Page 75 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

“You think they’re involved in this?” Why hadn’t she told him?

“I feel like they had to be. They clearly didn’t want to be found, and one of them left toward the docks shortly before the body was discovered. How could that be a coincidence? But with…” She gestured at her neck, where the yellowed bruises made Roremar see red. “With everything recently, I haven’t been able to find them again.”

Emmeline’s head fell back against the wall, and Roremar mimicked it, still watching her. For all the Fates, she looked as if she was talking to the stars.

“Add it to our list of theories,” he said.

“Mm-hmm,” Emmeline hummed. Stretching her toe out, she nudged a loose tile on the roof. It scraped against its neighbor, and she wedged the tip of her boots beneath the corner.

Mischief glinted in her eyes, the brightest hint he’d seen in days. He would do anything to keep it there. Flicking a glance between the tile she continued to nudge out of place and her stare, he laughed.

“You didn’t just choose the Trade House for the perspective on the city, did you?”

“I was wondering when you’d realize.” Crouching, she pried open the panel. A looming column of darkness looked up from below, palm-sized orbs of mystlight dotting the descent. The top rungs of a metal ladder were barely visible.

Emmeline flashed Roremar a daring smirk. “How reckless are you feeling tonight?”

Before he could answer, she slipped into the Trade House. Tucking the worn puzzle piece back in his pocket, he followed. Roremar’s blood pounded with a familiar thrill, this part of him he’d kept locked up for so long awakening.

The Trade House was a three-story structure, but the ceilings were so high, it felt much grander from within. Roremar had never been on the top level, the clearance more exclusive with each. It was where the councilmen’s offices were. Where his uncle had one, as well, though he didn’t typically use it.

He crept behind Emmeline, poised to pull his sword from his back should he need to. Her footsteps were soundless over the thick sapphire rug running the length of the corridor. They passed locked doors, dark wood baring dusty silver plaques labeled with important titles. Silver chandeliers hung overhead, mystlights extinguished.

“What are we doing here, Huntress?” Maybe he should have asked before breaking and entering, but he wanted to see what she had in store. And Emmeline was smart. This move may seem out of character based on her taunts about his reputation, but Roremar had learned that Emmeline wasn’t without her own reckless streak.

“When I read after we met with Gideon, Metrina showed me a room here, and us inside it,” Emmeline whispered as they neared the last door at the end of the hall, chains looped through the handles.

They’d visited the log keeper before coming here, as they’d planned, but they’d agreed his information felt flat, only verifying which ship the women came on and that they had left again not forty-eight hours after their friend died. Emmeline had insisted on asking her Fate tie afterward.

Knowing she was following Metrina right now didn’t set Roremar at ease.

Gently, he grabbed Emmeline’s hand, spinning her toward him. Tingles spread up his arm at the contact. “Why couldn’t we come during the day? Sneaking into the Trade House is a one-way ticket to life imprisonment if you’re caught.”

“Because,” she responded.

“Because?” He had patience. He was as stubborn as her, for Fates’ sake. He could wait her out.

Emmeline sighed. “I prefer to work like this.”

“Why, though?” The question was loaded. Why was she like this? What scars made her so? Truthfully, he’d take anything she would offer at this point.

He hadn’t expected her to say, “Because I don’t know whom to trust. And the more people we speak to, the more people of power we incorporate into our research, the messier it gets. I like keeping things close.”

Roremar hadn’t considered that. It was hard enough for her to let him in the small amount she already had. No wonder she didn’t want to let those walls down any further.

And really, he didn’t mind sneaking around with her.

“To answer your question,” he said, gesturing ahead, “I’m feeling pretty reckless tonight.”

Emmeline grinned at him, and the sight hit him right in the chest.

They ducked into the stairwell at the end of the corridor, their steps quiet down the circular stone tower. Emmeline floated, as if this wasn’t her first time sneaking through Lyra’s most important financial establishment.

“You’ve obviously done this before,” he whispered as they snuck inside and the lock latched behind them. Above, a mystlight ignited, glowing white and eerie.

“You haven’t?” Emmeline teased.

“Reckless, not death wish.” He’d certainly executed his fair share of lethal schemes while at war, but not since returning to Lyra—not with his family relying on him. Guilt tightened his lungs at being here now.