Page 60 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

She wouldn’t read anymore tonight. Wouldn’t give them any more power to torment her. She was done.

But even as she swore it, the image of a bloody Angel burned through her mind.

Because there was no chance of her sleeping with that nightmarish image in her mind, Emmeline did a quick patrol through the Academy halls to ensure no students were out of bed. Her mind was peeling apart the abundance of haunting information when she rounded a corner in the History and Mythology Corridor and bumped into the Temple Master.

“Oh!” She stumbled to a halt, heart racing. “Excuse me, sir. I didn’t see you.”

Falliare placed a steadying hand to her shoulder. “No matter, Miss DeLeoste. Working late tonight?” He assessed her with a too-knowing stare that rose her jittery nerves further.

Shadows decked the stone corridors, the stained-glass windows along one wall spilling moonlit tales of an ancient battle over both her and Falliare’s bodies, like they were reenacting the depiction of a bloodied scene.

“I was just finishing up and thought I’d make sure everything was quiet. With the new curfew, you never know which students will try to be rebellious,” she answered, impressed with how level she kept her voice.

Falliare nodded in understanding, as if seeing through the illusion without her having to explain further. He was one of the few people Emmeline had ever met who knew some bounds of her magic, but even he didn’t know the full extent of it.

All those who had once known were now dead.

Regardless, he knew how much it tested her fortitude, had seen the toll the power took when she overexerted herself, and had always been supportive. For that, she was grateful.

The Temple Master may control the entire isle—including Emmeline’s own fate—but she appreciated that beneath the stern hand, he was able to be sympathetic and realistic. Not like many rulers who preferred to live on pedestals above their people, scorning the problems of the masses in favor of their own greed.

In fact, since Emmeline had arrived here, she’d suspected Falliare not only knew her magic was strong but had his own similar well of power. Or perhaps it was just the strength of running the isle.

“Ensure you stay within the grounds,” Falliare said.

“Of course.” She nodded. “Roremar has me sticking closely to the curfew.” Much to my chagrin, she didn’t add aloud.

“As I was certain he would,” Falliare said, lips twisting into a smile.

“If it isn’t too forward, how do you know him? Is it just from his time as a student here?”

The Temple Master’s expression gave nothing away, but his three quick blinks did. He hadn’t expected that question, and he seemed unsure how to answer. Why, though?

All he offered was, “Yes, I do know Roremar from his time here, and I followed his career in the army when he left.”

“Where he made quite a reputation for himself,” Emmeline commented, another reminder of just how careful she needed to be with him. He hadn’t shown much evidence of his infamous recklessness, but she couldn’t let her guard down if she wanted to solve this case before the Revels and get transferred to Valyn.

“Yes, he certainly did earn a name, didn’t he?” Falliare repeated, gazing up at the tapestry behind her, the threaded twin to the war legend painted into the stained glass. “But how many of our reputations tell the whole truth?”

Emmeline stiffened. “I suppose you’re right.” Her reputation—the one that spoke of her skill and abundant blessing, the one that in return earned her second glances and silent stretches every time she entered a room—certainly said very little of who she truly was.

“Anyway, I best be off to bed,” Falliare said, stepping around her. “I have meetings with the Trade House leaders all day tomorrow, and it’s always a taxing affair.” But he paused beside her, looking down. Shades of red from the stained glass warped his features, and Emmeline’s pulse spiked at the icy tone of his voice, a whisper so low she wasn’t sure the Fates would even hear. “Be careful, Miss DeLeoste.”

Cold seeped through her. She forced her voice to remain steady. “Why?”

“Because in a world where magic means power and reputation births opportunity, someone of your caliber is always going to be a target.”

A target? Did he mean for the murderer? Desmond’s smile from the docks flitted through her memory—something kind but also potentially untrustworthy.

“If I’m in danger, why did you assign me this case?”

“Because sometimes those at the heart of peril are forged into the strongest weapons. And I think you have the potential to be the greatest threat of all.”

Falliare’s words were still echoing through her mind when she returned to her dormitory corridor. Moonlight cut across the cool stones, pale arches lining her steps as they had every night for the past six years on Lyra, but over recent weeks, she couldn’t deny it felt different. Things were shifting. She just didn’t know what form they’d take when it was over.

Were the Temple Master’s words some prophetic reading passed down to him? Since she was young, she’d worked to become a silent protector to those she loved and a comrade to the forgotten. Had she somehow, inadvertently, transformed herself into the greatest threat in this deadly game?

Or was Falliare giving her a warning? Had she perhaps not gone far enough⁠—