Page 22 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Starfire flickered around the edges of her vision, a pair of steel-grey eyes burrowing into her between every blink.

And finally, though terror at how exposed this left her threatened to claw at her throat, she closed her eyes, and the voices consumed her.

Chapter Eight

Roremar

Roremar’s fingers drummed impatiently on the table, light bouncing off his rings as he watched Emmeline read. There was something intrinsic about the way she fell into the session. With so many Starsearchers—even with Desmond—their magic seemed to pull at them, demanding their attention. It always made Roremar feel like they were no more than objects to the Fates.

But Emmeline’s hazel eyes slipped closed like she was falling into a dream, and the cloud of lilac-tinged incense wafted around them. It was as if the reading from her Fate tie seeped into her, coiled around her and melted against her skin rather than grasping her viciously.

Why had she seemed so reluctant to read when it was so…effortless?

A soft, peaceful expression settled over her features—one Roremar had yet to see on her. Long lashes drooped over faintly freckled cheeks, lips parting on slow breaths. Her brow creased ever so slightly as she communed with whoever lay on the other end of her connection.

But even the presence of a reading set his teeth grinding.

Crossing one ankle over his knee, he cracked his neck, studying the blackened steel ring adorning his middle finger. A gift from his father, he often tried to ground himself with it. The grooves throughout the medal swallowed the cloying presence of the burning incense, the only spot around the table that seemed free of the shit.

The uncontrollable nature of readings wasn’t something Roremar appreciated. He detested the way it left searchers defenseless. His fingers quickened their tempo against the table as memories flashed through his mind.

He’d seen too many warriors unable to wrench themselves back from the Fates on a battlefield before a blade sank into their chest. Had seen his own plans go to the Spirit Realm because one reading said changed fortunes at the last moment.

Warm blood across his hands, things he didn’t want to name beneath his knees as he crouched in the dirt⁠—

“What is it, Restless?” Emmeline murmured, her eyes still closed.

Roremar balked. “You have one foot in the reading, and you can still speak to me?”

Emmeline cracked an eye open, hazel irises burning in a way that would have made Roremar stumble if he hadn’t been seated. “As the research you undoubtedly did on me told you, I am very in tune with my magic.”

She closed her eyes again, her chest rising on a deep breath.

Very in tune with her magic be damned. Emmeline was a masterpiece.

Typically, sessions swept a Starsearcher away, made it impossible to pull them back unless it was the will of the Fates. But the way she slipped into it so seamlessly was impressive, even to Roremar who hated admitting anything about being dictated by the Fates was natural. No wonder Uncle Aldryn had chosen her to lead this mission.

Despite the colorful adjustments she kept making to his nickname and her shock at him having read the files, he had to admit, she was an asset.

Or he thought she would be, until she groaned in frustration, her arms crossing abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, twirling a finger around the rim of his glass. All interest in his breakfast was forgotten as he watched her. Though he’d only ordered so much food because she seemed adamant not to, and he knew from his sisters’ habits that halfway through the meal she’d be looking longingly at his plate, wishing for more.

Emmeline folded her arms tighter, and Roremar had the distinct impression she was a spring ready to snap. An instinct he didn’t understand coiled inside of her, but he could tell she compressed it with every ounce of stubborn will the Angels had gifted her. With an elongated exhale, the burning in her hazel eyes dimmed.

“It seems the stars don’t wish to be helpful,” Emmeline bit out.

“Of course,” he sighed. The fucking stars. When were they ever helpful? Roremar shook his head, aggravation grating through his lungs at the damn celestials that mapped out the skies.

“What did your Fate tell you?” He attempted to be civil.

“Nothing,” Emmeline ground out, not meeting his eyes.

He squinted at her. “You’re lying.”

Her fidgeting and avoidance were clear indications: This Starsearcher who read like it was her first language was being deceptive.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have accused her. He should have tucked away the knowledge and waited for what she revealed as her guard dropped over time.