Page 14 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Falliare’s knowing grin curled in response. “I expect not, dear Emmeline.”

Chapter Six

Roremar

If there was one thing Roremar was certain of, it was that the grin Emmeline DeLeoste flashed meant trouble.

And fuck if trouble wasn’t his weakness.

But he didn’t have time for the particular brand she seemed to harbor. A quiet, sharp cunning seethed behind her stare as she assessed him one last time before leaving, like a serpent waiting to strike. She quickly bottled it up, from conniving to smirking before he could fully dissect any of it.

A mystery. That’s what she’d turned herself into with that facade. And Roremar had always loved unraveling a puzzle.

The door closed with a soft click after Emmeline, but Roremar’s gaze remained on the frame, the train of her skirt still slithering across the stone in his mind.

“Roremar!” a harsh voice snapped.

“Yes, Uncle? Sorry.” He tore his eyes away from the polished oak door, spine straightening when he met the judgmental glare awaiting him.

Judgment and…something else. Something there and gone in a flash before he could give it a name.

Spirits, he was exhausted. He’d gone straight home immediately after receiving his uncle’s summons at Fated Ink last night, but it was like his mind had been working the entire time he’d tried to sleep.

Roremar rubbed his eyes as Aldryn tied back his silver hair and strode around the desk, the grey shining like a helmet in the mystlight. Unbuttoning his cloak, he tossed it across his overly grand wingback chair, the rich leather not baring a single scuff.

“You can handle this, correct?” Aldryn phrased it like a question as he took his seat, long fingers flicking hastily through the paperwork crowding the surface, but Roremar knew better. His uncle was always in control. Just as he navigated the leaders of the Constellation Isles so Lyra held their balance in its hand, he orchestrated everything around him to stack up against him. To make himself a lynchpin that if removed, would send them all crumbling.

Sometimes, Roremar pictured them all as surviving on a scale—the isles, his family, everything. And his meticulous uncle had the power to tip them to their ruin.

Whether it was because of Aldryn’s upbringing—with a father who expected greatness from his eldest son and a younger sister who was sick—or something else entirely, he seemed to thrive off maintaining authority.

And since Roremar had permanently returned from the army ten years ago, wounds he’d never recover from gaping through his soul, that included over him.

So while the words may have been phrased as an inquiry, Roremar knew there was no option at all.

“Yes, of course, I can handle it.” Wandering over to the brass telescope pointing out the window, he swiveled it to the ancient map of the Constellation Isles curving across the rounded wall, the parchment worn behind its glass case, and immediately located the Temple Academy.

“The case and watching out for, Miss DeLeoste?”

What was so important about this instructor that his uncle was so concerned? Roremar couldn’t guess other than the hints about her magic being strong, but his mind was already framing the shape of the puzzle.

A dangerous plan was forming—one that involved lingering in the corridor to sneak into this office once his uncle left and search for Emmeline’s file.

“She’s just a woman. How difficult can it be to guard her?” Without pulling back from the eyepiece, Roremar held up the leather-bound file with the information on the missing Starsearchers. “No one does anything without leaving a trail. The culprit will have done something sloppy, and we’ll wrap this up within the week.”

Aldryn’s smirk was evident in his tone as he stamped papers with the Lyra sigil. “You sound certain.”

“No offense, but even you know Lyra Isle Guard has been lazy as all Fates in recent years.”

It may have been a blunt thing to say to the man effectively in charge of the legions who retired from active battle and became officers on the isles, but Roremar never had a sense of self-preservation when it came to his words. He stated things as he saw them and dealt with the fallout of overly sensitive souls later. Why should it be his job to cater to them? Spirits knew the world never did.

Besides, he suspected his uncle respected that about him.

Even if he didn’t miss an opportunity to remind Roremar of his reckless reputation. Indignation heated his chest. His hand tightened around the body of the telescope, but he kept his attention trained on the eyepiece, looking at nothing at all.

“That may be,” Aldryn said, derision gravelly in his voice, “but you are required to work with them. Do not sow more discord on my isle.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Roremar knew a few soldiers in law enforcement who were decent men. He’d reach out to them to ask what they’d already found. Finally straightening, he crossed his arms and voiced the fact he’d rather ignore. “When I first started in the army, I was stationed on reconnaissance rather than active battle. That’s why you picked me for this, isn’t it?”