Page 44 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“Heading there soon,” she said as she wet a rag and scrubbed the countertops.

“How’s your head?”

She gave him a soft smile. “Good today.”

Roremar exchanged a glance with Nico that said they’d both heard her come home from work in the middle of the night. Her job at Felicity’s Tincture Shop in the Peddler’s District often kept her late when they needed to harvest specific starlight blooms. It was grueling physical work—not great for someone who had battled chronic headaches since she was a girl—but his mother wasn’t an ascended warrior. Like many Starsearchers, she didn’t pass her qualifying rituals. Unlike some, her Fatorum Revelus didn’t result in death, but it did limit what jobs she could take.

Felicity’s was one of the few, and she loved the work. Always had, even before times were harder for their family. That was what mattered.

No matter how much Roremar wanted to relieve that pressure from her shoulders.

“We’ll clean up,” Roremar told his mother, lifting the rag from her hand as he set his glass in the wash basin and gestured to the baked goods lining the counter. “You were clearly busy all night. Get some rest.”

When Chrysta Silventa couldn’t sleep, she baked. Ever since Roremar’s father died, she liked having something to do with her hands. And filling the house with the scents of Deacon’s favorite pastries dulled the echoing loss.

Tendrils of brown hair drooped around her cheeks and circles lined tired eyes, her frame brittle, but she assessed the kitchen as if searching for another task. Roremar held his breath, but when she sighed and conceded, he exhaled slowly.

“I’ll go rest for a few minutes. Wake me when the kids are up, and we’ll make breakfast.”

“Sure,” Roremar said, knowing damn well he wouldn’t bother her.

He and Nico both kissed her on the cheek, and she disappeared down the hall. Neither of them spoke again until her door clicked close.

“She seem okay to you?” Roremar checked.

“Okay as ever.” When Roremar didn’t respond, Nico added, “So yesterday…” He dissolved into soft, shoulder-shaking laughter when Roremar shot him a look he knew was death personified. “Don’t want to talk about it?”

“You and Des shouldn’t have butt in.” He hadn’t seen his brother by the time he got home last night, Nico putting their siblings to bed so Roremar could check out the dead end at Angel’s Draw.

Nico blinked at him in disbelief, their father’s blue eyes slicing through him. “You’re still stuck on that?”

“Should I not be?” Roremar drawled.

“I was going to ask about Emmeline.” Nico sliced a piece of bread off the loaf their mother had just made, spreading jam on it.

“What about her?” Roremar asked, waiting until Nico had perfectly distributed the strawberry topping to snatch it from his hand and steal a bite.

His brother gave him a flat stare. “That was rude. But I’ll let it pass since you’re clearly deflecting.”

“I’m not⁠—”

“You’re two sides of the same coin,” Nico interrupted. “Two ends of a Fate tie or whatever the expression is.”

Roremar scoffed, ambling to the aged dining table and organizing piles of fresh laundry. “That’s a dumb saying.”

How could two warriors be ends of a tie? One end had to be a Fate, for stars’ sake.

“It sort of is,” Nico agreed. “But my point still stands.”

“I don’t care about your point,” Roremar grumbled, and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that his brother let the subject drop. Based on Nico’s self-satisfied smirk as he popped a grape into his mouth, the conversation was far from done. Roremar shoved aside the debate, though. “Everyone was sleeping when you got up?” he checked, though the house was silent.

“Likely not for long,” Nico answered, taking another bite of fresh fruit.

Thanks to the business ventures their father left behind, they afforded basic necessities like clothing and food. It was tight, but the house was stocked—though the structure itself needed work—and now, thanks to their uncle, schooling and training were provided for the younger kids.

He didn’t like taking them from the small school they were used to on this side of the isle, but Aldryn pulled strings to get them into the Academy, and Roremar had to oblige.

As he’d been doing for ten years.