Page 14

Bridger and I left for the Winter forests by the crack of dawn.

Ice crusted my hair on the first step down the ice wall.

My throat choked on the stiff air. Two others joined us, hoping to find their enigma.

My joints hadn’t healed from yesterday’s hike, and I still hadn’t found my quell or creature as we searched the frosted woods for two hours.

I didn’t dare step inside that cave—the tide was too high, and I’d risk drowning.

My mind drifted to Hunter. Was he still in there? Had his bones frozen in the cave? His voice, trapped in a sphere of ice, crystallizing as the snake devoured him.

Bridger’s words lingered, his threat echoing in my mind. “You’re going to wish that Serpent never chose you,” he had hissed before we parted ways.

Malachi and I walked to our first class, the cold bite of the air still clinging to me. My palms were blistered, swollen, and my lips cracked, bloody from the chill. As I glanced down at my reflection in the stone beneath my feet, I realized I felt worse than I looked.

The school sprawled before us, disorienting in its size and structure.

Warding class was on the eastern side, the realms divided by dorms. There weren’t many professors, and the first-year focus seemed to be mainly on building strength.

The seniors, I’d heard, had an etiquette class.

To the south, the griffin fields stretched across the land; to the north, dragons roamed.

Last night, I’d studied the map, committing every path, every hallway to memory.

Students were granted only eight days off a year: four for the Harvest Festival and the rest for Winter Solstice.

Professor Cain taught warding, a subject I dreaded.

I’d watched my father’s hands tremble while working on shields over the years.

Warding protected our lands; shielding defended us.

Those with quells were encouraged to combine them with their shields.

For Malachi, a soft wind spiraled around her, forming a dome-like frenzy as she outstretched her hand.

The hum of dozens of quells vibrated faintly in the air.

The first day was for first-year students only; second-years would join us later. Quells were quick to learn, but mastering the advanced techniques would take years.

Professor Cain’s voice sliced through the shuffle of restless students.

“Raise your palm and feel your shield around you. There are mind reader quells at the academy, so it’s best to master protecting yourself—and your family’s secrets,” he instructed, his tone sharp despite the squeak in his voice.

He adjusted the rim of his square glasses, his short, greying hair catching the dim light. His muted grey robes were frayed at the hems—a detail I couldn’t help but focus on as he shuffled down the rows of long wooden desks.

Mind readers. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I’d heard of mental quells before—powers that ventured far beyond the ordinary .

Malachi sat to my left, Knox to my right.

Malachi was a mix of focus and bravado, while Knox was silent, his grip on the quill tight enough to snap it in half.

Across from us, Malachi’s allies, Margaret and Cormac, stared at their hands, amber-hued, foxlike eyes intent on summoning their wind quells.

A familiar Winter student joined us a moment later. “You should’ve come over last night,” Myla said, sliding into the seat beside Margaret. “The Winter dorms are beautiful. The columns are made of crystals and diamonds.”

She was describing my home.

I gave her a curt nod. “I’m not exactly welcome there.” Nor did I have any interest in mingling with students eager to make me their first blood.

Malachi raised her hand, cutting through the rising tension. “Professor Cain, could you explain how mind reading isn’t a forbidden quell?”

Cain paused, narrowing his gaze on her. “Normally, we don’t discuss forbidden quells on the first day, Miss Herring. But to clarify, a forbidden quell is any power capable of permanently altering something, or one stronger than most. Mind reading doesn’t kill—it simply observes.”

His deep brown eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on each of us.

“Most of you will possess two quells: one natural to your bloodline, and one inherited from your enigma, provided the creature was mature at the time of bonding. You’ll find a warding book on your desk, which covers all types of shields. ”

I glanced down at the worn leather-bound book in front of me, its edges frayed from years of use. A shield, the professor said. But what kind of shield could protect against the chaos already brewing within these walls?

Antonia raised her hand from a few seats back. “Forgive me, professor, but you seem to be missing one: antecedent quells. ”

Professor Cain pursed his lips. “It’s quite rare, but your enigma can absorb a quell from a fallen past rider and pass it on to you. Like a family heirloom—those quells date back hundreds of years, to the Forgotten days.”

