Page 74 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Emmeline tsked. “Very reckless. If they caught you, they would have killed you.”

“A lot more people would have died if I didn’t volunteer. It was the first scheme that earned me that name.” The soldiers back at camp had mocked him when he first suggested it, swearing it would never work, but he hadn’t minded.

It wasn’t until a few years later—when the reputation made people look at him like he was out of control—that he’d started to abhor it. It was like they’d all forgotten his brilliant ideas thanks to a few bad ones.

“Your mind is fascinating,” Emmeline said with a laugh that purred along Roremar’s bones. Pride inflated his chest at the rare compliment, the annoyance from a moment ago dulling.

“If you’re lucky, I’ll tell you all my stories one day, Huntress.” Roremar assessed the building they’d settled on, peering over the ledge at the sapphire pennants draping it. “We’re on top of the Trade House?”

Despite the curfew approaching, music from the Mezzanine next door echoed through the streets, the occasional cheers of gamblers filtering into the night.

“It’s one of the best views in the city,” Emmeline explained as she crossed to the opposite side of the roof where the tile sloped up and settled in. The spot wasn’t so high that she’d be visible from below but enough to let her see over the edge.

Tricky, this Huntress.

Discomfort scratched behind his ribs as he briefly wondered what she’d seen to force her to become this way.

Trailing, he sat beside her on the incline and leaned his back against the wall. He removed a puzzle piece from his pocket—something he’d taken from Fated Ink earlier—and twirled it between his fingers.

“Why the Trade House for this trap you’re setting?” he asked. “Besides the view, I mean.”

“Right. A trap.” Emmeline swallowed, hazel eyes catching the stars as she gazed over the city. “It’s the center of business on Lyra. A good place to overhear secrets.”

“What’re you hoping to find?”

Emmeline bit her lip, finally shaking her head. “Don’t know yet.”

Something told him that wasn’t true. Emmeline DeLeoste had a reason for everything she did, and there was something she was looking for tonight. And because filling in the gaps was addicting to him, Roremar was desperate to know what.

The Trade House was operated by his uncle, though much of the work was by proxy now. The council within recorded all imports and exports, struck deals, collected tithes, and managed the finances of every establishment on the isle. Its position neighboring the Mezz was no coincidence, a number of shadier deals taking place behind those closed doors.

Next to the Temple Academy and the Accords, the Trade House was the most important building on Lyra. It was where Roremar hoped Nico would secure a job after his apprenticeship.

Tonight, though, the glimmering marble building was quiet, the silver Lyra sigil carved into its facade a dormant welcome.

And with how the house gave a view of the ocean to one side and the Promenade leading to the hills on the other, Roremar understood what Emmeline meant about the view. He loved this isle, and getting to take it in never got old.

“So this is what you do all night?” he asked, disbelief coloring his tone despite how content he was. “Sit here?”

Emmeline rolled her eyes, pulling her mask down. Her breath puffed before her, the temperature dropping lower than expected. “Normally I follow a specific target, track them down in an incense den or wherever they frequent, and lure them out.”

Lure them out. His mind ran wild picturing how she did that. Was it those piercing hazel eyes across the room? Her mysterious little smirk or the sway of her leather clad hips? How many other men woke in the night with her imprinted in their minds as he had?

That thought pricked thorns into his lungs.

“But tonight?” he asked, trying to banish the discomfort.

Emmeline pulled her knees to her chest, picking at the toes of her boots. Crickets chirped in the silence, accenting the music. “I killed my last lead a few weeks ago, and I’ve been following his friends.”

Shock blared through him. Not at her killing someone—he’d suspected it to be honest—but at her willingness to admit it. He didn’t want to discourage that openness, so he calmly asked, “Leads on what exactly?”

“Just someone I’m looking for.” Emmeline tipped her face to the stars, her brows creasing. “You know, I was following two men the night of the first murder.”

“You were?” Roremar asked.

“I don’t know who they were.” She swallowed thickly, and he couldn’t look away from the faint yellowing of her bruises as she chose her next words. “I was out on the cliffs beyond the vineyards near the Academy—I go out there to read. Overlooking the lake. They were having some sort of heated discussion, and when they split, I had to choose one. I went the way the Fates pushed me. I was staking him out when I heard the screams.”

I chose wrong, she didn’t have to add for him to hear the guilt twisting her up.