Page 200 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Guards and isle officials watched them from what remained of the hallway. Desmond met Roremar’s eye, shaking his head. He didn’t know what was happening either. This—whatever Emmeline had done—hadn’t been a part of their plan.

At Roremar’s back, beneath the bursts of magic, all of Lyra sprawled. The oceans reflected the starry eruption above and crowds lined the streets to watch. The best view on the isle, putting them on display.

Cradling Emmeline to his chest, Roremar tilted his head to the sky. Dust swirled from the explosion, stinging his eyes and catching in his throat, but he watched as eleven constellations aligned in a halo overhead.

And from the remaining shreds of the seeing chamber, much gentler than when they’d been ripping at him, beams of light stretched out. They reached for the woman in his arms, each connecting her to one of the constellations above.

In their depths, stars swirled and symbols sprang to life.

A hammer, forge, and hounds in one.

A serpent, lyre, and sun in the next.

In a third, poppies both wilted and in full bloom.

Roremar named each Fate they belonged to as they went, and when he got to the end, he’d accounted for every Fate but the one whose tie he bore. Shock barreled through him.

Magic continued to roar around them, the building shaking and stars burning, but he whispered, “How many Fate ties do you really have, Emmeline?”

When she looked up at him, her eyes were solid silver. And she answered, “Eleven.”

At the confession, starlight exploded, shooting into the sky and across the isle. He gripped her tighter, squinting against it.

Eleven?

Emmeline had eleven fucking Fate ties.

Fortunes whirled through the tunnel of light that shrouded them. Her fortunes, he realized. The seeing chamber, in all its destruction resulting from Emmeline jumping into it, was projecting the fortunes the stars passed her into the sky for all the Starsearchers of Lyra to see.

For his uncle and the other isle officials to see.

So many of them were of him. A thousand ways his life could play out if they allowed him to live.

This was what Emmeline was searching for in that moment. A path from the stars that guaranteed he wouldn’t be a threat to anyone else.

It wasn’t likely, he knew. The Fates were inevitable—that’s what his father had taught him—and that included Dryvius. With the stains already on his conscience, not even the Fates could guarantee he wasn’t a danger.

Magic poured off Emmeline, gathering in the air around them. The pressure of it cracked against his skin like tiny stars exploding.

This was it, he realized. This was her final secret.

It was the reason her mother died. The reason they’d been hunting her in the first place. The reason she thought she should have been taken instead of her sister, and the reason she never allowed anyone close to her. Eleven Fate ties—an impossibility; an abundance never before seen; a power people would covet and kill for.

And she dove right into this seeing chamber after him tonight knowing there would be no way to hide it any longer. She gave it all up for him.

Roremar pressed his lips to her head and whispered, “Thank you, Huntress.”

Eleven Fate ties.

He’d never heard of anyone having more than two, but his Huntress was tied to all the living Fates, and he was the twelfth. Together, they fulfilled the entire pantheon. Held the Fates in the palm of their hands, some twisted star-crossed puzzle that both forced them together and wrenched them apart. Because she was pure magic, and he was nothing but carnage.

No wonder he’d been so infatuated with her.

Fuck, infatuation didn’t even begin to cover it.

No wonder he…His throat tightened.

She completed him. She didn’t just make it so that he could breathe again, she was the missing piece of a bridge that would carry him across the choppy water he’d been toiling through for so many years.