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“I should have suspected, you look just like her.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She sucked a breath in, throwing the bloodied cloth into a bin. “Of course.”

“I’ve never known what color her eyes were. Do you remember what they looked like?”

She fumbled with the lid of the ointment. “There once was a man who picked every leaf he could find for one that matched those eyes of green. He went through every land in Verdonia, searching high and low. Unbeknownst, his daughter would have the same eyes.”

“I have my mother’s eyes?” Father had always described them as lovely, not the ferns near our lake or the color of algae once the light hits. He never had a way with words. “What happened to her?” I asked. “It seems everyone has something to say about Fallon.”

“Something you’ll face too, but the Blanche blood has always been strong. Fallon was top of our class for the most part… she skipped class, which I will not tolerate.”

I stared at my wrist. “I’ll be dead in a week.”

“You have her eyes, and I know damn well you will have her cunning mind.” She brushed a grey strand behind her ear. “I remember when your mother was pregnant with Charles, and she was still kicking ass during combat.”

“My mother? Are you sure you have the right Blanche?”

“Yes. Your mother was pregnant during her second year here. It seems like only yesterday we were fighting in combat and surviving the academy.”

The doors flew open, and two bloodied students walked in. Estella gave me a silent nod as she rushed to attend to the two males. My arm was bandaged up and slung with a brace. It was not the fiercest look, but I could handle a week before the healer could fix my bone.

The males were in worse shape than me. Jace had a broken nose, while Alaric’s collarbone jutted out unnaturally. “You were so close to landing that fall,” the blonde male exclaimed. “A wild wyvern threw us overboard during flight, ma’am.”

Estella shot a disapproving, motherly glance at the two males. “You can’t tame a wild wyvern, you idiots. Dragons choose their riders. ”

“Half of the first-years have found their dragons already. It isn’t fair. Archer’s going to be so pissed when we tell him we haven’t found our enigma yet,” Jace said to Alaric, wincing in pain.

I left before I passed out, recoiling at the sight of blood dripping from Jace’s nose. Tomorrow, Bridger would drag me to the Winter forests, and I’d have to scale down that wall with one hand.

Wandering out the back toward the dragon training grounds, I observed three large dragons soaring in the sky, their scales boasting various shades.

Some lounged on the grass in scaled rays of brilliance, spikes lining their spines in a fierce and deadly gesture, their necks rolling.

It was hard to imagine my mother riding one, let alone Klaus.

Dragons lived for hundreds of years, sometimes having multiple riders throughout their lifetime.

I wondered why half of my history was hidden under a veil of weakness. Why I’d never known my bloodline was tainted with flame and light.

“Pigeon riders ,” I scoffed.

One yellow one heaved its wings, releasing a cry through the air.

I’d never been close enough to see their snouts growl as their talons shredded through the dirt.

The creature’s elongated neck arched gracefully, crowned with a regal crest that gleamed in metallic gold.

Fierce, intelligent eyes surveyed the fields, pupils narrowing to slits as they observed the students.

Its snout, adorned with intricately carved patterns, swallowed a bout of air.

I stood on the cobblestone pathway of the castle, watching every stroke of wings against the clouds.

The riders flew high, bodies swallowed with leather and muscle.

I’d be scorched if they knew a bird rider was here…

if I could even call myself that. I couldn’t slip my stare as I leaned against the stone wall.

Everything reminded me of Klaus, yet I had never seen him stand on that field.

Had he run laps like the others had? Was I secretly searching for the golden tone of his dragon, not knowing it was the same color as the academy arches like my father searched for my mother’s eyes for all those years?

Missing someone hurt, but losing someone wilted the core.

Not knowing someone seemed worse. I knew nothing about Klaus and if he’d stood in the same spot as me, with his hand shielding his eyes from the sun along the horizon.

“Your brother has anger issues.” A familiar voice startled me. “And standing there is a sure way to get hit.”

I jolted. Archer leaned on the same wall beside me, standing in a single shadow. How long had he been there? I raised my injured wrist. “Sorry, I was leaving the infirmary when I saw the field.” I looked down, afraid to meet his eyes. Afraid to question him.

The sound of his knock still rattled me.

