Page 103 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

She and Nico found a few Starsearchers to question—all unsuccessful—and were finishing the conversation when Myrella stumbled into the space.

Blinking rapidly at them, she whispered, “Oops,” and took off toward another archway. At the very last moment, she cast a lingering glance over her shoulder.

“Go on.” Emmeline nudged Nico. At his bemused expression she added, “Follow her.”

His eyes widened. Fates, she nearly laughed. “She’s still mad at me, Emmeline. What if she wants time to herself?”

“She’ll never get over it if you don’t talk about it.” She nudged him forward. “She wouldn’t have given you that look if she didn’t want you to follow. Trust me.”

Nico’s gaze flicked between Emmeline and the ivy curtain Myrella had disappeared beneath, his brows lowering. In a blink, he squared his shoulders, jaw set, and Emmeline saw the man Myrella must have fallen for. The one who set his sights on her that first night, showered her with charm and attention. The one who still had a bit of a shyness beneath his smile that hooked you in and intrigued you.

“Okay,” Nico said, swallowing. “But if she threatens to chop my cock off again, it’s on your Fate tie, Emmeline.”

She rolled her eyes, shoving him forward before he could respond. And Nico followed Myrella, glass baubles swinging as he swept the ivy curtain aside, reflecting the shimmering petals of the star-kissed blooms.

Giving them space, Emmeline turned down the opposite path. The hedges thickened as she walked, until she was scampering down a tunnel that eclipsed the night entirely. Small flowers punctured the leaves in starlit silvers, dreamy whites, and night-born blues and violets. Her turns were on no more than the instinct in her chest, the words of the Storytellers flowing through her mind until her body was light and airy, magic pushing, pushing, pushing at her veins.

At the end of the tunnel, she emerged into a small clearing, a pond at its center. Silver grasses lined the pool like ornate frames on aged mirrors, their surfaces holding thousands of years of secrets within. Reflections of confessions and affairs, salacious whisperings and pleasure.

Emmeline approached the edge, fingers brushing the soft, feathery plants and tiny blush flowers rimming the water, but a soft laugh echoed from one of the hedges nearby, and she froze.

Her hand shot to the triple-bladed dagger at her waist. Slowly, she crept into the shadows and slunk toward the sound.

Peering around the corner, she⁠—

“Oh,” she gasped, and the people in the maze looked up.

An ache split her chest, her hands falling uselessly to her sides when she met a pair of steel-cut eyes, burrowing into her from over the woman’s head. His back was against the curve in the hedge, her body pressing close to his.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, instantly turning back toward the pool.

“That’s okay,” the woman called after her. “We’ll go else⁠—”

“No,” Roremar’s voice cut through the night with such deep authority, chills spread across Emmeline’s skin.

“What?” the woman asked him, and Fates, Emmeline didn’t want to hear any of this. Something roared within her, curled hot and angry in her gut. Lightning shot through her veins until her fingertips felt numb with it.

Why do I care?

Why did jaws snap around her heart at the sight, teeth sinking into her spirit? Why did heat rush to her cheeks but a chill iced her veins? And why did this dreamlike place suddenly feel derived of nightmares?

“Whatever you thought was going to happen, it wasn’t,” she could distantly hear Roremar saying to the woman. She recited star maps in her mind to try to block it out, but it was like his words tunneled into her brain, refusing to go unheard. “I’m sorry if my asking you questions was misleading, but this isn’t that.”

The woman sounded petulant as she argued, “But⁠—”

“Leave.” That singular word—no, demand—clanged through Emmeline as she wound back around the pond’s edge on trembling legs, crushing the small pink petals beneath her boots, the nectar of their hearts seeping into the air.

“Emmeline?”

Why did she spin to look at him? What did her expression give away?

“Is everything okay?” Roremar asked.

Clearly too much, she answered her own question, pulling up a mask of indifference. “Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”

“You ran away awfully fast a moment ago,” Roremar said, hands slipping into his pockets. His sword gleamed in the starlight overhead, matching the silver dancing through his eyes as he studied the small clearing encased in its own little world. “What is this place?”

“That’s what I was trying to figure out, but I’ll leave you and your friend to it.” Her chest was flayed open at those words, an ancient thing screaming within. She shoved it down, down deeper than her magic and down deeper than all the secrets and scars she buried each moment she breathed.