Chapter 40 #2
No information was worth the distress in her eyes. It wasn’t a fear of being seen up there, it was something much deeper, something he didn’t understand but that he was ready to shred the skies to fix.
But Emmeline met his eye briefly and again shook her head.
That one motion rooted a helplessness in him that he hated more than anything.
But he sat.
And she looked away.
Music began, a gentle hum. The same kind of beat that laced the halls downstairs. And with it, the women all started to move.
In an instant, Roremar knew Emmeline had done this before.
Had been trained to. Despite the bile burning the back of his throat, he was entranced with her.
The way her body was the music, every move lyrical and fluid.
But no matter how graceful, it wasn’t desire coursing through him.
It was horror. While the other women seemed to enjoy the attention, to thrive off it, Emmeline’s stare was somehow more blank than before.
Fuck, how was he supposed to sit here and endure this? He had to get whatever information Emmeline needed from the Snake Charmer as quickly as possible to end it.
“How long have you been on Lyra?” Roremar asked him.
“About four years,” he answered, twirling the silver hoop through his lip.
“What made you leave the continent? Surely business was better there than on the Constellation Isles.”
The man’s eyes stayed on the stage, hungry and desirous in a way that sickened Roremar.
“I got word that things I was after were here.” His tongue flicked over the rim of his drink, lapping at a drop of liquid.
“There was a window on Lyra, no one in my position here. So I took it after I got into a sticky mess as they continued to crack down on the trading that used to go on around Starsearcher Territory.”
Trading.
Kidnapping was more like it. When children were taken to the temples, their magic forcibly revealed and exploited. Often, the Temple Masters shoved them into seeing chambers that would all but rip their Fate ties to the surface. It was an awful practice, but it had been dwindling for years.
“You were involved in that?” Roremar growled, hands fisting against the arms of his chair.
“No.” At least there was one respectable thing about the Snake Charmer. “But I find it useful to know who is. To have that sort of information. Someone didn’t like what I knew.”
Never mind on the respectable bit. A better person would have used that knowledge to help end the crimes, not keep it for their needs.
“What do you mean there was no one in your position on Lyra?”
“I don’t want control. I want freedom. I earn that freedom by gaining knowledge. I don’t care to run your precious isle, I only wish to know everything possible about those who do.” He crossed his legs, a smug smile on his lips. “There was no one here who held all the cards. Not until me.”
“Does the Temple Master know?”
“Of course,” the Snake Charmer said plainly. “He knows about all that happens on Lyra. But we do so for different reasons, so we coexist harmoniously. He fuels my needs, I protect his.”
There was more to that sentence that Roremar needed to peel apart, but he didn’t like the way the Snake Charmer was grinning at him. He wouldn’t ask now; refused to show that intrigue.
The other spectators howled as the dance continued, the music quicker now. Each one received a lethal glare from Roremar in turn. None of their eyes deserved to be on Emmeline. She belonged to him, only him.
That wasn’t true.
You will be her ruin.
But tonight, in this place, with their eyes on her, she belonged more to him than any of them. He was the one who knew her, who had spent weeks learning her, protecting her. And he would carve out their eyes if their attention made her uncomfortable.
The Snake Charmer snapped his fingers and shadows moved around the edges of the room, toward the stage, and when they stepped into the light—
“What in the Fate’s fucking grave?” Roremar cursed.
Serpents. Huge onyx serpents thick as his wrist.
The men draped them around the dancers’ shoulders as if they were props to enhance the performance.
Many of the women were at ease, caressing the scaled beasts and moving effortlessly with them.
But terror flashed through Emmeline’s eyes as two were wrapped around her.
As they coiled and slithered over her soft skin.
He couldn’t take this. Couldn’t sit here when no one else could see—or cared about—the fear dancing in her eyes.
Grumbling, he stood from his seat and paced before the curtain separating the third section of the room.
The one more and more men were disappearing behind with whoever they bought for the evening.
“Keep talking,” he demanded of the Snake Charmer. “What does she think you know about the women being murdered?”
“What are your leads?” the man asked, seeming genuinely intrigued, though his eyes were locked on the stage.
“Been looking at cults and the Fates they’re loyal to.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t touch any of that stuff. Barely deal with the Fates at all. My alignment is weak.”
