Page 87 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Yes,” Roremar swore, and Nico nodded along beside him. “Two rooms at the place you advised, prepared to host us as long as necessary. Thank you for the help with that.”

“Of course, boys.”

Concern flickered through his uncle’s words, so Roremar adopted the deepest air of confidence he could. “We’re going to find out who’s responsible for this.”

TO TEMPT THE FATES, AND REALMS WILL WREST,

The bloody words pressed into his memory, Emmeline’s petrified stare following.

They were getting closer. They had to be scaring someone if they’d triggered an attack. The pieces were there; he just had to find the image they built.

Jaw tight, Roremar added, “And no one will touch Emmeline again. I’ll give my life before it comes to that.”

Nico stiffened at the vow in Roremar’s voice, but he didn’t make eye contact with his brother. Couldn’t address the questions certainly laying there while trying to assure their uncle.

“Yes, well, let’s hope your defenses are enough,” the Temple Master said, again looking at Roremar like he was seeing straight into his spirit. “We have less than three weeks until the Revels.”

Less than three weeks to unveil a murderer and ensure his family’s stability. The pressure knotted Roremar’s chest, but he nodded dutifully. As they left the house, he looked back at the shuttered windows, his world asleep inside, and swore he’d take care of them.

And that one day, they’d all have the freedom and futures they deserved.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Emmeline

The isle was entirely still, a time when Emmeline usually felt her most lonely. With the typical bustle of the streets winding from the hills down to the shores, she could pretend some of the energy was hers to claim. That there were people among the crowds who belonged to her and to whom she belonged in turn.

But tonight, despite the death and threats, a sense of calm had settled across the rolling jungle and colorful buildings.

The peace was undeserved. The entire city should have been echoing with loss, at least to Emmeline. The depths of the alleys should have been screaming with it, the crashing tide pounding out the beating hearts of those who had taken their last breaths.

Normally she loved the serenity of her isle, but not now. Not with Liana gone, and who knew how many others missing. She placed a hand to her throat, where the memory of bruises still echoed.

Tonight, the quiet was another reminder of all she was working to preserve and achieve. Of everyone she’d lost in such brutal ways, and who she still needed to find. Longing twisted around her heart, its embrace familiar.

Despite the way the stillness ate at her spirit, as she stood on the balcony beyond her dormitory and breathed in the floral-tinged air of her makeshift garden, Emmeline prayed to the Fates Lyra would stay this way until they got back from Alvan. Until they could figure out who was at fault for these killings.

A soft knock echoed through the front door, and Emmeline tossed a low, “Come in,” over her shoulder.

Heavy boots thudded onto the small tile balcony, sandalwood wrapped on the night breeze. Though she’d expected Myrella, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Somehow, she’d sensed he was nearby, as if she’d come to rely on his proximity since the attack. Roremar’s appearance warred with the loneliness she’d been prepared to bask in.

“You’re here?” she asked Roremar without looking at him. The wind danced around her, lifting the hair draping her shoulders, and she breathed with it, her heart splintering.

“If you insist on being here, then yes, I am,” Roremar stated, no rumble of aggravation in his tone.

Emmeline glanced over her shoulder. Moonlight bathed his features in a pale glow, the drooping greenery framing the doorway casting shadows across his leathers and weapons. The scar above his lips twitched as he inhaled, but his expression showed no sign of annoyance or disruption. “I went to Des’s but you weren’t there. You’re never at the Academy this late anymore.”

“I am tonight,” she said.

Still, no flicker of emotion.

No. There was something there. It resembled concern, and it poured a warm sensation through Emmeline’s limbs. It was a far cry from his analytical stoicism, amused recklessness, or the icy contempt he’d originally shown her—a disarmingly safe version of care.

She wasn’t sure she liked it. It was too close to being behind a fogged glass that was slowly clearing. An image forming that she had no control over.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked back over a starlit Lyra. “I know we won’t be gone long, but I wanted to come back here once before we left.”

“You don’t need to explain,” Roremar said, claiming one of the metal chairs as if he was prepared to stay for hours.