Page 23 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

But Roremar the Reckless wasn’t known for doing what he should. He shoved his annoyance at the nickname to the back of his mind and let the instincts that caused it take over.

“I am not,” Emmeline swore. “I learned nothing about this case. In fact, she told me we should not be digging into this. We should in fact be avoiding it at all costs.”

“Sounds dramatic.”

“Well, Prophecy and Demise is known for theatrics,” Emmeline grumbled, folding and refolding her napkin atop the table.

Metrina was Emmeline’s Fate tie, then. Perhaps one of the most difficult, infamous for sending purposefully untrustworthy fortunes to her searchers, taking out her own horrific losses on them after her child died a brutal death. Maybe Emmeline had some advanced relationship with the jaded Fate, able to read her differently, and that was what made her magic so strong.

Roremar considered the stubborn set of her jaw and the steady cross of her arms. She didn’t appear to be lying, though his gut told him she wasn’t telling the full truth either.

And he couldn’t help his curious nature. Solving things made him feel more secure, and if he wanted to unpack the secrets this woman was clearly harboring, he’d have to play this smarter. A long game, instead of forcing an answer from her.

“Continue to try,” he pleaded. “When you have the readings to spare. In the meantime, in addition to the docks and Lyra Isle Guard, we should also visit the scenes it’s believed the two potential victims disappeared from.”

“With what authority?” Emmeline asked.

“Falliare’s.” Wasn’t that obvious?

“That would make us very visible while we work on this.”

Very visible? Of course, they would be visible. This was Lyra for Fates’ sake; he’d met a quarter of the population before, and they’d likely all see him out and about again now that he was being thrown into this hunt. “And you’re opposed to that because…”

“Because…then whoever is responsible will look toward the most obvious next victim: us.” The slight pause told him that wasn’t her whole truth.

“We won’t be able to find any answers without investigating,” Roremar challenged. “Plus, we need to do this quickly.”

Emmeline chewed her lip, not breaking her stare from Roremar’s as she clearly fought for an argument she wasn’t going to find.

“Don’t worry, Miss DeLeoste,” Roremar whispered, leaning across the table, purposely infringing on her space to try to rattle her, to learn her tells. To her credit, Emmeline didn’t back down. Didn’t flinch as he said, “I’ve never been afraid of my enemies seeing my face before they die.”

Emmeline tipped her chin up defiantly, that burning stare igniting right down to Roremar’s bones. But when she spoke, her voice was breathy. “You’re being senseless.”

A nerve rioted in his chest at that accusation, the fun of the game obliterating. He’d been trying so hard all morning to make this work. First by glossing over her baseless assumptions of him and then trying to help her relax and read.

But with that word and how utterly untrue it was, he dropped the reins of control.

“Senseless?” He lifted a brow, derision in his tone. “That’s a new one.”

“You said yourself I was clever,” she snapped. “I can’t fail to meet expectations.”

“Oh, come on now, Emmeline. If clever is what you’re going for, I believe you can do a bit better than senseless.” He dropped his voice so she had to lean toward him as he whispered in her ear. “What else are you doing all those hours locked away in your dormitory?”

She inhaled sharply, eyes flicking up to him from beneath her lashes, and Roremar smiled right back at her shock.

“I told you I did my research,” he whispered. “Asked around about you yesterday after you threatened me. Everyone said you’re very private.” Roremar leaned back in his chair, appreciating the deepening flush of her cheeks. “Of course, if you’d rather let my senseless imagination run wild with what you do alone in your bedchamber, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“As much as I know you’d appreciate the lessons I could teach you on that front, forget it, Senseless.” He bristled as Emmeline pushed back from the table, throwing silver coins down between them. A Fate’s sigil glimmered on each as she snatched up her satchel. “This partnership is never going to work. I’ll be better off on my own.”

“Fine by me,” Roremar muttered. “Do me a favor and tell the Temple Master it was your decision to call it off.”

And as she stormed out of Fortuna, the fog wafting in her wake, that jarring word echoed through Roremar’s mind.

Senseless.

“Fates’ fucking fortunes, she’s infuriating!” Roremar raged as he stormed through the door to Desmond’s tattoo parlor late that evening. He’d gone about his day as was necessary—even stopped by Lyra Isle Guard’s office and left a note for a friend who worked there—and all the while, he’d stewed over Emmeline.

Now, he was at his breaking point.