Page 24 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Sure, Rore. Come on in,” Desmond intoned, hiding a smirk as Roremar strode past and hopped onto the counter beside the mirror at Des’s station. Typically, it hosted an array of design books for patrons to flip through, but the leather-bound volumes were tucked neatly on their shelves already.

A trio of women chattered in the foyer, comparing their new ink, but they were too lost in themselves to spare him much attention. Thank the Angels for that.

Though one did cast him a curious glance over her shoulder. When she turned, a dainty, red-rimmed sword tattoo shone on her sternum. All the hours he’d spent in Fated Ink and he rarely saw anyone ask for that placement.

He didn’t have the energy to be curious, though. He just tipped his head back and sighed. She’d find some other companion for the night.

Planted between a dance hall with live amateur musicians and one of the few taverns that kept their kitchens open late, Desmond’s parlor did great business. It was in the heart of the Peddler’s District on the Promenade of Revels, far enough away from the Residential District that no one complained about the late-night commotion but close enough to the ports that the inns lining the shores had easy access.

With its wood-paneled walls, warm mystlight, and sketches encased in aged-silver frames scattered around, it was a comforting place to spend an evening. Or hide from his problems.

Roremar scowled at his friend, who was still laughing at his blatant frustration as he finished taking payment from the women up front, one of them adamantly trying to convince Des to go next door with them.

He supposed it didn’t hurt Desmond’s business that women seemed to fall at his feet. He’d been that way as long as Roremar could remember. Charming smiles paired with the promise to create any work of art with their bodies they could imagine meant that often, the parlor was flooded.

As the trio left, he was grateful for the abnormal silence.

“Why aren’t there any other customers here?” Roremar asked, pursing his lips as he evaluated the pristine space.

“Closing up early.” Desmond wiped down the front counter where someone had left a sticky, half-empty bottle of ale. He lifted it. “You’d think they’d at least want to finish it.”

“One would think,” Roremar muttered. “But apparently everyone is doing senseless things today.”

The word had followed him for hours, a shadow even in the darkest corners. Reckless, senseless, witless, and everything else his reputation made people think of him.

Desmond tossed the bottle in the bin, glass clinking. “What’s wrong with you?”

Before Roremar could answer, the door swung open, the wind chimes hanging outside ringing in the night, tangling with the voices drifting down the Promenade of Revels—the main thoroughfare across the isle, named for the parades it hosted during isle festivals. With rocky cobblestone streets, old wooden benches, overflowing plants, and star-drenched mystlight lampposts sprinkled throughout, it wasn’t designed for horses or carts, strictly walking unless on official business.

Which also made it the host of many drunken tavern-goers any night of the week.

Roremar ignored the voices, surprise shooting through him as Nico walked in.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’ve really perfected your greetings,” Nico muttered, flicking Desmond a skeptical glance that Roremar was certain was about him. “Des said you were going to get a drink, and I should come with you.”

Roremar’s fingers curved around the countertop. “A drink?” he snipped at his friend. “Alvi, I can’t go, I have too much to⁠—”

“You have nowhere you need to be and you know it,” Desmond challenged, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Rore, come on. You’ve been carrying all this shit for years by yourself. Ever since you retired from the army, you’ve taken care of your entire family and shoved us off when we tried to help.”

“And we can help,” Nico pleaded. “Especially now that Uncle Aldryn has you running around the isle on this case.”

“And teaching starsdamned lessons,” Roremar grumbled. Another thing that would take time away from his family who deserved so much more than he could give them. The weight he lived with pressed down on him, his lungs tight with guilt.

He didn’t mention the fact that Emmeline had promptly canceled their partnership after the first meeting. It didn’t matter. He would still have to handle the investigation if he wanted Aldryn to put his siblings through school.

Roremar pressed his palms into his eyes. “And it all has to be done before the Remembrance Revels at the end of next month.”

“All the more reason,” Nico provided, tossing his arms in the air.

“You have your apprenticeship, though. And Des, our problems aren’t your responsibility.”

“My apprenticeship is only until midday each day. The rest is independent study,” Nico reminded him at the same time Desmond said, “I mainly work at night these days.”

“It’s still an unfair commitment,” Roremar ground out.

That comment set Desmond off. “Unfair? You didn’t ask for this either, Roremar! You didn’t ask for your father to die or your mother to be sick! You didn’t ask to be responsible for a family at such a young age!” He took a deep breath. “I left the army because I wanted to be home, Rore. A huge reason was to be here for you. That first year I stayed on without you, getting sporadic letters where even your handwriting looked exhausted—fuck, that was miserable. I was doing important work, but helping your family—and my own—was more important. So let me fucking help.”