Page 17 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

She didn’t need to know that, though.

Fear flared in her hazel eyes at his implication. What was she worried he found? Roremar added the piece to his mental puzzle as he studied her reactions.

“Why did Falliare choose you?” she asked, stare sharpening, a dozen different colors in the hazels.

“Falliare?” Roremar repeated. “Where’s your respect for the Temple Master, Miss DeLeoste?”

“Are you going to run and tattle on me? Answer the question,” she demanded.

Spirits, this woman. She had her guard so far up, it rivaled his.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You said you did your research.” A tremor worked through her voice, and it had his reckless side leaning forward.

“Finding out from the source always proves much more interesting,” he taunted. He knew she wanted to transfer to Valyn, but her file hadn’t contained details. “People say so much between their words.”

Whatever Emmeline heard between his had her pressing forward again. Her heart hammered as her body pinned him to the stone pillar, her voice pure steel. “Stop with your questions and riddles, and tell me why—out of every damn Starsearcher on this isle—Falliare chose you to help me with this.”

“I believe based on the way you found it necessary to restrain my hands and have a dagger at the ready that my reputation precedes me?” He had to force the words through gritted teeth.

“Yes, what is it again, Roremar the Witless?”

“Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?” He scoffed. “Aldryn likely chose me because he knows I’m more than capable of defending both myself and someone he deems necessary to solving this problem quickly and quietly to keep his isle running. Short answer: He values you, and I’m someone he trusts.” He left out the facts about their personal relationship that he was sure also influenced the decision.

“Why does he find you trustworthy if your reputation is anything but?”

Lightning speared through his vision at that accusation.

“A bit presumptuous of you,” Roremar spat, wrenching his hands from where she still held them and ripping free of the band. Emmeline jolted back, but Roremar followed, gripping her hips and spinning them so now she was the one pinned to the column, hearts thundering between them. “To answer your question,” he breathed, rough and low, “Aldryn has known me for a while, and I’ve more than earned that trust. That’s all you need to know.”

Probably a lie, but his hackles had raised at her last argument—as they always did when someone treated him like a reckless fool—and he wasn’t going to show her any other side of him.

Roremar’s hands tightened on her waist, the sharp edges of the twelve-pointed stars on her silver chain belt biting into his palms. The thing was lethal, disjointed with the soft indigo cotton dress.

Emmeline studied him with eyes much shrewder than any routine Academy instructor had any business being. Her jaw set in what he recognized as the same reluctant determination he’d shown Aldryn.

“It looks like we’re stuck together, then,” she finally conceded.

“You’ve realized.”

“We start tomorrow.” She squirmed out of his hold. “I’ll meet you at sunrise—before lessons—to go over the files. Don’t be late and do not do anything reckless to get in the way of us solving these disappearances quickly. Now I have to go. I have a class starting in ten minutes, and if I’m late the impressionable children will think they can be, too.”

She spun on her heel, the stained glass from the second story sending an array of colored legends spilling over her swaying hips and cascading chestnut waves. And as he watched her go, the venom in her parting words stuck with him.

She’d been so adamant about finding out why Aldryn wanted him involved in this and ensuring he didn’t mess it up for her, he hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask the obvious question. His uncle promised her a transfer to Valyn if they were successful, but what was in the capital that made her so desperate?

Chapter Seven

Emmeline

Emmeline had to admit, a part of her was surprised when Roremar knocked on her door the next morning, the sun barely risen. She’d been prepared to track him down, perhaps drag his ass out of bed if he was anything like some of the young male instructors at Lyra Temple Academy who tended to shirk the earlier lessons.

Apparently, Roremar was a morning person. Or he made himself be one. But the grimace he greeted her with when she opened the door to her dormitory didn’t quite scream that he was happy to be here.

“What are you doing?” Emmeline asked.

“Good morning, Miss DeLeoste. I slept well, thank you for asking,” he said, leaning against the wooden frame.