him tomorrow to request it.”

“There’s got to be other back-alley sources we can tap on Lyra in the meantime,” Emmeline mused, biting her lip again. “Ones who can elaborate on the comings and goings at the ports.”

Roremar’s mind spun. “I bet Darcy has a few people he’s kept an eye on.”

And everyone had a price, as he knew too well.

“We should look more specifically into cult activity surrounding all three of the Fates involved—the Warders of Selene, too—and see where the overlaps lie.” Her hazel eyes were glowing once again, cheeks flushed and alive. “I still haven’t found any specific connections between the Warders and Anphrosia, but it had to have been their insignia on the bodies. They have to be tied up in this somehow. Maybe she is Selene.”

“What if the insignia wasn’t about them, though?” Emmeline raised her brows at his question, and Roremar elaborated, “We were wrong about it connecting to Angel’s Draw. We’re thinking too literally. What if it isn’t the Warders at all? The roses could have been a calling card to Anphrosia, and the wings…”