Page 67 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

She stopped. Roremar would know what happened next well enough.

“You don’t know where they went?” she asked, defeat swarming her.

Roremar shook his head. “No sign of them. I don’t know if they heard something that scared them off or what.”

“The balcony doors were open,” she recalled.

“Probably got out that way. No one was in the corridors when we showed up.”

Whoever it was was out there still. Could be waiting for her. Her attention drifted to the door. How close were they? Was she in his home right now?

Gently, Roremar’s hand brushed against her fingers at her throat. Voice rough, he said, “I’m sorry, Emmeline.”

Her eyes flew back to his. “Why?”

“Part of my job is to protect you, and I clearly didn’t do that last night.” His fingers rested against her bruises, not pressing them or hurting in any way, but simply feeling with her. “I swore I would, and I failed. I’m sorry.”

Roremar still had so many secrets from her, but Emmeline had gleaned one thing without a doubt: He was a protector. Of his brother, of Desmond, and now—somehow—of her.

And for a person who had walked hand in hand with loneliness for so long, who sat beside the void and embraced the silence, but whose heart had slowly eroded with the constant need to be so resilient on her own, it was a strange feeling. But not one she entirely hated.

“It’s okay,” she said, the words as much for herself as for him. It is okay to let yourself depend a little bit on someone else.

“I promise, we’re going to find who did this.” Steel eyes glinted, the shine of a blade ready to strike. His touch against her neck heated like the flame forging that weapon. “They are going to fucking regret it.”

At his words, the beast within her purred. And instead of coiling back into herself, she indulged his fury, let it flow through her veins as if it was her own and appease the magic pressing against her skin.

“I swear on the Fates,” she whispered.

The words were a vow sworn between them, powerful enough to be written in the stars.

But there were other worries she had to attend to. “What about my lessons?”

Roremar blew out a breath, shifting back against the wall, one hand still resting atop hers. “The Temple Master says you should probably wait for the bruising to fade before you return. Someone will cover for a few days. I picked up a balm to help speed along the healing.”

He jerked his chin toward the bags on the counter. With how quick Gallantian Warriors healed, the bruising would be entirely gone soon, but she’d have to wait it out if she didn’t want the children to see.

“I’m not sure if you should go back to the Academy,” Roremar added, and her attention whipped to him. He watched her warily, as if prepared for a fight. Or maybe it was anticipation, hoping for that argument to prove she wasn’t entirely gone after last night.

“I have to teach my classes.”

“I know,” he said. “But you shouldn’t stay there. At least not in your dormitory. We need to search it further, see if whoever was in there left anything behind.”

Which meant they hadn’t had a chance to clean it yet. The words would still be on her wall, crimson dripping down the mementos she’d carefully displayed. Panic tightened her chest at the thought of returning.

“Where will I go?” she asked, voice hoarse.

“Desmond said you can stay here as long as you like.”

“No,” she blurted out. Roremar’s brows rose, and she tried to reel in her denial. “I can’t put him out like that.”

“You’re not,” he promised. “Des doesn’t come up here. It’s a spare place. He owns the whole building but lives downstairs. Even gave me the lone key.” As if to prove it, he pulled a leather band out of his pocket, the key dangling before her.

She eyed the door. The lock looked sturdy. It wouldn’t be too hard to procure a weapon and barricade the door. And she had to admit, going back to the Academy—to her dormitory—terrified her.

Shame flooded her. Shame that she could face criminals in the night without blinking but was afraid of her own home now. Shame that someone did that to her.

“Trust me, Emmeline,” Roremar swore. “You’ll be safe here. Desmond is pretty torn up about this entire thing. He wants to help.”