Page 196 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Enya and the Head of the Lyra Accords had pulled weapons of their own and barreled into the fight, but Emmeline didn’t know if they were fighting for her or against her. She couldn’t pause to find out.

Magic thrummed through her veins, dangerously close to bursting with the combined effects of the incense in the air and the heightened pressure from the past few days.

Desmond called out, “Emmeline!”

She whirled as he was slammed into a shelf, books and baubles tumbling down as he ducked. Glass shattered and sliced his cheek, but Desmond dodged a sharp blow to his side and flipped a guard into the shelves. The man’s head snapped back, and he sank to the floor.

Wiping away the blood, Desmond nodded toward the door, and Emmeline spun. “Fates,” she swore.

Guards were dragging Roremar into the hall. Desmond had two soldiers of his own he was still trying to rip through, the constellation of gemstones in Roremar’s sword reflecting the mystlights overhead.

Heartbeat pounding in her ears, Emmeline bolted for the door. She leaped over the debris and skidded across the marble.

They’d dragged Roremar halfway down the hall. Art hung askew on the walls, statues and the small decorative tables between doorways toppled and broken from the fight, windows shattered.

As she ran, Emmeline ripped small single-bladed knives from her person and one by one launched them at the guards standing between her and Roremar. Each met its mark, one a killing blow to the back of the neck. The others wounded them enough to make them stumble.

Roremar struck out repeatedly with the weapon she’d thrown him, refusing to let go of it. One of the guards corralling him threw a punch that landed square against his cheek.

As he pulled his fist back for a second, Roremar let him get closer. Then, he drove his dagger into the man’s wrist. Emmeline cried out in desperate victory.

A guard intercepted her, swiping down with his sword. She dodged again and again, attention flicking between him and Roremar.

He was still at a clear disadvantage, but Emmeline saw the determination in every flex of his muscles. The calculation as he spotted a silver light fixture jutting out from the wall overhead.

Roremar jumped just in time to miss a blow to his ankle and looped the chain between his wrists around the wall mount. The mystlight orb shattered, glass shards raining down on him and magic bursting in the air. He kicked the sword of one guard away and nailed a second in the jaw. The man’s head cracked to the side, and unsure whether he was dead or alive, Emmeline took the chance.

She rammed a knife into the gut of the guard before her.

Then, she took running strides, using the body of the guard Roremar had knocked out as leverage to push off the ground and tackle one of his companions.

Roremar yelled for her as they went rolling across the velvet carpet, glass crunching beneath them. Her braid tangled in the mess, sharp slices stinging her cheeks. The man tried to crush her to the floor, but Emmeline grabbed his hair and wrenched his head back.

She couldn’t reach her weapons, but she twisted his neck. His spine bent at an odd angle, and she used the leverage to force him up.

His large hand found her sternum, and he shoved her down so hard, she was surprised the wood beneath the rug didn’t splinter. Air rushed from her lungs.

She threw up an arm to block his next blow to her cheek as she tried to suck down a breath, eyes watering. Something in her chest felt like it had splintered. She missed his second hit, and her teeth clattered together as pain erupted in her cheekbone.

“Fucking Fates,” she coughed.

The guard atop her reached for her throat, but Emmeline shoved one leg between them, driving her boot into his gut.

“Deranged whore,” he wheezed out. “Why are you trying to help him? We all know he’s cursed.”

She didn’t bother to explain to this man how wrong he was, saving her energy to fight. All she said was, “Because he’s mine.”

Emmeline tried to wedge her other knee between them to throw him off, but his arm looped around her waist, flipping her so he pinned her to the ground on her stomach, unable to kick or punch. The pinch in her chest splintered further, lungs seizing.

Winding one hand around her braid, he pulled her to her knees and pressed her against his chest. His other arm pinned hers to her sides, legs bracketing her knees.

“Well, what’s yours is about to get everything he deserves.”

Emmeline blinked away the water still streaming from her eyes, shaking her head to steady her view.

“Roremar!” she tried to yell, but her voice was lost in her chest.

As the guards forced him down the hall, taking slices from his blades, Emmeline realized where they were heading. That door that had remained shut every time she’d been in the Trade House, a heavy iron chain and lock securing it.