Page 59 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

The main hall of the Accords was a towering room with starry mosaics splashed across the ceiling and dark-wooden shelves climbing the walls, directories perched at the end of each neat row. The organization and magic of this place soothed her. Typically, only approved scholars and acolytes were allowed to roam the halls, but their approval from Falliare granted her access, and Emmeline embraced the quiet.

As she pulled a handful of aged volumes off shelves, she picked through every interaction with Desmond, fighting to disprove her suspicion of Roremar’s best friend.

But he’d been at the cliffs the night of the first murder, she couldn’t deny that. He could have easily been the man who escaped through the jungle. And he’d been putting significant effort into being covert, which meant he was hiding something.

Not to mention how eager he’d been to help them under the guise of assisting his friend. That was an easy cover, she reasoned as she strolled down another row of books. Roremar clearly relied on Desmond, so if the tattoo artist—another piece of evidence—was involved in this, it wouldn’t be suspicious to be close to the investigation.

With each fact, Emmeline grew more and more convinced.

And as her thoughts raced in the stillness of the Accords and her arms grew laden with pages she hoped contained answers, the hall was quiet.

But she didn’t realize that in the vast emptiness, a presence hovered around her shoulders like a worn cloak. And she never felt alone.

When she made it back to Roremar and dropped off the books she’d found, he was dozing off in his chair, the sleepless nights he’d been spending on this case catching up to him.

“Come on, Reckless,” she said, rousing him. “It’s time to go.”

Shaking his head and rolling his shoulders, he blinked away the exhaustion and followed. Emmeline spent the entire walk back to Lyra Temple Academy worrying over how she was going to reveal to Roremar that her primary suspect was his closest confidant.

Chapter Twenty

Emmeline

After her late meeting, Emmeline opted to conduct sessions in her office rather than breaking curfew to sneak out to the sanctuary ruins on the cliffs.

She allowed the Fate to feed her mind with tales of fortunes spread across Ambrisk, all matters of friends and strangers, of territories and vast unknowns. She saw her colleagues at the Academy with tear-streaked faces and veiled beings digging graves. Blood-soaked battlefields and rips torn through the world, skies of rich purple plastered with stars, only for them to explode into ruin. It all left her feeling empty.

Finally, she asked about the murders, but not a single hint was divulged as to whether another killing was being planned and when they would strike again, as if the Fates were as clueless as she was.

Though it did seem her idea of ritualistic killing was supported based on the altar she repeatedly showed her, a jewel-encrusted diadem and scepter atop it, wisteria blooming all around. Waterfalls poured from towering stones beyond, the carvings on them indeterminable from this distance, but planting a seed of belonging in her spirit, like this place was known to her.

Daringly, she asked, “What of Desmond Alvanti?”

For a moment, the entire realm seemed to pause. The air shuddered and stars winked furiously.

Sketched visions of charcoal on parchment, of abstract ink burning into flesh, and a woman she couldn’t name, lost and forlorn with paint splattering her hands.

Oil spilled upon the floor, and a forge sprang to life in the inky puddle, hammer striking a lethal blade. As the blow rang out, the slick black stain rippled.

In a blink it became crimson.

In a breath, bones filled the scene, piling up so high she thought she’d be crushed by them. That she’d die with her lungs filled with the dust of those who came before her.

Constellations whirled, spinning and cracking in the sky. From beside her, the Fate’s voice said, Bones as brushes and arrows tipped in gold, his secrets are blessed and abundant.

“What sort of secrets is Desmond keeping?” Emmeline asked as the bones rattled against the floor, her frame trembling with them.

The celestial form at her side shook her head. Those will not be your end.

“But will they be the end of others?” she whispered, because while Desmond might not draw her death, he could very well be the killer she sought.

Starfire rippled around Emmeline’s vision, and a winged figure rose from the bloody pool. Feathers drenched, eyes starry, Valyrie looked at Emmeline, and she smiled. “They have found you.”

Emmeline ripped herself from the reading, shoving her magic deep, deep down. So far away that if she tried hard enough, she could barely feel it clawing at her veins; barely notice the rippling effect around the edges of her vision; barely hear the calls from beyond iron bars.

She panted over the desk in her office, skin clammy. Low candlelight flickered across the space, and an eerie silence surrounded her.

In over twenty years, she’d become an expert at shutting things out, at being on her own and claiming that isolation as a haven. Perhaps it wasn’t healthy, but it was the best she could do.