My eggshell-colored gown clung to my legs as I stood frozen.

It was autumn, and the fields stretched wide with roots, nearly ready for the second harvest. Visitors were rare, except on Thursdays when the post arrived.

But this was Friday, and noon seemed to hold a foreboding weight in my chest. The wind chimes shuddered as his shadowed fingers curled against the door.

He said no more than three words before the door slammed shut behind him.

“Klaus is dead.”

Bones could heal, but a bruised heart never beat the same—never regained its color as grief stained the blood grey.

And he died for a title that bore no likeness to him.

I clipped my thoughts short, swallowing the rising ache.

Archer stood before me, his eyes heavy with the same truth they’d carried when he first spoke those words.

He had no idea who I was.

“Your wrist doesn’t look reset to me. Your bone is protruding out.” He narrowed his eyes. His shadows were subdued in the sun, but his coolness blanketed me as he shifted closer .

And it wasn’t fear I felt, but a roll in my gut as I stared at the row of thick lashes lining those cruel blue eyes.

Death crept toward me one final time, and I mistook his bones for beauty . That was the end of Cully’s poem. Archer was beautiful in a way I wanted to hate every cell in his body. But I didn’t understand why he’d delivered the burden. Why him, of all people?

Everything about him set something on fire in my stomach. I’d make a fool if I dared to part my lips, but I did anyway. He was a Serpent, my Serpent, and if Alaric and Jace had broken bones to prove themselves to him, then what was I?

“Estella couldn’t do much until the healer comes in a week. Since this is my last few days, I might as well explore the grounds.”

“Are you always this insufferable?” he asked, shading me with his tall figure. “No one will pity a frown.”

I slid my gaze to meet his. “I haven’t found my quell nor my enigma. I—I understand if you’re upset.” I felt like a begging dog seeking approval.

I swore his face fell as I did it, but his words were a mask for that bleak stare. “You’re expected to find your quell by the end of the week, Blanche. Don’t make me regret allowing you to stay under my house.”

“Why did you?” I asked softly. “Why—why did you come to my house that day?” He knew what I meant as a single brow cocked for a second.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. If you do not reset your wrist, it will heal broken, and you surely won’t make it very far.”

“Too painful.” I shuddered.

He blew a deep sigh. “I’ll reset it for you.”

“No.” I pressed my spine against the stone wall as he angled his knee, trapping me .

He forced a grin. “As your mentor, I insist. It would look quite bad on my part if one of my first-years could not defend themselves during the trials. You’ll need to win, and your tears will not help. People will not take pity on you. Everyone here has lost someone. You aren’t special.”

He closed the distance between us, and my heart stopped for a second as he lifted my sleeve and delicately held my forearm between his hands. “This is an order. Let me help you.”

Burning . I was burning from his touch. I swallowed my dry spit and nodded, knowing nothing I said mattered. “Please be quick.”

“Look into my eyes and take a deep breath.”

And so, I did. I saw the depths of the sea whirl in those eyes, my startled reflection captured within their storm.

His thumb brushed over the tender part of my arm, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine.

My heart beat embarrassingly fast as he hovered over my pulse.

“One… two,” he said. “Why do I make you nervous?”

Perhaps I was mesmerized by his cruelty. My gaze lingered on the violet buttons of his coat, each thread meticulously looped. Then my eyes drifted to the hissing snake tattoo curling up his neck. “You—don’t,” I said, though my voice betrayed me.

On the second breath, I was on my knees—falling forward as a sharp snap echoed in my ears.

My vision spun, my body betrayed by the searing pain.

But Archer’s arms caught me before my nose could meet the unforgiving pathway.

He held me firm, his shoulders carrying the scent of dirt and leather, his presence heavy and grounding.

His arms hovered over my spine, as though afraid to fully touch me, while the darkness creeping at the edges of my sight blurred everything.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the pain, but his shadow quell slithering up my back, cold and invasive, seeping into the cracks of my will .

His voice muffled, but I heard his last insulting whisper, “She’s weak, Ciaran.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, staring at the lantern flickering on the side table in my dorm. Malachi was fast asleep in her bed. My clothes from the day before were neatly folded at the end of mine, and I realized—he had undressed me. He had carried me back.