Page 108 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“One brutal and one artistic,” Emmeline muttered. “They’re for Arenothos and Aevollon.”

“Just like the tributes to Anphrosia on Alvan,” Roremar guessed. “It’s all wrapped up in the three of them. And the tattoos…maybe those are connected to the Lyra sigil?”

“A purpose and a location all blending into one?”

“It’s possible.” Roremar smirked, excitement buzzing beneath his skin. “There’s a lot of pieces, but it’s something.”

He hadn’t realized he was panting. Emmeline was, too, both of them thrumming with the invigoration of some Fatesdamned stroke of progress. Her tongue wet her bottom lip, and Fates damn him, Roremar almost leaned forward to taste it.

“Spirits,” Nico exhaled after a long stretch of silence. Roremar couldn’t bother to spare him a glance, stare locked on Emmeline’s, relishing in the brightness that had returned. “It’s like there’s two of him.”

“I’ve never realized solving murders was foreplay,” Myrella whispered, and Desmond’s laugh boomed through the cabin.

But Roremar didn’t acknowledge their mockery. Because Emmeline beamed at him, and her smile pulled him above the waves he’d been drowning in. He could breathe again.

“They claim it could take days to gather the records.” Roremar spun around one of the chairs from the kitchen table in the apartment above Fated Ink and dropped to straddle it, elbows braced on the back.

“Days?” Emmeline blurted. “But they know how important it is?”

“Trust me, Huntress, I made it more than clear.” He’d gone to the Accords first thing this morning before his lessons at the Academy, leaving Nico to take their siblings to their own. Still, the record keepers had told him it would take up to a week to compile a list of Starsearchers tied to Arenothos or Aevollon.

The window above the bed was thrown open, the soft twittering of birds a melody floating through the space. Late afternoon sunlight followed Emmeline’s steps as she paced the long room, her lilac skirt swishing dramatically about her ankles with every turn. Roremar’s attention was trained on it, timing out her pattern in his mind to soothe himself.

“The Remembrance Revels are barely more than two weeks away, and Falliare wants this solved by then.”

The desperation in her tone reminded Roremar that there was something she needed out of this. They both did.

“We’re getting close, I can feel it. When I went to Viperous Vices, the teller confirmed that all known victims have recently purchased incense and oils for Anphrosia readings there,” he reminded Emmeline, holding up the list from the table.

The orders had varied greatly, but that had been a common factor between them—different forms of orange blossom. Some pressed into oil, some laced with other florals. None of them were the same, but the similarities marked them as Anphrosia’s searchers.

“Maybe the killer staked it out. That’s how they found them. I’ve got Isle Guard watching the shop now.” Roremar laced his fingers, the cool metal of his rings clinking together. Other than the orange blossom, all the women had purchased candles and a variety of plants, but nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m still wondering about that location,” Emmeline said. “It’s near the Cursed Markets, which feels important. Perhaps there’s more they aren’t telling us.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, too. The teller seemed so familiar, but I can’t place why.” He wracked his memory, finally shaking his head. “Let’s go back in a day or two. Put more pressure on them.”

Emmeline nodded. “What about Falliare?”

“He’s been called into Academy dealings for the remainder of the day. If we want a private audience—which I prefer—the soonest is tomorrow night.”

“Why can’t I pull him aside tomorrow morning before lessons?” Emmeline asked.

Roremar shrugged, still counting her steps. “His secretary said evening. I already set the appointment and sent a missive to ensure the curfews are being more strictly enforced, which both Aldryn and the head of Isle Guard assured was in place.” He prayed his act of having it all under control appeased her. He had to attend this meeting alone tomorrow.

Emmeline blew out a breath, falling onto the bed with her arms flung over her head. “I suppose if that’s the best we can do.”

Despite the dismal conversation, Roremar had to fight a smile at how relaxed she’d become in his presence. The Emmeline he’d first met had been so tightly strung, burdened by the impressions of the world. But that facade was slipping, baring pieces of herself to him he suspected she’d hidden for so long, she wasn’t even sure they still existed.

Fuck if he didn’t understand that.

And with her stretched out on the bed like that—soft skin on display as the cream knit top wrapped around her torso rode up and her hair spread around her—it was hard to forget how she’d felt pressed against him.

Her writhing against his hard length as she watched the pool.

Her breath heating his skin when she looked up at him.

Her teeth sinking into her bottom lip to stifle a gasp as he gripped her.