An odd thing to declare. Or something that made him more powerful. He was confident enough that he didn’t care who knew his magic was weak.
“Trade patterns? Some numbers have been off regarding imports from Alvan.”
A smile curled on the Snake Charmers lips as the music shifted again. “Now you’re speaking my language. I know of every deal conducted on this isle.”
No wonder he was considered important enough for Falliare to work with.
“The murders seem like rituals. They each involve a specific tattoo. When we looked into the ink being imported onto the isle, the weights of crates are reported differently in every source.” He forced himself to explain it in precise detail, needing to distract himself.
“I don’t know if it’s being stolen or misreported, but the only consistent thing is the inconsistencies. ”
“That’s because it’s not ink in all of those shipments,” the Snake Charmer said, and Roremar paused his pacing.
Not ink. He’d considered that as a possibility, but he’d had no proof.
Finally, the serpent pulled his eyes from the stage, looking up at Roremar as he took another large sip of his drink.
“My sources say there’s been a wide variety of plants brought onto Lyra recently. ”
“Plants?”
“Seeds, more specifically.”
Seeds. Could it be a part of the strain of drugs that was dangerous to Starsearchers? Or perhaps some plant that’s then processed into oil or incense that the victims bought?
“Do you know the specifics? Anything that has to do with Anphrosia?” Roremar asked.
“No specifics. Just vast quantities throwing off the weights and numbers of inkwells in those crates.”
“Where are they going?”
“Apothecaries scattered around the isle, Peddler’s District and the Cursed Markets, some smaller settlements on the west coast. My guess is most don’t know they’re not supposed to be in their orders. The way things are packaged, it’s all blending in.”
“Seeds,” Roremar repeated beneath his breath as he braced his hands on the back of his chair.
Emmeline moved, the serpent coiling around her. He explained what they’d learned from the Storytellers, focusing very hard on each word and not the icy fear taking root in his chest.
The Snake Charmer finished his drink, setting it on the table between their chairs. “When I’m hunting for answers, I start closer to home. To the heart.”
“They’re after women with Anphrosia Fate ties,” Roremar added, explaining what the Storytellers told them.
“You think it’s unrequited love?” The Snake Charmer twirled the hoop in his lip, seeming genuinely intrigued.
“You don’t?” Roremar asked.
He shrugged. “Could be, but I think it’s more likely the oldest motive on any realm.”
“Which is?”
“Revenge.”
That word clanged through his mind as Emmeline swept a leg out—
And Roremar’s entire world turned to starfire.
The Fate Realm could have opened before him, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Because along her thighs, delicate crescent-shaped scars were scattered.
Bite marks.
They sprinkled her skin—skin she usually kept hidden beneath long skirts or leathers. That he’d been going too crazy to notice until the light hit them just right.
The snakes draping her frame…Fates, how many times had she done this to receive so many? There had to be over a dozen small punctures, one brutal one at least. And how careful was she with the pets—while in such pain—that she kept them in a place so intimate, she could hide the scars easily?
Bile gathered in the back of his throat, his sword burning at his back.
“How much fucking longer?” he growled.
“Only a few minutes.”
“End it now,” he demanded.
“Can’t.” The Snake Charmer laughed. “The pets get feisty when I do.”
“You think they’re bad?” Roremar threatened. “Remember what I said about your entrails.”
But he waited, refusing to be a reason for another scar on Emmeline’s body. Fates, it was the longest few minutes of his life.
“Reckless,” the Snake Charmer called as the music died and the snakes were removed. Roremar shot him a glare, not missing the use of that name now though he pretended not to know him earlier. “Tell Emmeline I hope she tracks down the Averian.”
The Snake Charmer left with a sly grin, and Roremar truly knew the meaning of revenge as he watched him go. But he’d deal with him later.
“Emmeline,” Roremar gasped, rushing forward. She stumbled toward him in a daze, hands latching on to his arms.
Heart in his throat, Roremar cupped her cheek. “Huntress?” he breathed.
When she finally blinked and turned her gaze to his, there was no light in her eyes. No thrill of performance as the other dancers bore. No hunger for the crowd’s ravenous attention.
Roremar had noticed that when Emmeline ventured too close to her past, she shut down, dissociating in the moment. But this vacant, broken stare was so much worse.
The woman in his arms was shattered.