Page 35 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

They stopped at the furthest edge of the ring where the willowing branches of cypher trees—the magical conduits that grew all throughout warrior land and channeled ether straight from the earth to fuel their magic—draped lazily over the waist-high stone wall. Some of the verdant leaves on the surrounding trees had begun to fall, most still clinging to life, like they were reluctant to let summer go.

Emmeline brushed aside the withered white buds and greenery that dusted the wall and lifted herself onto it, her spine stiff as a broadsword. She fiddled with that tarnished opal ring again, the rest of the silver jewelry decorating her fingers, wrists, and neck seeming much less abused.

Roremar waited her out, their determination warring until she finally cracked the silence. “How did your first day of training go?”

His lips pursed. That wasn’t the question he’d expected. Not after their interaction at Fortuna. “It was good,” he said slowly, trying to figure her out. “Their last instructor was clearly knowledgeable. Some take to sparring more naturally than others, but that’s to be expected. I’m hoping to expand the repertoire a bit from a younger age—get them handling a wider range of weapons in their first or second years rather than fourth when they usually do.”

Spirits knew the number of times something other than a triple-blade or a broadsword had saved his life.

“Good,” Emmeline answered, nodding. Her voice was distant, like she was listening but not fully there. “They’re good children. The older ones get a bit rowdy as they wait to take their final exams and prepare for their Fatorum Revelus next summer. All that pent up magic. But I’m sure they’ll be happy to have a capable instructor who’s truly trying to expand their skillset.”

“Capable?” Roremar repeated, brows raising.

“I meant it as a complement,” Emmeline clarified.

“That’s why I’m surprised,” he said, and dammit he laughed. “Didn’t think you had it in you to complement me.”

“I suppose I’m feeling generous today, but I can return to insults if you prefer.” Her chin tilted up. Even propped on the wall, she was shorter than him. The freckles across her nose popped in the sunlight streaming through the branches, the beams hitting the back of Roremar’s neck, his entire body heating.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He waved a hand, swiveling to lean a hip against the wall and crossing his arms. “If you’d like to comment on my rugged good looks or the impressive status I achieved at such a young age, I’ll gladly listen.”

Emmeline blinked, fixing him with an overly dramatic, concerned stare.

“What?” Roremar asked, flicking a glance over his shoulder.

“I’m worried,” Emmeline said stoically.

Roremar narrowed his eyes. “About?”

“What happened that your ego is so deflated today, you need me to stroke it?”

She was quick witted; he couldn’t deny that. And while she maintained that composure consistently, she had a mettle to her. An admirable steel backbone that would be useful in this partnership.

“You want to stroke something?” Roremar feigned a scandalized scoff, whispering, “Miss DeLeoste, please, we’re at the Academy.”

“As if you never spoke of such things when you were a student here.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he lied. “I was a perfect student.”

Emmeline crossed one ankle over the other. “Other than stealing from Miss Bethany.”

Roremar couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Other than a few forays in the kitchens after hours, yes.” He paused. “And the time when I snuck in with a friend and a couple of girls to get drunk at the top of the stargazing tower. But we weren’t technically students anymore at the time.”

“You what?” Her jaw popped open, a disbelieving gasp escaping her.

“We couldn’t help it. It was the summer of our Fatorum, and we wanted one last night to celebrate.”

“You must have been awfully unstealthy to have gotten caught.”

“Please, Miss DeLeoste. Show me some respect. It wasn’t my break in that got us caught. It was how much noise the girl and I made after the others left.”

Emmeline was stunned into silence. Roremar couldn’t help the rush of pride that shot through him at rendering her quiet. This argumentative, headstrong opponent.

But when she crossed her arms to match his, her chin lifting again—this time in a stubborn set—he was unexpectedly sad. He never allowed himself to have much fun anymore—not until last night, and he saw how that ended—and he realized he was enjoying bickering with her. It was a fair challenge, much more thrilling than getting so intoxicated he fell asleep at the Mezz.

“So are we going to do this?” Emmeline asked.

“You’re awful at propositioning people,” Roremar retorted. “If you want me to take you to the stargazing tower, at least say please. I can clear my schedule.”