Page 69 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Emmeline’s brows creased at the reference. Baron had to be nearly as old as Falliare, and neither could be out of their second century.

“Can you tell us how you chose the symbol of your shop?” Emmeline gestured to the glass looking out over the quiet street, the wing and rose sigil painted pristinely on the fogged surface.

Baron frowned. “My mother designed it. She was a bit of an artist herself.”

“Tell us more about her,” Roremar said, not asking but demanding in an impressive tone that had Emmeline straightening. As frustrating as she once found this commanding version of him, she had to admit it had its perks.

And after last night, when that steadiness made her feel so safe, it had warmth spreading through her body.

“She grew up on Lyra, died on Lyra. Lived and breathed for her family but didn’t have an extraordinary life beyond how much she loved us.” Baron, clearly not a talkative man, paused. He knotted his rag in his ink-stained hands, seeming reluctant to say more. “What’s this about?”

Roremar parried with, “Does that symbol have any meaning you know of beyond your shop? Where did your mother come up with it?”

“I don’t damn well know. She and I designed it together, but she said it was inspired by something she saw as a girl. Some sculpture or cave drawing or something. It was a memory she always loved, so when she got sick, we made it the face of my shop.”

“That’s a really lovely homage to her,” Emmeline said, before Roremar could push the man any further.

Baron deflated. “She was a lovely woman.”

“I’m sure she was,” Roremar agreed.

Once they were out on the street headed back toward Fated Ink, Roremar asked, “You hear something that made you end the conversation so quickly?”

Emmeline peeked up at him from beneath her hood. “You didn’t?”

His smirk was answer enough. It had her heart beating a bit quicker. “Sculptures and cave drawings.”

“Looks like we have more research to do, Reckless.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Emmeline

“Oh, thank the Fates you’re all right!” Myrella gasped when Emmeline tracked her down at dinner a few days following the attack. She jumped out of her seat, looping her arms around Emmeline in an embrace that wasn’t entirely unwelcome, even if she did flinch at first.

She’s your friend.

“I’m okay,” Emmeline assured her. Physically, she was at least. But a lump formed in her throat, her shoulders hiking up to her ears with every soft shuffle behind her.

The bruising was fading at least, and with a silk scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, she and Roremar decided it was safe to return to the Academy. Though, she did wait until the dinner hour was nearly over and only Myrella remained in the hall, tables scattered throughout and a buffet-style food bar on one side. Beneath the scraps of mess left behind by the students, the wooden surfaces gleamed in the mystlight chandeliers above.

“I wanted to come back on my own first,” Emmeline told Myrella when she pulled back, and her friend nodded in understanding.

She’d wanted to walk the halls, feel the air and hear the reliable noises of the Academy before having to stand in front of a class. To face how it all looked different through this altered perspective. What had once been a gateway to her freedom and a sanctuary was now coated in broken glass and brutal fists, her throat tightening around every corner. She’d wanted—needed—to feel it all.

And she’d wanted to see Myrella. Emmeline released a shaking breath, focusing on her now.

“I heard you were there that night,” she said as they sat. “I wanted to thank you.”

Myrella’s concern was piercing as she gripped Emmeline’s hand. And this—this kinship and the comfort derived of it—was so foreign to her, but she embraced it.

“Of course,” Myrella said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. I didn’t hear anything until that new sparring instructor came running down the halls.”

The sun was setting beyond the tall windows at the front of the dining hall, the pinks and purples turning Myrella’s brown eyes even softer somehow.

“Roremar,” Emmeline clarified. “He and I are…working together.”

“Oh?” Myrella straightened, her full lips splitting into a grin.