Page 94 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Let’s go inside.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t think they’re going to be the ones to help us,” Desmond said as the gates flanking Arenothos creaked open and they ascended the short path to the glimmering building, cypher trees willowing in the breeze on either side.

“It’s worth a shot.” Emmeline’s lips twisted as she considered the grand steps before them, her eyes swimming with intimidation that knotted Roremar’s chest. “Besides, it’s the best place to start with permission from Falliare.”

“Got the letter?” Roremar asked.

The smile she flashed him in answer was lethal. “Of course, Reckless.”

He’d given her the sealed envelope as a show of good faith after their disagreement at the Lyra docks. He may still believe they were keeping secrets from one another, but he was trying. After all these years shouldering the burdens of his family alone, it was like pulling messy stitches from a wound within him. His chest was gaping and bleeding out.

The towering doors were carved with the sigil of the isle, a starfire phoenix with a helm upon its feathered head, flames devouring a branch of wisteria. It was a nod to both of the Fates the isle thrived beneath, the artistry and the brutal conquering of warfare. Two opposites, a perfect harmony.

As they climbed the stairs, Roremar wondered which came first: the isles or their Fate ties.

The foyer was similar to the Lyra Accords, banners strung with the Alvan insignia instead of the serpent and twelve-pointed star. It was one of those buildings that seemed frozen in time with its grand pillars and archaic interior. Odes to the Angel and Fates were sculpted into the walls and threaded on the massive tapestry behind the desk. Roremar’s chest tightened at how surrounded they were.

Approaching the desk and the aged Starsearcher behind it, he shoved aside his discomfort. “We’d like access to your public records,” he began boldly.

“Who’s asking?” She tilted her head, silver hair glinting in the low mystlight lamp on the counter before her.

Emmeline pulled the letter from her satchel. “The Master of the Lyra Temple Academy.”

It caught the woman’s attention, grey brows scrunching dubiously as she took the envelope and critically examined the seal. She could take all the time she wanted. It wasn’t like they were here to solve a string of brutal murders or anything.

Roremar leaned an elbow against the counter, stifling his impatience. He scanned the high ceilings and corridors stretching into the distance. Surely he could slip away from this woman and get lost in the stacks within the hall. From the cautious look Emmeline cast him, he was doing a piss-poor job of hiding his thoughts.

What? he asked internally, raising his brows at her. Myrella and Desmond conversed in hushed voices behind them, Nico trying his best to interject.

Emmeline pressed her lips into a line, narrowing her eyes, and that look may as well have said, Don’t do anything stupid, Reckless.

He chuckled at the imagination of her voice in his mind, shaking his head in innocence as if to say, I’m just standing here.

Emmeline’s gaze dropped over him, then around the room. I can see you fidgeting and your mind cataloguing everything.

She didn’t know the half of it.

“We cannot give you access to all records,” the woman said, interrupting them as she refolded the letter.

Roremar’s evaluating gaze swung to her. “Why not?”

“Despite what your Temple Master may think—or wish—he is not the main authority on Alvan.” Bitterness pinched her lips. Roremar had never considered how the other isles felt about his uncle. “We answer to Aldryn Falliare only to an extent, and there are certain levels of our Accords that can only be opened at word from an Alvan official.”

“Whose word do we need to acquire, then?” Roremar asked.

“That of the War Master.”

Emmeline interjected, “And where can we find them?”

“She resides at the top of the highest hill in Warmonger’s Quarter, just before Fatetouched land. Her offices and personal residence are both there, though I advise you not to venture near the latter unless you want your head bit off by her hounds.”

“I’d love to avoid that.” Roremar flashed his most charming smirk, and the woman softened. “Is there any help you can offer us?”

She considered him, her silver earrings swaying as she shook her head. “Truth be told, I don’t envision her granting access to private files of her citizens without a visit from the Temple Master himself. I’ll write to her with the request and see if she deigns to give you an audience, but she’s a very busy woman. It may suit your needs to pursue other avenues.” Her eyes turned sad as she handed the note across the counter. “I truly do hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Roremar stifled a groan as Emmeline tucked the letter away. He asked, “What other avenues?”

“Written records are not the only means of information in this realm.”