Page 193 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Yes,” she agreed, forcing her voice to be steady. “He wrested control of you and used you to commit these crimes.” She looked to the others in the room. “This was not Roremar’s doing, no matter that it was at his hand. He is not guilty.”

It was a violation, not only of Roremar’s autonomy, but of the magic that made their clan what it was. When the Angel Valyrie created the Fates, this was not what was meant for their relationships to Starsearchers.

The Temple Master cleared his throat, but his stoic expression confirmed what Emmeline suspected. He wasn’t surprised by this revelation about his nephew at all. “If it was the Fate of Chaos and Revelry doing this, who attacked you at the Academy, Emmeline? We know Roremar wasn’t there that night.”

“I don’t know.” She closed the book, holding it to her chest. “That’s a piece I haven’t been able to figure out. Perhaps it was unrelated.”

TO TEMPT THE FATES, AND REALMS WILL WREST,

She still didn’t know what it meant, and a glance exchanged with Roremar confirmed he was wondering the same.

“It explains why the culprit broke into my parlor of all places, though,” Desmond said. “You’d been there how many fucking times, Rore? He obviously saw that design book through your eyes and thought it could help. He was getting more desperate, trying new tattoos on those other bodies you found in the cave.”

“And how he’d been so careful with returning Liana.” Emmeline breathed through the pain. “Some part of your subconscious poked through, treated her better.”

Since Liana was an Academy instructor like Emmeline. Even while his mind had been abducted, he’d been trying to protect her from more pain.

“Why the last victim was the dancer we met at the Mezzanine. And why the teller at Viperous Vices seemed familiar,” Roremar whispered, face pale. He looked like he was about to be sick. “I’d been there—or outside at least. Stalking the damn victims.”

The same nausea swooped through Emmeline. “And the travelers came on ships with the seeds hidden in the crates. Dryvius was arranging for those imports so he could grow the flowers needed for the ritual, and when travelers reacted, Dryvius tracked them.”

Dryvius. Not Roremar. He was not responsible for this.

“I’d been wondering why these murders were on Lyra if it was a cult,” Roremar said. “It’s because I was here.”

“I suppose the strength of the single Fate tie is convincing evidence that Dryvius does not have another alignment in existence,” Maeson said.

“You cannot prove something does not exist,” Emmeline repeated. “But based on my research, I feel safe betting Roremar is the only one. Otherwise, the Fate would not have had such extensive control over him so that he remembered so little.”

She’d seen him at each of the murders. The disgust, the mourning. Particularly after Nico’s death. No part of her believed Roremar had any indication of his involvement until he woke with his brother’s blood on him.

“Is this true, Roremar?” Enya asked, and Emmeline was so grateful one of them at least was speaking directly to him. Treating him like a person.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I had no recollection of any of the murders. There were times I couldn’t remember where I’d been, or woke up in the morning feeling like I hadn’t slept, but nothing before…” His eyes clenched, jaw ticking over the words he couldn’t speak. Emmeline had to fight to stay where she was. “When I woke up with Nico. That was when I knew. I felt Dryvius sever the connection that time. Woke with the blade still in my hand. Nico’s blood everywhere and the betrayal…”

His pain stuttered through Emmeline’s chest, ripping her heart out. Bile climbed her throat, but Roremar went on, his stare locked to hers, as if he was only speaking to her. These words he’d needed to get off his chest for a week now but had to bear their burden alone.

“He was looking at me with such betrayal. I tried to fix it. I couldn’t fix it.” His breath shuttered, her own lungs clenching.

And finally, company be damned, she ran to him. Caught him as his knees buckled, his chained hands slipping around her, clutching her to him like he’d never get to hold her again.

“I was supposed to protect him,” he cried into her shoulder, voice barely more than a whisper as this beautiful man broke in her arms. “I was supposed to take care of him, and I—I⁠—”

Desmond was there, too, wrapping an arm around Roremar’s shoulder to support him. Amber eyes met Emmeline’s and she knew they were united in this. In holding Roremar together when he shattered.

“I killed him,” he whimpered.

“It wasn’t you,” Emmeline tried to soothe, but she knew it was fruitless. Right now, he couldn’t differentiate his will from his hands. Still, she gave him the words she hoped one day he’d understand. “It’s not your fault, Roremar. You didn’t do this—it was all the Fates.”

“Fuck the Fates,” he said, jaw trembling against her shoulder as she rubbed a hand down his neck. She tangled her fingers in his waves. “They’ve never cared about me. They made me do this again.”

Again.

Not again. Not again, he’d cried and pleaded when she found him with Nico, body trembling.

“That’s what happened with your father, too, isn’t it?” Emmeline asked carefully, pulling back to look at him. Fates, it was taking all her willpower not to grab him and vanish from this room. To hide away as she’d always done with her own pain and assure him they would fix it all.

But death was permanent. As she’d been reminded time and again, it was the one thing she had no power over.