Page 78 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

This was Liana, the next sacrifice to whatever brutal rituals were stealing life from their isle.

Starfire roared in Emmeline’s chest. The Fates had said nothing of this—they hadn’t deemed to show her this death was coming.

“Her body is already cold,” Myrella whispered to Emmeline and Roremar.

How long had Liana been here before the students found her? How long had the Fates kept this from Emmeline?

“This is connected isn’t it?” Myrella asked. “To the others?”

“I believe so,” Emmeline croaked, all emotion eroded from her voice. The last two bodies had been horrid, but this was a new kind of devastation. A personal kind that frayed the edges of her own defenses.

Everyone close to you winds up dead.

No. This case had nothing to do with her. Liana was a victim, but it was not Emmeline’s doing, and the first two hadn’t been either. These were unrelated to everyone else she’d doomed.

But this one left a new scar, one in the shape of Liana’s name. Beside her mother’s. Her father’s. Her sister’s. And all others she’d lost along the way.

“Where’s Charisse?” Emmeline asked. The grounds were wrapped in an eerie silence, Roremar’s and Myrella’s heartbeats as loud as her own. None from Liana, though.

“I think she’s finishing her last lesson of the day,” Myrella answered.

Circling the body, Roremar asked, “Who’s Charisse?”

“Her partner.” Emmeline blinked, trying to find any words that made sense. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, useless. “It was a secret—against Academy rules for instructors—but they’d been together for some time.”

“Nearly a year,” Myrella added, hugging her frame.

Roremar’s gaze snapped up to the two women then down to Liana. “You were close?”

Emmeline didn’t quite know how to answer. She wasn’t close to anyone. But Myrella confidently said, “Yes,” and gratitude for her warmth flooded Emmeline. Liana deserved to have someone who could say that.

“I’m sorry,” Roremar responded to Myrella, but his eyes landed on Emmeline, branding her with his attention as they always did, dissecting every inch of her. And she had a distinct feeling he noticed her avoidance, tucked it into that analytical brain of his, and went on to distract them. “There’s no blood.”

“What?” Emmeline asked, taking a step closer.

“You don’t have to look⁠—”

“No,” she interrupted. “Thank you, but I want to.”

Carefully, she approached the body. Liana’s arms were folded precisely over her stomach, as if intentionally placed there. Her legs were tucked up, eyes closed and head turned to the side, almost as if she were sleeping. And there wasn’t a drop of blood on the dirt.

“She wasn’t killed here,” Emmeline observed.

“Don’t think so,” Roremar agreed. He took a mystlight lantern from the hook at the entrance to the vineyards and crouched beside Liana’s still form. “She has all the same signs—the tattoo and wound line up—but it looks like she was left here.”

“But why?” Myrella asked, still keeping her distance from the body. Mourning rippled off her every move, thickening the air.

“That’s what I don’t know,” Roremar puzzled. “The past two deaths were both left in public areas, but the way she’s positioned almost implies…reverence. And her being at the Temple...” Roremar scanned the tall towers, and Emmeline could almost see his mind working through the puzzle. “It’s as if he was returning her.”

“If we’re right, and this is ritualistic,” Emmeline said, trying to forge ahead despite the friend at her feet, “then the killer returning her implies this sacrifice didn’t achieve whatever they’re trying to do.”

“It’s possible none of them have,” Roremar added. “If they keep killing.”

“Do you think she knew the murderer? If they were being…respectful.” That word soured her stomach. Nothing about this exemplified respect.

“It’s possible the killer felt guilty,” Roremar answered, lips pressing into a line. “Or they cared for her.”

If they cared for her, had they known her? Had Liana willingly given herself up for whatever cult was doing this?