Page 16 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Fine,” he responded. It was the only option if he wanted this over quickly.

“Thank you.” Again, Roremar knew that gratitude was simply another fucking mask. You didn’t say no to his uncle. “Protect her, Roremar. With everything you have.”

“Like I said. She’s simply one woman.”

He flashed one of those knowing smirks that set Roremar on edge. “Certainly, son. She is nothing more than that.”

An hour later, after carefully searching his uncle’s office for Emmeline’s file, Roremar was still fuming about the job he’d been given as he strode down the wide corridors of Lyra Temple Academy. It had been years since he’d been back here, and never in a Fate’s starry-eyed fuck did he think he’d be back like this.

An instructor?

His uncle was truly deluded if he thought Roremar had time for this.

He groaned, dragging a ringed hand through his waves as he rounded a corner into the main courtyard that connected the Academy and the Temple, nostalgia crashing into him and settling his pounding heart.

The facades of the two structures faced each other, elaborately carved into sculptures and ornamentation that had existed for thousands of years and would for thousands of years more.

Columns framed the grand space, the Academy taking up three sides of the rectangular yard. Legends said the ancient stone grounds had been here since the Angels first walked Ambrisk. Though now they were lined with benches and the remnants of students’ school days, ferns, palms, and lush flowers as tall as a grown man weaving around the perimeter. A pair of wide, feathered wings were carved into the cracked stone floor. Roremar didn’t believe the superstition that you shouldn’t step on Valyrie’s wings in the temple courtyard for fear of bringing bad luck on the isles, so he strode right on through.

Twelve stained-glass windows lined the second story on either side. Windows he’d looked at for years back when he wasn’t shackled with so much responsibility and guilt.

But those pressures were the very reason he was here today. The reason that he couldn’t turn down his uncle’s offer.

Skylights within the building were positioned so constant light streamed through the vibrant patterns, each projecting a sigil of a Fate to a rippling pool of color below.

An eagle with lightning striking from its open mouth adorned the first, its golden rays pouring over Roremar’s boots.

Next, a shield baring a helmeted war hound and a ring of triple blades bathed him in crimsons and violets, taking him back so thoroughly to bloody battlefields, he jolted when his step didn’t land in a sticky puddle.

Soothing, soft pinks calmed his pounding heart as he forced himself forward, passing beneath the flawless naked statue of a female with roses blooming in her steps and a veil across her eyes.

On they went, and he didn’t damn well care about any of the Fates. Wasn’t sure he even believed in them.

He stopped beneath the last one, chin tilting up as he leaned against a pillar beneath the shaded overhang and studied the sigil. A jungle cat framed by a twining ring of grape vines and ivy, two pitchers of wine at the feline’s mighty paws: one overflowing and one broken. It was the only window where the skylight within the academy had been sealed over. The glare of the sun from the others was so bright, his vision spotted as he blinked up at them⁠—

A body slammed into his shoulder, one dainty but firm hand grasping his wrists and quickly looping a tight leather band around them to restrain him, the other hand snapping to his neck before he could even respond.

“What in the Fates⁠—”

“Stop talking,” she commanded.

“Emmeline?” He hadn’t even heard a slight breeze at her approach. “You’re awfully fucking quiet, aren’t you?”

Leaning forward as the black spots cleared from his vision, a pair of striking—oddly familiar—hazel eyes met his. But with the slight shift, cool metal pressed into his neck. He glanced down, balking at the three sharp points laced between her fingers. “A triple blade? What are you fucking doing?”

He didn’t acknowledge the surprise that she even had the weapon, let alone retained such an expert grip on it. Something about this fed into the mystery he’d been weaving in his mind since she left his uncle’s office.

“Valyrie’s tits, you can’t even follow a simple direction,” Emmeline muttered beneath her breath.

Roremar laughed, the blade scratching his throat as it bobbed. “Valyrie’s tits? Careful, Miss DeLeoste.” He pressed an inch further, something in him purring in satisfaction as her eyes dropped to where the slip of metal dug into his skin. He didn’t flinch, relishing it. “Wouldn’t want the impressionable children to hear you.”

“They utter worse on an hourly basis,” she retorted, but her eyes flicked to either side, as if ensuring none of her students were lurking in the shadows.

“But you’re supposed to be such a perfect example for them, are you not? The darling of the isle, appointed by the Temple Master himself and beloved by the Fates? And now you’re holding a dagger to my throat?”

“What are you talking about?” Emmeline hissed, stepping closer. Her tits pressed against his chest, the blade in her hand close enough to her own throat that with one quick flick, she could kill either of them. Perhaps that was the game she wanted to play, this power balance.

“You don’t think I took an assignment without digging, do you?” Though technically he’d already accepted before searching his uncle’s office. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much to find beyond Emmeline having been given her position at the Academy six years ago thanks to her exceptional readings, the strength of her Fate tie, and the fact that she wanted to transfer to Valyn.