Page 149 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Roremar

The days between the fourth victim and the Remembrance Revels passed in a blur of files, theories, and pressure. Lyra Isle Guard had confiscated an abundance of mint plants from Viperous Vices, and Roremar and Darcy spent an entire day combing through the dirt looking for anything out of place.

He’d come up empty and was beginning to believe the mint was a coincidence purchased by multiple victims and not a clue at all. So he’d gone back to the beginning. He’d revisited crimes scenes, comparing notes and witness accounts. Nothing filled the final gaps in his mind.

Every evening, while Emmeline was meeting with students for exam preparation, he went to the Mezzanine and demanded to see the Snake Charmer, but the serpent evaded him time and again. If Emmeline hadn’t been so certain he wasn’t involved, Roremar would have marked him as guilty from the avoidance alone.

But he had to admit, Brutus Celvo had set himself up nicely on Lyra. He had a lot to lose and nothing to gain from mass murders, especially having such a weak Fate tie—a fact Roremar had verified at the Accords.

Before Roremar knew it, he was facing down the eve of the festival with a lot of leads crossed off his list and no more secured. Wanting a change of scenery and something physical to do while his mind toiled through possibilities, he offered to help Desmond unload his latest ink shipment.

“Holy Fates, these are heavy,” Roremar groaned, unloading a crate from the cart outside of Desmond’s mother’s apartment.

“Lot heavier when I’m doing it alone,” Desmond said, hoisting the last one onto the bottom step and pausing to drag his hair back from his face, tucking it beneath his dark hood. “Thanks for helping.”

“Of course.” Roremar wiped his brow, sweating despite the chilled dusk air. “Would’ve been here a lot more if you only told me.”

“Hypocrite,” Des muttered with a grin that Roremar matched.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

Desmond rolled his eyes, climbing the short flight of stairs to unlock the door. The wide, flat stones were cracked but smooth beneath their booted steps, small potted plants lining either side. Quaint, cared for, but unassuming.

Before Desmond opened the door, Roremar put a hand on his shoulder.

“I do want to apologize.” He’d been attempting to frame the words the whole walk up here, but none of them ever felt right. Now, standing on the threshold of Des’s mother’s new safe haven—or new in his mind, at least—he needed to at least get something out before they crossed that boundary. Needed a clear slate with his best friend.

“Listening,” Desmond said, brow quirked.

“I know you think I chose Emmeline over you when I went to the Mezzanine with her and brought her back to the apartment after. And I get why it looks like that, but trust me, that wasn’t about her.”

“Not about her?” Desmond echoed.

“I didn’t go to the Mezz because it was her. I went to follow a lead.” Desmond leveled him a knowing glare, but Roremar forged on. “I swear, we went there with a clear agreement between us. Just partners on this job.” No matter how desperately he wanted her. “I told her it wasn’t my issue to forgive, but I knew I had to work with her.” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He had to keep going, be honest with Des. “And then…”

“And then?” Desmond led when he paused.

Then, she’d shattered my entire fucking world when she told me about her past.

“Then, she told me some things that put her and her inability to trust either of us into a new perspective.”

It wasn’t surprising that Emmeline was closed off. Realms, she was more than closed off. She had such a thick armor, he’d have thought it was welded to her skin. It made sense that she’d been easily suspicious of Desmond with all the evidence stacked against him and didn’t trust Roremar enough to tell him, but also that she didn’t understand the friendship and bone-deep reliance they shared.

To her, bonds like that rarely existed, and when they did, they were ripped away.

He’d told her the other night when he looked at her, he saw someone free, someone that wasn’t tied down the way he was and would be for eternity. But perhaps that was only one angle.

Emmeline DeLeoste didn’t think herself free. She’d forced herself into her own isolation.

And that drove a fucking blade through his chest.

Desmond’s boisterous laugh broke through Roremar’s trance. “You lovesick fool. I knew it.”

He straightened, shaking away the distraction. “I’m not a lovesick fool. We’re friends.”

No matter how badly I want her.

“I called this from the beginning.” Desmond hoisted the top crate back into his arms.