Page 71 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Please, Emmeline,” Myrella whispered. “You’re not the only one that wants to see this person caught.”

The weight beneath those words crushed Emmeline’s chest. She paused to see if Myrella would explain why it was so important to her. But when she only pressed her lips together, it was clear those secrets were too personal.

And Emmeline may be new to friendship, but she knew when not to pry.

She squeezed Myrella’s hand. “I’d love to have your help.” Only after she relented, did Emmeline realize the glaring issue. Wincing, she added, “But you should know Roremar’s brother is also involved.”

“His brother?” Myrella asked, dark hair sliding across her shoulder as she tilted her head.

“Nico?” Emmeline winced.

“Oh.” Myrella blinked rapidly. “That’s fine. I can deal with him.” Hurt twisted that sentence, a scar clearly fresh enough to sting.

“What happened?” Emmeline asked. “Nico seems like a sweet guy from what I’ve seen.”

“Yes, well, I thought the same until I learned he lied.”

“Lied?” Emmeline balked. Perhaps Nico was more like Roremar than she’d thought, containing some nefarious streak. “When did you even meet?”

“A few weeks ago. We had fun, but at the end of the night he told me he was leaving in the morning and wouldn’t be back for a long time—that nothing could happen between us because of that, despite the clear attraction.” Rejection stung her voice, but her cheeks turned rosy, and Emmeline had the feeling there was more she wasn’t saying. “So imagine my surprise when I found him standing in our corridor, looking for all the Fates like he’d never left Lyra.”

The pieces clicked together in Emmeline’s memory. “He was the battle-worn soldier the girls were teasing you about?”

She hadn’t even known Nico had fought in a battle. Perhaps that was part of the lie.

“He was.” Hurt rippled through Myrella’s stare, but she turned her nose up, nodding. “That door is certainly closed, but I’d still like to help you.”

Emmeline chewed her lip. Roremar’s voice echoed through her mind, so easily referring to Myrella as her friend. And while she may not have had a true one in years, she tried to master the balance of honesty and support she thought it required.

“Okay,” Emmeline agreed, “but Nico doesn’t strike me as a liar. It may be worth speaking to him about what happened.”

Myrella considered. For all the Fates, it seemed like she was genuinely taking Emmeline’s words to heart. “Maybe.”

That lukewarm sentiment warmed something cold living within Emmeline.

“You go ahead. I’m going to go ask Regina something,” Emmeline said to Myrella as they finally stood from their table. Regina, Liana, and Harttorn had just wandered through the door from the kitchens, cups of tea in hand, and sat themselves at one of the tables in the back corner.

“Write to me when you need me,” Myrella said, giving Emmeline one last squeezing hug.

“I will.”

Crossing to the group, Emmeline steeled herself for the typical pause in conversation. A stunned silence descended.

She fidgeted with her ring until Liana finally exclaimed, “Oh my Fates!” And leaped from her seat, crushing Emmeline in a hug. “How are you? We heard something happened, but Myrella wouldn’t give us any details. That little secret keeper.”

Emmeline was grateful for that. “I’m okay.”

She gave them a watered-down version of the story, all three of them offering their condolences and outrage, understanding why she’d been staying away from the Academy the past few days.

When Emmeline was done, Liana yawned and stretched her hands above her head. “I’m going to go to the apothecary before it closes.”

“Mist and Rose is open for hours,” Emmeline reminded her, brow furrowing. The Academy’s go-to shop was only a short walk away.

But Liana shook her head. “The one I prefer is all the way across the Scholar’s Quarter, and they’ve been closing early since the curfew.” She bid them goodbye, saying she’d probably just crawl into Charisse’s bed when she returned so she wouldn’t see them until tomorrow.

“I have a question,” Emmeline said as Liana’s steps faded. She looked between Regina and Harttorn, originally intending to ask the former, but Harttorn might know, too, given they were both history instructors. She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and splayed it across the table. “Have you ever seen this symbol before?”

After Angel’s Draw, she and Roremar had combed through books for anything about the wing and rose sigil that signified the Warders of Selene. While they’d seen a couple references, there wasn’t anything that explained more about the cult or gave her any idea why the winged symbol was connected to both murders.