Page 41 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“WHY?” Roremar barked over their murmuring, and Emmeline couldn’t suppress her haughty smile when they snickered. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed needling him.

“You know damn well you could use more help on this,” the tattooed friend said sternly. He held Roremar’s steel gaze, and something Emmeline didn’t quite understand passed between them.

For ages.

So long that the brother removed his cloak, pulled out a chair—the legs scuffing over the rug—and plopped down.

“Don’t sit,” Roremar said, still holding his friend’s stare.

His brother ignored him and held his hand out to Emmeline. “Hi, I’m Nico. I promise I’m more pleasant than my brother. No need to throw knives at me.”

Emmeline took him in with raised brows. He did greatly resemble Roremar, though he was certainly younger. The same dark waves drooped over his ears, the same almond-shaped eyes lifted just slightly at the corners to make every stare impossibly intense—though Nico’s burned blue—and the same knife-sharp jaw threatened to slice her. But Nico grinned without any of the antagonizing arrogance Roremar’s seemed to possess.

No, Nico’s smile was…friendly. Warm.

“Emmeline,” she answered kindly, shaking his hand. “Don’t give me a reason to take out my knives again, and we’ll be okay.”

She resumed her seat without waiting for his answer and peered pointedly at Roremar. As if he felt her stare on him, he finally broke his battle of wills with his friend and glanced at her. “What?”

“This is your mess. How are we proceeding?”

One dark brow lifted with a scoff. “You’re leaving this up to me?”

Truthfully, she couldn’t believe it either. But that slight mention of his father paired with the appearance of his two clear confidants had reminded her she knew nothing of Roremar besides his reputation. If she was going to be forced to work with him, she needed to uncover what secrets lurked beneath the surface.

Not to trust him—no, she knew she would never be able to trust Roremar the Reckless beyond working together—but to understand him enough that she knew how to watch her own back around him.

His brother and best friend seemed like a reasonable place to start.

“So long as they don’t impede our work or breathe a word of it beyond these walls”—a cutting glance at both newcomers—“then I’ll agree.”

The blond warrior laughed, Nico joining in with a much quieter, softer chuckle.

“You certainly are entertaining, Miss DeLeoste,” the friend said, dropping into the last available chair in the small study. He leaned his elbows on the table, folding his hands beneath his chin, and giving her an earnest look she wasn’t positive wasn’t meant to mock her.

Letters shone on the back of the knuckles of his right hand: A L V A N nestled among a patchwork of scars, as if he liked to hit things. It was the name of one of the nearest isles. A rendition of its starfire phoenix and wisteria sigil took up the back of the other, branching over his fingers and up his wrist to form that intricate piece on his forearm.

Roremar ground his teeth, finally conceding, though he still seemed to war internally with something. “Fine, you two can stay for today. Emmeline, that’s Desmond. Desmond, Emmeline.” Boots softly thudding against the rug, he took his own seat, the table full. “Emmeline was just about to tell me what her theories are.”

She nearly snorted a laugh at the abrupt transition. “Theories would be a jump.” She flipped open her journal and rifled through her neat notes. “But I’ve been reading about mass killings that have occurred across the isles in the last century.”

“Why only a century?” Roremar asked as he scooted his chair around the table to get a closer look at the information.

“I figured it didn’t hurt to start closer to date. See if any patterns or events jump out before we dive further into history. It gives us something more concrete.”

“If there are any common behavioral threads to track.” Roremar nodded, lifting a page she slid to him and scanning it quickly.

“It’s not much yet,” Emmeline admitted. “Those are notes on a similar series of murders on Zyon about six decades ago. Also targeted women. The murderer was never found.”

“Any correlation?” Desmond asked. She narrowed her eyes at the blond warrior as he leaned back in his chair. Something about him tugged at a barely there memory in her mind.

She shook it away, turning back to the table.

“Only the obvious ones,” Roremar concluded as he read. “The method is different than the recent victim, though.”

“A few of these seemed like personal vendettas, so those likely aren’t helpful, but some are more methodical, without clear intention,” Emmeline elaborated, pointing to the other cases she’d jotted down. “The tattoo is unique, too.”

“Are we sure this is a mass killer?” Nico chimed in. “There’s only been the one body. Maybe it’s not related to the disappearances Un—the Temple Master told you about.” His brows rose in such a similar way to his brother’s, it was a wonder Emmeline hadn’t immediately noticed their relation.