Page 130 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Plants?”

“Seeds, more specifically.”

Seeds. Could it be a part of the strain of drugs that was dangerous to Starsearchers? Or perhaps some plant that’s then processed into oil or incense that the victims bought?

“Do you know the specifics? Anything that has to do with Anphrosia?” Roremar asked.

“No specifics. Just vast quantities throwing off the weights and numbers of inkwells in those crates.”

“Where are they going?”

“Apothecaries scattered around the isle, Peddler’s District and the Cursed Markets, some smaller settlements on the west coast. My guess is most don’t know they’re not supposed to be in their orders. The way things are packaged, it’s all blending in.”

“Seeds,” Roremar repeated beneath his breath as he braced his hands on the back of his chair.

Emmeline moved, the serpent coiling around her. He explained what they’d learned from the Storytellers, focusing very hard on each word and not the icy fear taking root in his chest.

The Snake Charmer finished his drink, setting it on the table between their chairs. “When I’m hunting for answers, I start closer to home. To the heart.”

“They’re after women with Anphrosia Fate ties,” Roremar added, explaining what the Storytellers told them.

“You think it’s unrequited love?” The Snake Charmer twirled the hoop in his lip, seeming genuinely intrigued.

“You don’t?” Roremar asked.

He shrugged. “Could be, but I think it’s more likely the oldest motive on any realm.”

“Which is?”

“Revenge.”

That word clanged through his mind as Emmeline swept a leg out⁠—

And Roremar’s entire world turned to starfire.

The Fate Realm could have opened before him, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Because along her thighs, delicate crescent-shaped scars were scattered.

Bite marks.

They sprinkled her skin—skin she usually kept hidden beneath long skirts or leathers. That he’d been going too crazy to notice until the light hit them just right.

The snakes draping her frame…Fates, how many times had she done this to receive so many? There had to be over a dozen small punctures, one brutal one at least. And how careful was she with the pets—while in such pain—that she kept them in a place so intimate, she could hide the scars easily?

Bile gathered in the back of his throat, his sword burning at his back.

“How much fucking longer?” he growled.

“Only a few minutes.”

“End it now,” he demanded.

“Can’t.” The Snake Charmer laughed. “The pets get feisty when I do.”

“You think they’re bad?” Roremar threatened. “Remember what I said about your entrails.”

But he waited, refusing to be a reason for another scar on Emmeline’s body. Fates, it was the longest few minutes of his life.