Page 61 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“What in the Fates?” she whispered, stopping just feet from her door.

Her door that was cracked, a sliver of distorted moonlight spilling into the corridor and over her boots.

The rest of the hall was silent, all doors sealed.

Emmeline crept closer, breaths tight in her chest. A reading pressed behind her eyelids, white starfire seeping from the cage she’d stuffed it into and flickering at the edges of her vision.

She didn’t have a triple blade on her—not a single weapon. But there was one beneath the table beside the door and more in the wardrobe. If she could slip inside, it would be within reach in a matter of seconds.

Hand shaking, she gently pushed the door open until it drifted all the way against the wall. She winced at the creaking hinge.

From what she could see, the room was untouched, her wardrobe and writing desk still pristine, her books lined up beneath the windowsill.

A breeze wafted through the curtains.

She hadn’t left the balcony doors open, but they were thrown wide to the night.

Hesitantly, Emmeline stepped inside. Her hand drifted to the table beside the door in search of her dagger, but a crackle from the alcove housing her bed made her pause.

Pulse racing in her ears, she tiptoed toward it.

When she looked around the corner, her heart stopped beating.

On the wall, a deep crimson message slowly dripped toward her bed, splashed across the star maps and drawings she’d delicately pinned there, tainting the pieces of her life she’d claimed as her own.

White flames hovered above her ivory and lavender nest of blankets, freezing her—transporting her back to the only time she’d ever seen starfire outside of a reading and all that day had taken from her.

Now, they illuminated the words on her wall, turning them into glittering rubies.

TO TEMPT THE FATES, AND REALMS WILL WREST,

The iron tinging the air turned her stomach over, jolting her into action.

Emmeline grabbed the vase from the windowsill and tossed the flowers out. She spun and dumped the water over the starfire, but as soon as it extinguished, a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

And right as she tried to scream, fingers curled over her mouth.

Chapter Twenty-One

Roremar

A dull ache hummed through Roremar’s chest.

After the Accords, he stopped by Desmond’s before heading to Angel’s Draw. He wanted to read through the information on the Warders of Selene, and going all the way home would have wasted time—something he didn’t have enough of with the Revels drawing closer.

The Warders were an interesting group, he was sure about that, but they were ambiguous. They’d lived on Lyra so long ago that a lot of the history surrounding them didn’t have proven dates or facts to back it up. There were rarely even references to Selene herself, just an almighty her that they revered, worshiped, and one daydreamed of finding.

He supposed that could be the goal of these murders, and he’d continue to research it, but he didn’t want to lose focus on concrete evidence. Things like Angel’s Draw and the drugs being pumped into the isle.

He was reviewing the notes from the families of the missing victims when Nico arrived. Their mother’s shift had been pushed later—some harvesting job that was excused from curfew—and she would be home with their siblings for a few more hours.

The schedules and myths and theories on the page blurring before him, Roremar realized he was getting nowhere. Removing his rings and the daggers from his belt, he scrubbed his hands through his hair and tried to relax.

Distracted. He’d been so easily distracted lately.

Frustration had his teeth clenching, but he pressed his palms into his eyes, lining up everything he knew mentally. The victims, the tattoo shape and placement, the locations…

Attempting to help himself focus, he pulled out one of the wooden puzzles Desmond kept here and went through the methodological steps of building it. One piece at a time, little notches clicking into place, willing his mind to assemble the pieces of the case in the same way.