Page 119 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Roremar leaned over the desk, scanning the numbers. Fates, it was a lot of unnecessary money. When so many businesses were already struggling. How was the isle affording this?

Shaking away the thought, he strode toward the door. “Forget it. I have an hour until I have to pick up Siena from her art lesson. Let’s go to the Mezzanine.”

“I can’t go to the Mezzanine,” Nico responded patiently.

“Why not?”

“Why are you insisting on going?”

“I’m hungry,” he answered, gripping the doorknob. Realistically, he wanted to get piss drunk. That, and he was certain it was the one place he wouldn’t run into Emmeline. Where he wouldn’t be reminded of her because she never damn well set foot in there.

He’d spent the past few days at the Academy actively avoiding the routes he knew she favored after all these weeks following her. Sure, it was petty and immature, but he wasn’t ready to face her after she blindsided him and accused Desmond of murder.

He also wasn’t ready to admit that despite that little stunt, she was all he could think about.

“You’re grumpy,” Nico said as his pen scratched across papers.

“I am not.” His brother leveled him an amused glance, and Roremar sighed. “This whole thing is a Fatesdamned mess, Nico, and I’m still no closer to actually solving anything.”

And now he was doing it alone.

Nico set down his reports, leaning back in his chair. He fit here, whether he liked it or not, and that gave Roremar a flash of pride. Maybe he did one thing right in insisting Nico take this job.

“Have you spoken to Des?”

“Barely.”

They’d been avoiding each other. Roremar was brooding, and he could admit it. It didn’t sit right with him that Desmond didn’t think he could tell him all these secret plans he was forming. What kind of friend had he been recently that Des didn’t trust him?

“Keep working on the case,” Nico advised. He tossed a piece of parchment and a pen at Roremar. “It’s the best use of your time.”

Roremar pursed his lips. Unfortunately, Nico was right. Even though he’d rather go to the Mezz. Still, he lingered in the doorway.

“How’s Myrella?” he asked.

Nico smirked, and Roremar knew he saw right through his question, but he answered anyway. “She’s…tough. Fates, she’s putting me through it.”

“She worth it?” Roremar asked, flipping the pen between his fingers.

Nico didn’t even pause to consider. “More than.”

The sheepish grin his brother tried to hide told Roremar all he needed to know. Somehow, this girl had wormed her way so deeply into his heart in such a short time, there was no going back. Almost as if they’d been pushed together by the Fates.

Roremar tried to breathe past the gnawing ache in his chest. He was happy Nico was getting that chance—that he’d listened to him and gave it a shot.

Nico went on, “They’re busy at the Academy. The students are all excited for the Revels, and it’s making it harder to keep them in line. Combined with the curfew, they’ve all been taking on extra tasks.”

“Uncle excused me from those at least,” Roremar muttered. He already knew what things were like at the Academy. He’d just been wanting⁠—

“She’s upset, too, Rore,” Nico said, and Roremar knew he didn’t mean Myrella. “She knows she messed up.”

His throat was thick, the thought of her guilty expression on the beach haunting him. “It feels like I’m choosing between them.”

“Who said so?” Roremar gave his brother a flat look, and Nico added, “I spoke to her about it—briefly because she’s avoiding all of us—but she doesn’t know Des like we do. She could have just as easily accused you or me if the facts were there. So yeah, she made a mistake, but it’s not broken beyond repair.”

Roremar didn’t know how to answer that. It all felt wrecked.

You will be her ruin. Well, he’d ruined himself instead, apparently.