Page 37 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“It’s quite private,” Emmeline retorted. “You have to earn it.”

“Then I’ll be a good little boy while we solve this case and collect my reward.”

Emmeline only hummed doubtfully in response.

She was a fucking liar, but dammit if it didn’t call to the challenge his bones were built of. In her, he recognized a sheer determination. He wouldn’t get his answers today. Probably not tomorrow. He didn’t want to work with her, but if he kept up with this ruse of a partnership, he may be able to find the murderer, secure his siblings’ schooling, and expose the secrets of Emmeline DeLeoste.

“Regardless of your choice of attire,” Roremar said, getting them back on track with renewed resolve, “I think after last night we both know the threat is more serious and more immediate than either of us thought when we called off our agreement.”

Emmeline nodded. “We can’t let our petty mess get in the way again.”

“I’m sure we will,” Roremar challenged, and Emmeline actually shrugged in agreement. “But I vow to be your steadfast guard and continue to work together—despite our differences—if you will.”

Not only for the safety of the isle, but I really fucking need Uncle Aldryn to help my family, he didn’t add aloud.

And if that meant working with the woman who frustrated him to the realm’s end and held his reputation against him, he’d do it.

“I swear it,” Emmeline said, and something buzzed through the air at those three words. A barely perceptible shift, like when a shooting star flashes across the sky, its trail burning along his bones and tugging at his chest.

“I wrote to a friend at Lyra Isle Guard last night. I’m going to stop by there now. Would you like to come?”

Emmeline considered but shook her head. “I have readings to conduct tonight and assignments to go through, but tomorrow. We’ll meet again after lessons, and we should both bring lists of potential theories based on the files Falliare gave us and what we saw last night.”

“Readings and assignments, sure.” He scoffed, not believing for one moment that’s how she’d spend her evening. But despite his suspicions, he had his own responsibilities to deal with tonight. “Tomorrow. Library.”

“City Accords,” Emmeline corrected curtly. “Their records will be more thorough than the Temple.”

Fates, she was bossy. And self-centered. And stubborn.

But that last one—he could outdo her in that.

This agreement might kill him, but he was relentless when given a challenge. And with her attitude and secrets, Emmeline made herself into one of his greatest yet.

“I’ll see you there, Huntress.”

Lyra Isle Guard’s headquarters was a nondescript grey building set on the border between the Peddler’s District and the Eastern Port, overlooking the ocean. With moss crawling up the weathered stone, it looked ready to fall into the sea. The navy-blue Lyra flag whistled in the breeze as Roremar climbed the steps to the building and ducked inside.

The place was pathetic if he was being honest. Even with the rise in crime and drugs smuggled onto the isle, there wasn’t any more effort from the Guard. Even their shabby desks lacked care, and they only had one interrogation room and two cells in the back.

He knew from the time he and Desmond had been thrown into one as teenagers how scant those accommodations were. They’d only been trying to borrow the man’s boat, though…

“Roremar,” someone called, breaking through the memory. A man who looked about his age, but Roremar knew was a decade older, approached in leathers stamped with the Lyra sigil, a friendly smile piercing his light brown cheeks as he held out a hand. “Got your letter.”

“Hi, Darcy,” Roremar greeted. “Thanks for making time so quickly.”

“It’s obviously a pressing matter,” the soldier, Torvan Darcy, said, nodding toward a desk tucked in the back corner. “Come with me.”

Roremar followed him past warriors with their boots propped on the desks, chattering lazily or dozing off. Many of them cast him indiscreet looks, quickly averting their gazes as if his recklessness would cause him to try something stupid if they looked him in the eye. No one waved or said hello beyond Darcy.

A part of him couldn’t blame the ones who were lounging at their desks. Most took this position after they retired from active battle. But for Fates’ sake, there was a murderer lose on the isle. Didn’t matter how old they were, he’d expected them to try a bit harder.

Darcy, on the other hand, was young by warrior standards. He’d retired from the army when the woman he was bonded to unexpectedly got pregnant, and he wanted to stay on Lyra with her.

At least there’s one competent person working here, Roremar thought as he settled across the desk from the soldier.

Darcy flipped open a leather-bound file. “This is what I’ve gathered so far. Details from the families of the two missing women—though honestly until now we haven’t been looking at the cases as related, so it may be worth revisiting them—information on the places they were last seen, and interviews with the victim’s friends last night. Both women were in hysterics, so we didn’t get much beyond the fact that they’re travelers. I was planning to speak with them again.”

Roremar rifled through the papers, quickly scanning the details and organizing them into the neat files in his mind. It was pretty routine. Where the women worked, what their schedules were, reports of recent behaviors. Nothing that was outright suspicious before they disappeared. Now, everything mattered.