Page 102 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Desmond blew out a breath. “The gardens are a maze. There could be anything in there.”

“And we still don’t know how Anphrosia is connected to this. How any of them are connected to the murders.” Emmeline fell back against the pillows, entirely overwhelmed. Her brain hummed like buzzing starflies.

“Not yet,” Roremar said, his stare searing silver as it met hers again, “but if the Storytellers are right, tomorrow night we might.”

Before she settled on Lyra, Emmeline spent a dazzling few months hopping between the Constellation Isles, seeking connections to the continent’s trade network. Though her focus had been on finding those targets, there were traits of each isle that stuck to her spirit, that had seemed to wind themselves into her soul in the fleeting moments.

On Byron, it had been the towering museums, ceilings etched with star maps from when the Fates were first burning through the skies.

On Epi, the rich history of mythological creatures and a white-tailed gryphon she’d watched tear through the clouds.

Alvan, though? As they ventured toward the Mourning Gardens, she was certain it was the very air that would embed itself in her memory forever. Every pulse of her blood roared with passion, every inhale was laced with the magic of burning wisteria, and every step flowed with the power of a warrior.

Emmeline followed Desmond’s broad form beneath a stone archway, the center carved into a bust with a veil like Anphrosia, and through a hedge tunnel. The tales from the Lair came back to her. Salacious stories of the Fates had been passed around bonfires and over bottles of wine for centuries, but perhaps the celestial beings who danced across this land had more secrets than any of them knew.

“Oh,” she gasped as they stepped into the Mourning Gardens, inhaling sharply as soft lyrical music trickled on the air. “This is…beautiful.”

Dreamy white fox gloves draped the pathways, seeming to glow as if plucked from the skies themselves, cascading over the stone walls that peeked between gaps in the hedge maze.

Trees stretched high overhead, forming a web of branches dripping with flora, hammocks strung among them. Arches of greenery covered the pathways winding away from the stone pond in the center, lily pads floating in slow circles atop its surface, pink flowers at their hearts winking in reflections from above.

People milled lazily between the hedges, more than a few bodies pressed closely below the lights of the starflies. A couple writhed so passionately in the shadows of the nearest tunnel, Emmeline was positive they were fucking.

Despite their low groans, the scene was nothing short of mystical, its aura seeping into Emmeline’s skin and pulling at her own magic.

“It is,” Desmond agreed, voice tight. “It’s barely changed.”

Myrella exchanged a glance with Emmeline at Desmond’s tone, asking the tattoo artist, “When were you last here?”

He was quiet for a long moment. So long Emmeline dared a glance at Roremar, but his gaze was locked on his friend, those steel eyes heavy with a concern Emmeline rarely saw from him. It twisted something in her chest.

“Over a decade,” Desmond finally answered. At his voice, Roremar visibly relaxed, the feeling wound behind Emmeline’s ribs loosening with it.

Though her distrust of Desmond had been mounting, she recognized genuine distress. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Her sincerity had Desmond sobering, his usual smirk flitting back across his lips as he cast Roremar a taunting look she didn’t understand, then said to her, “Anything for you, darling. But it wasn’t my idea. Your Storytellers wanted you to find something here.”

“We should split up. Talk to some people. Try to find whatever reflection they implied,” Nico suggested, his cheeks flushing with anticipation. “Myr⁠—”

But Myrella interjected, “We should each go alone.” Emmeline’s chest cracked at the instant droop of Nico’s shoulders. Myrella hesitated as she added, “It will be easier to speak with locals then. If we’re on our own.” Emmeline swore her friend’s lips trembled as she forced a nod and gestured to one of the archways. “I’ll start down that path.”

Myrella was gone in a heartbeat, and Emmeline grabbed Nico’s hand. “She’ll come around,” she whispered even though she still didn’t know the whole story.

Nico rubbed the back of his neck, eyes trailing after where Myrella’s skirt floated around the hedge. “I’m not so sure.”

“Don’t give up. Myrella has a bubbly exterior, but I don’t think that means she’s as instantly trusting as people believe. She feels with her entire heart, and it takes time to fill that sort of well.”

“Hate that I’m the one that drained it,” Nico muttered.

Emmeline squeezed his hand. “Let’s go find some of that debauchery Desmond spoke of. We’ll make a loop around the garden to see if we find anyone interesting.” She offered him a wink. “Give her a minute to regret walking away.”

Slowly, Nico offered Emmeline a bashful smile, two dimples piercing his cheeks that pinched Emmeline’s heart. This poor sweet boy, who yes, had lied to Myrella, but based on what Emmeline had seen of him, was truly good at heart. He was, as her mother had said of the best people she knew, woven with stardust. When the universe truly believed a soul was good and put good into the world, they gave them extra magic.

Emmeline looped her arm through Nico’s, and without another look at Desmond and Roremar—who had been acting distant all day—they headed toward the back of the gardens.

Winding through the maze, Emmeline made sure to track the turns they were taking. They stumbled onto a small clearing where warriors were passing around bottles of shimmering blue liquor, a flute humming out a soothing tune. Not wanting to drink from sources they didn’t know, Emmeline and Nico politely declined and kept walking.

The next hollow they stumbled into was bedecked in curtains of silk, the swaths so soft and dreamy, they rippled like pools carved of starlight. A few couples traipsed through, and Emmeline couldn’t help the feeling that she’d stumbled into some other world where the skies pressed right into the earth beneath her feet.