Page 49 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Here, let me get⁠—”

“No, thank you,” Emmeline interrupted her. “I’ve got everything.” She braced her hands on the edge of the basin, using what little strength was left in her body to stand. Her head was still foggy enough that she didn’t take care to cover her body, turning away just enough that the scars on her thighs wouldn’t raise questions.

It took her so long to rise that Myrella hedged, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive.” Emmeline sighed.

But as soon as her feet hit the tile, she swayed.

Myrella gasped, rushing forward to catch her. Emmeline’s slick skin slid against her bare arms, the relaxing salts she put in the bathtub making it hard to navigate every movement.

“Must have overdone it,” she slurred, trying and failing to push Myrella away. “The heat and the incense and the salts. I’ve been dizzy all day.”

Myrella’s brows creased in doubt. She dunked a hand in the water to test the temperature as she helped her into her dressing gown, not taking no for an answer.

And Emmeline knew she noticed the water wasn’t even lukewarm anymore.

But she was too tired to care. And she fell into bed seeing only steel-grey eyes and crimson washed hands.

Chapter Sixteen

Roremar

“Curfew?” Roremar repeated as he, Darcy, and Desmond walked up the path to the home of the family of one of the missing victims.

His friends had both decided to join Roremar on these visits, Desmond because he was bored at the parlor today and Darcy because he’d spoken to them each already and they agreed it would make everyone a little more comfortable.

“Curfew,” Darcy confirmed. “The Temple Master met with Isle Guard last night. No Starsearchers are to be out between the hours of midnight and six in the morning. Taverns, gambling halls, and incense dens are required to stop serving a few hours prior to encourage patrons to return home, and we’ll be doubling patrols, centralizing on the Peddler’s and Residential Districts on the northeastern end.

“That’ll be great for business,” Desmond grumbled.

“Not to mention the fact that when strict rules are set, it only encourages rebellion,” Roremar added as they knocked on the door.

Those who hadn’t seen the bodies, who hadn’t felt the chill of lurking death voiding the air and deepening the shadows of every alley, wouldn’t understand the immediate threat. Residents of Lyra had lived with growing crime for years. They were used to it. A curfew would only encourage more people to sneak around, which would make his and Emmeline’s job harder.

All the more reason to put an end to this quickly, he told himself as a woman answered the door and led him and Darcy through a narrow hall stacked with toys, cloaks falling off hooks. As he had at the first house, Desmond waited outside so they wouldn’t overwhelm the grieving Starsearchers.

They settled in the cramped kitchen as the woman, Nesiree, prepared tea for them. Roremar took one look at her shaking hands and had to fight his mind from imagining this being his family, his mother the one setting a steaming cup before him. His sister the one missing. Had to compartmentalize just as he did at the murder scenes.

“Thank you for meeting with us again,” Darcy began as Nesiree sat across from them. “This is Roremar. He’s taken over the search for your mother.”

“Why?” she asked bluntly, her dark curls swaying against her high cheekbones as she assessed them both. Beyond the kitchen, children’s voices chattered, sounding so young their Fate ties likely hadn’t even kicked in. Nesiree went on, eyeing Roremar’s tunic that certainly wasn’t the official garb of Lyra Isle Guard. “No offense, but who are you?”

“None taken,” Roremar assured her. “I used to work reconnaissance for the Lyra legions. Given the nature of this case, I’ve been asked to help.”

“The nature of it?” She gripped her teacup tighter, steam rising between them. “My mother is missing, and it’s awful, but what’s changed that requires special attention?”

Roremar and Darcy exchanged a glance, the soldier nodding at him as if to say. It’s your case. Run it how you’d like.

Roremar blew out a breath. “We believe her disappearance may be tied to some others on the isle.”

He left out that two of those disappearances were brutal murders. Unless Nesiree asked, she didn’t need the gory details. Even at that news, her golden skin blanched.

Roremar continued, “I’ve looked through the notes Darcy compiled on your mother, and I had a few questions. You didn’t mention any odd behavior at the time, but in hindsight, knowing that this may be related to other disappearances, was she doing anything unusual?”

Nesiree considered. “Like what?”

“Speaking of or to people she didn’t normally associate with, for start?” Roremar asked. He wasn’t entirely sold on Emmeline’s cult theory given that all those he’d researched were docile fanatics, and extreme worship of the Fates was—in his opinion—a sign of insanity not violent tendencies, but he’d promised he’d try.