Page 176 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“It has to get fixed. Roremar wouldn’t have done this. He always kept us safe. He wouldn’t hurt Nico.” Leo’s voice cracked on his brother’s name, and Emmeline couldn’t stop her tears now.

Couldn’t stop the agony that consumed her as Leo voiced the one thing she’d been trying to understand all day. But it was true. The evidence was there, and yet Roremar couldn’t have done this.

Not again, he’d repeated when Emmeline found him, pure shock and despair in his words. This can’t have happened. He had begged and implored the Angels.

“We need your help, Emmeline,” Vivienne pleaded.

Emmeline thought of the man who had pried his way into her heart despite her strongest efforts. Her chest tugged, a thread she tried to deny pulling sharply. She thought of the man who had the reckless reputation but approached situations with careful consideration, who was nothing like what she expected, but so much more.

And she admitted she couldn’t see a fate in which his hands were responsible for this, despite the facts that stacked up against him. Because throughout them all, one crucial piece was missing—the one they’d been trying to find for weeks.

Motive.

There was no reason why Roremar would have committed these crimes. But for some reason, he was allowing himself to rot in a cell for them.

With his siblings before her, wide eyes so innocent and pleading, she couldn’t force herself to accept it was true.

“I promise,” she whispered, squeezing both of their hands again. “I will do everything I can to fix this.”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Emmeline

“What are you doing here?” Desmond Alvanti growled as he opened the door to his basement apartment.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Emmeline responded, crossing her arms.

Shouts and cheers drifted down from the Promenade as the opening ceremony dissolved into dancing and music. Lyra was free again. Nausea swooped through Emmeline, and she pulled her hood tighter around her face as she stepped closer to the door, a singular mystlight orb swinging overhead.

Desmond’s knuckles went white on the wooden frame. His face was etched with deeper lines than usual, as if the weight of the past day had aged him tremendously. Over his shoulder, the room was nearly dark, only a few candles lining the table like he’d been hiding in here and didn’t want anyone from the revels banging on his door. Incense clouded the air, a soft citrus scent reaching out to Emmeline, tampering with the magic pulsing through her.

Desmond’s eyes dropped over her, his lips tilting into a smirk at the tight black leathers and blades that adorned her body beneath her midnight cloak. “You came prepared for a fight.”

“I came prepared to work,” she retorted. Tension budded between them, pressing down on Emmeline’s already exhausted frame. She dropped her arms, whispering, “He didn’t do this, Desmond.”

Her heart shattered over those words. It was the first time she’d said them aloud, yet she knew in her heart they were true. She’d known it all day.

“Evidence says otherwise, Emmeline,” he bit out, eyes narrowed.

Disbelief had her jaw dropping. “Are you kidding me? Fuck the evidence!” A wave of Starsearchers ran down the street, and she forced her voice to lower. “You know as well as I do that Roremar would never harm his brother. He’d never harm any of the victims. He may have earned a reckless reputation, but he’s so much more than that. He cares about other people, Desmond.” She groaned. How did Desmond Alvanti of all people not see this? “I don’t even think he believes in the Fates from how little he reveres them, so why would he be conducting some Spiritsdamned ritual in their honor? Nico aside, none of it lines up, and he’s too fucking good to have done something like this. So please, I need you to help me prove it.”

She wasn’t above begging for his assistance. Not when it came to Roremar. But she didn’t have words to explain just how deep the man’s devotion ran or how she knew he may be willing to go to any lengths to protect those he loves—would kill for them—but he would never hurt them.

Desmond was silent for a minute that stretched on. The power beating in her veins heightened, impatient and desperate.

“You seriously think he’s guilty?” she spat when Desmond didn’t answer.

“Not in a Fate’s flying fuck,” he responded immediately. “I just wanted to see how much you believe in him.”

Her heart clenched at the comment, but warmth spread through her chest. Roremar had such a loyal friend in Desmond. He deserved that. Deserved people to fight for him when he fought for everyone but himself.

“How did I do?” she asked.

“Remember, Emmeline,” Desmond said, crossing his arms and widening his stance in the doorway, “I don’t know if I trust you personally.” The words didn’t sting. She’d earned them, and she kept her expression impassive as he continued, “But I trust that man—my brother—with my damn life. And he trusts you. He’s fucking different around you, in a way I think he’s needed for a long time. It’s like he’s lighter. Living for himself again rather than the rest of us.” His temper was rising, voice pitching up. “And those kids—they’ve lost too much. They need him, especially now that Nico is gone. Fuck, I need him.”

She needed him, too, but that wasn’t why she was here.

“So while I don’t trust you”—Desmond stepped aside—“I’ll work with you to prove to the rest of this Fate forsaken isle what you and I both already know.”