Page 31 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Emmeline silently thanked the Fates for that path as she scaled a trellis outside Mist and Rose, her favorite apothecary shop at the top of the ridge, and followed the cloaked form from the rooftops.

His hood remained up as he wound through the tightly packed buildings. Their range of colorful tones—from corals to baby blues to dusty purples—were dimmed, the occasional mystlight splashing across the rainbow that forged the Constellation Isles. Greenery cascaded down stone storefronts like waterfalls, and stained glass and murals dotted the spaces between. But tonight, as Emmeline jumped from rooftop to rooftop, needing to find this man the Fate said was a lead, Lyra’s beauty was eclipsed.

It was masked by that darker, threatening side. The one that was addictive and consuming, that distracted you by tying a starry blindfold around your eyes while also slipping a noose around your neck if you dropped your guard for too long.

But it was the landscape of her dark fairytale.

And she in turn became its mistress. A huntress thirsty for blood to paint its colored walls. Another justification in the universe, a rung on the ladder she scaled to earn retribution for all she’d lost.

Emmeline followed her prey silently—keeping one eye on the Fates for warnings of the shadowed figure’s next moves—until he ducked inside an unmarked building at the edge of the Peddler’s District where the streets were quiet.

Based on the violet lace curtains and buttery mystlight spilling through the window and illuminating a small kitchen within, it didn’t appear to be an incense den, tavern, or gambling hall. It was a home. One of many lining the narrow alleys winding through this part of the isle.

This building lacked the personal touches other homes on this street boasted, only a couple plants sitting out front. Perhaps the owner was simply bland. Or perhaps they were trying too hard to be discreet. It was likely the former, but she’d be naive to discount other options.

Emmeline folded herself into the shadows atop the roof across the street and made sure to lock out all forceful fortunes as she waited. Stare intent on the door, she propped her back against a chimney and surveyed the street. Only once she was certain her post was secure did she slowly let readings seep through her mind one whisper at a time.

They were sweet melodies and brutal declarations, melting into the noises of the island night. In the distance, back toward the Promenade and the docks, music and cheers spiraled into the navy skies, mingling with the constellations. This. This was how she preferred her magic. In these small, harmless doses. So rare when it typically barreled down on her torrentially.

Shadows wavered behind the windows in the home she watched as if the person she’d followed stood on just the other side of the curtains. Her pulse pounded harder with every moment she waited.

A black cat scampered down the street, drinking from a small dish of water set a few feet from the door. Star flies dotted the night as they crept out of the jungle, their tiny bodies buzzing with glimmering white light and creating a dull hum to which her readings simmered, and her pounding heart tried to calm.

Time stretched toward midnight. Darker corners of the city would be waking, hosting trades by now. Illegal drugs smuggled through the ports were likely being passed around shadowed alleys, heretics rising in the Cursed Markets. Putting more people at risk that she’d have to let go tonight.

Endless ruin.

That was what kept blaring through her mind, the phrase a falling star.

She couldn’t abandon this assignment from Falliare if she wanted to get to Valyn. The capital city was the most likely place she’d find answers, and while she could leave her post at the Temple Academy and move there herself, she needed the access to records an instructor position would provide.

And the security.

So she couldn’t give up on this case, but if she pursued it, would she be led into a fortune drowning in white fire?

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there contemplating her options, but eventually, the bell at Lyra Temple Academy rang out midnight. And still, this man had not exited the building.

Even if this had been some lover’s nest, that was much longer than⁠—

In the distance, a piercing scream cut through the night, trembling enough to rattle every constellation lining the sky. Dread pooled in Emmeline’s gut as she shot to her feet because somehow—by Fates or by pure instinct—she knew that scream meant loss.

And she’d followed the wrong target.

Her heart rate slowed as if beating through sludge, and she forced her legs to move. Forced herself to jump from ledge to ledge, following the crowds now flooding toward those screams.

And as fate pounded at her mind, she didn’t need to open up her readings to know what it would say. She’d been harping over her own endless ruin, but perhaps it was Lyra’s she needed to fear for.

Chapter Eleven

Roremar

Roremar had lost track of Desmond hours ago.

Spirits, he’d lost track of himself sometime after Nico had ditched them, yawning on his way down the road.

The whiskey club had turned into the Mezzanine, and Roremar and his oldest friend had sat there in their plush leather chairs in the main hall for…fuck, he didn’t know how long. Sapphire velvet curtains framed the stage and archways designating private booths lined both walls, silver tassels swaying and shimmering as illicit activities sent the curtains rippling.

As his vision blurred, Roremar scanned the second story balcony that wrapped around the main hall, silhouettes roving, some leaning up against the wooden railings, some moving salaciously against other bodies. All fucking foggy to him, but he had to admit the reprieve had loosened the constant constraint around his lungs, the compressed pressure that made it hard to breathe relenting for a few minutes.