I was listening to the professor, but I couldn’t help but notice Myla glance back at the other Winter students, and I wondered if she regretted not sitting with them.

“Malachi, this is Myla and Knox,” I said, sensing her aversion.

Malachi pursed her lips. “Icillian blooded, right?”

Myla opened her palm, dusting snow on the wooden desk. “Yes. Shall I say you’re golden-blooded?”

Knox thumped his leg a mile a minute. “I know who Malachi is, Severyn,” he hissed.

“I figured we could all be alliances. We’re less likely to kill each other when not fighting for the same title,” I whispered, holding my hand out. But all I felt was a burning tear through my forearm. No soft, translucent sheet like Malachi’s grew stronger with each breath.

Knox seemed to have the same issue. Myla nearly perfected her shield as an impenetrable ice barrier surrounded her.

Malachi snickered. “We can still kill each other. Our blood doesn’t define our morals.”

“Blanches, are you even trying? I don’t feel any repel,” the professor groaned.

I glared at Knox with wide eyes.

“Drag your shield from the inner depth of your body. Think of protecting your homeland. Think of every cruel beast that dares to cross over!”

He could yell all he wanted, but no shield would draw. I broke into a sweat, nearly rupturing a blood vessel in my eye before my arm fell to my side in protest. “I can’t, professor,” I said, breathless .

Cain made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Perhaps you have a block. It’s not uncommon, but I’d recommend seeing a healer when possible. But there isn’t much we can do without your quells. Need I mention, you’ll need your shields strong if you wish to fend off those snow beasts.”

I sighed. Malvoria seemed closer every day.

Malachi leaned over. “You’ll get it. Don’t worry. Cormac is a late bloomer, too.” She shot a humorous stare at her auburn-haired male alliance.

“Shut up, Malachi. I know too many of your secrets for you to be dissing me.”

She twirled the wind around her index finger. “Not another Serpent Press scandal,” she chuckled.

Margaret laughed. “Everyone saw you with Monty Garcia. I’m sure there’s already a story in the works surrounding the both of you. A Princess and a Serpent sounds like a folktale.”

I listened to their conversations, trying my hardest to form a shield, to form ice. Yet an hour passed, and the first class was over.

The next class was combat—thankfully, the first-years were only to observe the senior students. My muscles thanked me as Malachi and I stood on the sidelines.

Bridger and Damien were among the mix, shirtless, with sweat glistening on their bodies as they sparred. I couldn’t take my eyes off Damien’s steady flex of each muscle and the way he smiled at me across the combat ring.

“Can you fight?” I asked Malachi.

“I learned how to duel before walking,” she replied. “You?”

“Same. But I stopped training for two years.”

I yelped as two glass daggers appeared in Damien’s fists with a quick raise of his arms. “North, I hope blood doesn’t scare you,” he yelled from the sparring ground.

North. I didn’t despise that nickname .

Malachi scoffed. “Of course, Damien fucking Lynch is here.”

“I met him last night.”

She twirled the wind around her middle finger ever so slightly. “I can only imagine the dread he must feel being the heartthrob of the Continent’s brother.”

Damien and Everett were dueling each other. Day’s student mentor unsheathed a dagger from around his wide thigh, ripping it past Damien’s left eye—missing by a hair. Damien’s arms wound around Everett’s waist, slamming him into the hard grass as blood dripped from his nose.

He was… strong and quick.

“They seem more like heartbreakers to me,” I said, more honesty in those words than I let on.

Metal clashed against metal, the sharp echoes filling the training grounds. Students’ lungs heaved as they fought, sweat dripping from their brows. I stood back, watching silently while shadows crept along the grass, leeching life from the greenery.

Then Archer emerged from the haze, his presence commanding as he joined the combat instructor, Professor Knight. Knight had a balding head, deep lines carved across his forehead, and a jagged mark running from his temple down his neck.

Archer’s voice cut through the metallic din. “How are the first-years supposed to learn by watching?”

Myla nudged me in the ribs, her eyes fixed on Archer. “That’s your Serpent leader? He’s...” Her voice tightened as she stared. “Intimidating.”

Two students over, Margaret added with a smirk, “And hot.”

Knight glanced at Archer. “Very well. But if one of them dies, their blood is on your hands.”