Page 129 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

The man’s eyes stayed on the stage, hungry and desirous in a way that sickened Roremar. “I got word that things I was after were here.” His tongue flicked over the rim of his drink, lapping at a drop of liquid. “There was a window on Lyra, no one in my position here. So I took it after I got into a sticky mess as they continued to crack down on the trading that used to go on around Starsearcher Territory.”

Trading.

Kidnapping was more like it. When children were taken to the temples, their magic forcibly revealed and exploited. Often, the Temple Masters shoved them into seeing chambers that would all but rip their Fate ties to the surface. It was an awful practice, but it had been dwindling for years.

“You were involved in that?” Roremar growled, hands fisting against the arms of his chair.

“No.” At least there was one respectable thing about the Snake Charmer. “But I find it useful to know who is. To have that sort of information. Someone didn’t like what I knew.”

Never mind on the respectable bit. A better person would have used that knowledge to help end the crimes, not keep it for their needs.

“What do you mean there was no one in your position on Lyra?”

“I don’t want control. I want freedom. I earn that freedom by gaining knowledge. I don’t care to run your precious isle, I only wish to know everything possible about those who do.” He crossed his legs, a smug smile on his lips. “There was no one here who held all the cards. Not until me.”

“Does the Temple Master know?”

“Of course,” the Snake Charmer said plainly. “He knows about all that happens on Lyra. But we do so for different reasons, so we coexist harmoniously. He fuels my needs, I protect his.”

There was more to that sentence that Roremar needed to peel apart, but he didn’t like the way the Snake Charmer was grinning at him. He wouldn’t ask now; refused to show that intrigue.

The other spectators howled as the dance continued, the music quicker now. Each one received a lethal glare from Roremar in turn. None of their eyes deserved to be on Emmeline. She belonged to him, only him.

That wasn’t true.

You will be her ruin.

But tonight, in this place, with their eyes on her, she belonged more to him than any of them. He was the one who knew her, who had spent weeks learning her, protecting her. And he would carve out their eyes if their attention made her uncomfortable.

The Snake Charmer snapped his fingers and shadows moved around the edges of the room, toward the stage, and when they stepped into the light⁠—

“What in the Fate’s fucking grave?” Roremar cursed.

Serpents. Huge onyx serpents thick as his wrist.

The men draped them around the dancers’ shoulders as if they were props to enhance the performance. Many of the women were at ease, caressing the scaled beasts and moving effortlessly with them. But terror flashed through Emmeline’s eyes as two were wrapped around her. As they coiled and slithered over her soft skin.

He couldn’t take this. Couldn’t sit here when no one else could see—or cared about—the fear dancing in her eyes. Grumbling, he stood from his seat and paced before the curtain separating the third section of the room. The one more and more men were disappearing behind with whoever they bought for the evening.

“Keep talking,” he demanded of the Snake Charmer. “What does she think you know about the women being murdered?”

“What are your leads?” the man asked, seeming genuinely intrigued, though his eyes were locked on the stage.

“Been looking at cults and the Fates they’re loyal to.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t touch any of that stuff. Barely deal with the Fates at all. My alignment is weak.”

An odd thing to declare. Or something that made him more powerful. He was confident enough that he didn’t care who knew his magic was weak.

“Trade patterns? Some numbers have been off regarding imports from Alvan.”

A smile curled on the Snake Charmers lips as the music shifted again. “Now you’re speaking my language. I know of every deal conducted on this isle.”

No wonder he was considered important enough for Falliare to work with.

“The murders seem like rituals. They each involve a specific tattoo. When we looked into the ink being imported onto the isle, the weights of crates are reported differently in every source.” He forced himself to explain it in precise detail, needing to distract himself. “I don’t know if it’s being stolen or misreported, but the only consistent thing is the inconsistencies.”

“That’s because it’s not ink in all of those shipments,” the Snake Charmer said, and Roremar paused his pacing. Not ink. He’d considered that as a possibility, but he’d had no proof. Finally, the serpent pulled his eyes from the stage, looking up at Roremar as he took another large sip of his drink. “My sources say there’s been a wide variety of plants brought onto Lyra recently.”