Page 158 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

He glanced silently at Emmeline. She nodded, stare stern and triple-blade between her fingers.

Heart thudding, Roremar stroked Cirre’s crescent moon as he stepped around her, Emmeline at his back.

Dim yellow light permeated a curtain of moss. Setting the lantern down, Roremar pulled his sword and listened. There wasn’t so much as a breath waiting on the other side.

He brushed aside the soft partition, the end sweeping against the floor.

Hesitantly, they stepped into a large domed cavern, packed dirt walls speckled with glittering gemstones and veins of minerals. Cobwebbed mystlight lanterns hung overhead and an overwhelming array of flowers coated one wall, rising up to the ceiling where they grew sparser. Vines stretched out around them, sinking into the dirt.

Their petals were a medley of pinks dotted with white and silver centers. A heavy floral aroma coated the air, wrapping tighter around Roremar with every step. It was vaguely familiar, something in the back of his brain sparking.

“Is this…what kind of flowers are these?” Emmeline whispered.

“I don’t know,” Roremar muttered, scanning the walls of florals, sword at the ready. Large triangular petals the size of his hand flopped over, but the cavern was still. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before.

Emmeline swayed into his side.

“Are you okay?”

She blinked clouded hazel eyes up at him. “No, Roremar, I think you have seen them before. In a way. They’re the same as the Storyteller’s Lair.”

“The Storyteller’s…” he muttered. He’d been so preoccupied with getting her out of there, he barely remembered what flowers decorated the chamber or what scents layered the air. Spirits, it was so unlike him to be so unobservant. “They were in the incense.”

Her head bobbed, but he could see the pieces clicking together even as the scent consumed her. Just as it had that night, and when she’d passed out in the tub after they found the first body…

“Holy fucking Angels,” Roremar muttered.

They hadn’t seen these specific flowers before, but they sure as stars had smelled them.

Words slurring, Emmeline voiced his thoughts. “It’s the same petals and ash that have been scattered around all the victims, in their original form. This is where they’re getting them from.”

“Wait a second,” Roremar said. Looping one arm around her waist, he pulled the small linen pouch from his pocket and pried it open. “Smell this.”

She barely ducked over the bag before blinking furiously. “Same thing.”

“Fuck,” Roremar swore. “Darcy gave me these. They found them in the cave with the star carving. I think they’re the ones being smuggled onto the isle in ink crates. The ones laced into drugs and into the murders.”

“The seeds are growing flowers being used for incense,” Emmeline said, words dragging more and more. “Whatever it is, it must call to Anphrosia Fate ties, probably something the killer can track. And it’s very…potent.”

“It must be what they’re burning around the bodies for their ritual. The first body didn’t have ash, and you said you didn’t faint until after the second, right?” She nodded sleepily. “Liana had been moved, so anything lingering wouldn’t have been enough to affect you. And here…” Roremar eyed the moss curtains strung periodically around the cavern. “We’re so deep in the tunnels, I bet one of those offshoots connects to the one with the star carving.”

Roremar tucked the seeds away so Emmeline wouldn’t be exposed any more than she already was.

“If this is what’s hidden in the imports, is it also what’s laced in the bad drugs on Lyra?” Emmeline panted.

“Probably,” Roremar agreed. “I’d bet some of the flowers are finding their way into drugs and having adverse effects on those not tied to Anphrosia. And it’s marking the ones who are as targets.” The hallucinations, the crazed highs. Everything made sense.

“Emmeline, you know what this is?”

“What?” she breathed.

“This is the killer’s den.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she leaned against him. “We’ve almost got the son of a bitch. And this is what we need for Falliare to keep his promises.”

Emmeline blinked up at him, and he could see the hint of success in her hazy eyes. “Enough to solve it.”

Roremar grinned down at her—both of their dreams so within reach—but worry gnawed at his chest as she grew more dazed. “We should get you out of here.”

“No,” Emmeline insisted. “Let’s make sure we’ve gotten all the evidence first.”