Page 192 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

The world came to a screeching halt. The quickest wave of relief washed through him because someone finally said the words he’d been holding in.

But it was instantly drowned by panic.

Roremar was laid bare, the secret he’d spent his entire life concealing flayed open. The wounds he’d never healed raw and bloodied. A piece of damn meat for the leaders in this room and the people of Lyra beyond the doors.

Emmeline went on, “The Fate of Chaos and Revelry is the one who has been killing the women tied to Anphrosia. And he has been using Roremar to do it.” Her hazel eyes flashed with understanding. Like the guilt Roremar had been feeling ever since he first put the pieces together weighed on her, too.

The room was in uproar, the officials all clamoring to get their questions out.

“What are you saying?”

“The Fates don’t walk this realm.”

“Dryvius has been dead for an eternity.”

He couldn’t find it in him to answer their questions, didn’t know who was shouting what. All he could do was look at Emmeline, a thousand unspoken stories they were meant to tell the stars passing between them. One by one, he watched them wink out of existence.

Do you want me to be the one to say it? Her stare asked him.

He shook his head. He had to do it. It was his responsibility, and he’d failed at so many others.

“My Fate tie,” Roremar choked out, and the room fell silent. In his mind, he said goodbye to Emmeline DeLeoste forever. Because she might not grasp what this was about to do, but he did.

Fates, he wished he could have one more night with her. To damn all their rules and fully worship her as she deserved. To tell her all the things he’d been thinking, the dreams he’d told the stars while she slept.

But fate was a fickle bitch, and his was the bleakest of all. He didn’t know why—why him out of everyone—but he supposed that was a question he could ask the Spirits later.

He cleared his throat and said, “My Fate tie is the Fate of Chaos and Revelry.”

Chapter Sixty-Five

Emmeline

Her heart cracked at Roremar’s confession.

Not because she thought it was shameful or because she was afraid of him. But she knew what it took for him to admit this secret he’d kept buried so far down, it was hidden from everyone, even those who mattered most to him.

“That’s not possible,” Maeson asserted, shaking his head. “Dryvius doesn’t have any Fate ties—there are none alive today. With his execution, his constellation was carved from the sky with a blade of rock from Fatetouched land on my isle and anointed in stardust, precious minerals, and the tears of the Fates. It killed all the Fate ties with him. We’ve gone through the research again and again on Byron, and while every story of his death is different, they all relay that piece.”

“It’s true that it’s rare,” Emmeline said, still holding Roremar’s gaze. “But it has happened, once that we know of.”

“It is impossible, Miss DeLeoste.”

“You cannot prove that something is impossible, now can you?” Emmeline challenged. She desperately wanted Roremar to acknowledge that callback to their own debates, but he didn’t.

Please, Reckless. Spar with me.

“We have records from his death, though,” Maeson argued in that same infuriatingly calm voice that was scratching against Emmeline’s ears.

“For fuck’s sake,” Roremar grumbled, and it had a hint of his familiar undertone to it. Relief gripped Emmeline’s spirit. He was still in there. She could save him. “Clearly he didn’t fully die. I think I know my own damn Fate tie. He’s only been speaking to me since I was a child.”

“I think he does,” Desmond backed him up.

“How was the Dead Fate responsible for the murders, though?” Enya Yorren asked.

“He used Roremar,” Emmeline explained. “When he was asleep or inebriated, Dryvius took control of Roremar’s body through their Fate tie.” She pulled a book from the satchel slung over her shoulder, flipping to an excerpt about powerful Fate ties and holding it out to the officials in the room. “When Fate ties were first forged thousands of years ago, they were at their strongest. The Fates had a tremendous foothold in the minds of Starsearchers. Over time, though, as they created more of those connections, the individual bonds weakened. There is only so much magic in the realms after all, and the Balance of Power rarely creates more. The magic of each Fate spread out until they became what they are today, no more than channels for passing vague fortunes.”

“But Dryvius only has me,” Roremar said, as if the realization was just dawning. He looked at Emmeline like she was the Fates herself for clarifying this thing he’d never understood about himself. Her eyes stung at the weight of that gaze, at the gratitude.