Page 201 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Emmeline gasped as power ebbed off her, her hands gripping his biceps. It was waves of starlight and stardust, things ripped straight from the skies that no mortal was ever meant to touch.

Lilac ether wove among the magic blasting fortunes into the sky, lifting the strands of hair that fell free from her braid. The eleven constellations—one of each of her Fate ties—circled above Lyra.

“Star’s Reign,” a voice rang out with a prophetic tenor of a fortune.

“Star’s Ruin,” another added, the echoes of each overlapping.

“United among realms. For tragedy or fortune. We all shall learn.”

The ground shook with the strength of that declaration.

“What’s happening?” Emmeline whispered, her eyes still swirling with starfire.

“I don’t know.” The stars were moving, those voices echoing their three lines again and again as the constellations burned brighter.

Roremar snapped his attention to the ruined halls of the Trade House, and⁠—

They were kneeling. Every official and guard had taken a knee, all their eyes on Emmeline. Enya and Maeson and even his own damn uncle showed an ounce of humility as her magic pulsed through the night, declaring fortunes spanning well beyond his own and those prophetic lines echoed through the air.

Star’s Reign.

Star’s Ruin.

“What are you doing?” Roremar called as the earth’s quaking slowed, magic still whirling through the air.

His uncle answered first. “I never knew how deep your power ran, Emmeline.”

Her attention snapped from the skies to him. Her eyes widened to find them all looking at her with such reverence. “You didn’t guess?”

“Didn’t fathom it was eleven,” Falliare said.

How did his uncle feel about the fact that someone on Lyra had been evading the full extent of his notice for all these years? Roremar tensed at the hint of greed he thought flashed through his uncle’s eye.

“Good,” Emmeline answered. “Why are you kneeling?”

Behind them all, still standing, Desmond and Darcy exchanged a confused glance.

“Because this makes you extremely valuable, Emmeline.”

“No,” she whispered, horror cracking across her features, fighting into Roremar’s dull chest, too.

“You, my dear,” Falliare said, “are going to be magnificent.”

“But not with him,” Maeson added, glaring at Roremar. “Being close to the Dead Fate will only ruin you.” Emmeline went still in his arms, but he’d known this entire time that this was how it would end.

Her eyes went to Roremar’s, and he swore the rest of the world could have imploded and he wouldn’t have noticed. All he knew was the fear in her starry gaze, and the hate for himself that he couldn’t absolve it.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “It’s all going to be okay. Go on, Huntress.” He kissed her forehead. “This is what you’re meant for.”

Valyn. That’s where she’d always wanted to be, and that’s where this power could get her, even if it wasn’t how she’d imagined. She’d be able to find her sister, and that was her greatest dream. Never mind that his had become holding on to her. She deserved to be magnificent, and it was enough for him to know he hadn’t ruined her.

He and Emmeline stood frozen, so many unspoken things between them, but with a nod from a bloodied Brean, the guards converged on him.

And because holding onto her would only taint any chance she had of a future, he let them.

Chapter Seventy

Emmeline