Page 36

“Kind. When Klaus died, that kindness left. It is only a matter of time before you will care for him. Whether you like it or not, a bond will form between you. I trust Archer with my life, regardless.”

“Why? He doesn’t deserve our trust… not when he’s forcing me to lie to Damien.”

Naraic stretched his wings in the single shred of sunlight, holding firm through the clouds. “We are all bonded. Ciaran hears everything… Archer as well.”

“Through this bond?” Heat rose to my cheeks.

“I’ve cut her off, but Archer is strong enough to break through sometimes. His bond with you is different.”

“ Sometimes?”

“Ciaran called to you to find me. Archer could hear her. He knew what you were to him. Knew it from the day he heard your name. Trust him, Severyn.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Silence. “I did not know what you would be like.”

Naraic didn’t trust me at first because I was not Klaus. “I have combat in ten minutes. I’ll find you at the fields in two hours.”

Naraic grunted, tremoring his spiked tail .

I smiled at Myla as I reached the fields.

After I melted her ice in class, it felt like a week had passed since we last spoke.

Two swords were sheathed on either side of her narrow waist—one silver-tipped and the other with an opal handle from the Day realm.

She had more weapons than any other first-year, even surpassing some seniors.

Professor Knight made Monty the instructor today. Monty acknowledged me with a swift nod as I stood across from Knox, whose eyes flared at me and my empty hands. I had no daggers.

Monty stretched his arms with a groan. He moved like the afternoon sun, casting rays of light across the grass.

“Those who have swords will spar against each other. Daggers, you will team up,” Monty announced. His eyes narrowed at the two of us who were daggerless. “Those who do not have daggers will be granted the use of quells. Robi, you are against me. Severyn, you will duel Archer.”

My eyes widened, locking onto Archer’s. Heat prickled my palms. A shadow coiled at my feet, and in a heartbeat, Archer was standing inches away. Darkness spilled from his hands, fluid and graceful, stealing my breath. I bit back the curses threatening to slip free.

Draped in a black sleeveless top, his muscles rippled, veins pulsing with life. The serpent tattoo on his neck seemed alive, slithering and tightening with each of his movements. He leaned in, his closeness that of a predator savoring its prey—I was the prey he’d been hunting for hours.

A phantom wind teased my hair. “Be respectful and bow, Severyn Blanche,” Archer said smoothly, dipping his head just enough to feign respect.

“Like hell,” I hissed.

Monty craned his neck, flashing me a crooked grin. “Feisty. ”

Archer lowered his head, hands laced behind his back. He motioned with his eyes for me to go first. “Shall I heat you, Severyn?” His voice was a static stroke in my mind.

Archer could speak to me telepathically, and it was worse than having my thoughts devoured by a mind reader. I didn’t want his voice colliding with the walls of my mind, let alone to hear Naraic’s and my private conversations.

Heat surged through my veins, pooling in my palms. Facing Archer made it easy to unleash the anger buried deep in my bones.

I poured every bitter thought, every unsaid curse, into the black spark coiling in my hand.

It slithered into a silent flame, snapping at his leather shoes just as he stepped back.

Too many channels converged—one Damien controlled, one only Naraic could hear—all fusing into a chaotic, unrelenting current.

I screamed in my mind, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

A faint response echoed back, “Are you threatening a Serpent?” His brow arched in spite.

I scoffed, shaking. Every vein within me felt like it might burst and spew molten blood.

“Is that all you have, Severyn?” Archer raised his palm, and a thundering shadow rippled from his body. His eyes glowed black as darkness consumed half the combat grounds.

A shaded rope seized my waist, dragging me closer. Archer grabbed my wrists, pinning them to his chest. I struck my flame, scorching his fingers and whatever fabric lay between my wrath.

“No,” I hissed.

“Keep your palms open. Klaus could light fires with his eyes. Do not wield the flame. Become it.”

He was training me to use my quell. To control it. And as much as I hated him, I needed to learn.

A pale light shone from Monty’s eyes, shredding through the darkness and turning the field into a haze of grey smog. Archer didn’t release my wrists as I tried to pull back. Even his heart didn’t quicken.

I braced, my body shaking. “I can’t!” I yelled.

“Burn, Blanche,” he said louder, his voice cutting down our faint bond. “Burn me.”

His chest must be blistered by now—my fingertips branded into his skin, marking him with my own relic of hopelessness.

He kept my hands pinned above his heart. Three, four, five beats. That rhythmic hum picked up.

“You are the weakest one here. Not a single dagger, and you expect to fill Klaus’ shoes. Show me what you have, Blanche.”

I lifted my eyes to his shadowed face and swore his breathing became uneven.

I gripped his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric.

He shoved my wrist toward the sky as ash rained from the clouds.

The willow tree behind us burst into flames, and the grass beneath my feet formed a ring of fire.

Every nail on my hand flickered with flame.

Smoke, ash, and screams consumed the combat grounds.

And he didn’t snuff out my fire with shadows. Instead, he allowed me to burn.

“She’s going to burn the grounds to nothing,” Everett hissed.

“Let her,” Archer growled. Something dark flickered in his eyes as he held me, his hands steady on my cindering skin.

Three more trees burst into flames as my eyes darted around. I fell to my knees, curling into a ball, burning my own flesh as I tried to stifle the ravenous flames. Hands gripped my shoulders—not Archer’s, but Damien’s.

“Look what you did,” Damien yelled at Archer. “She’s a mess!”

“I’d hardly call that a mess,” Archer replied, throwing two daggers next to my knees—one with a handle dipped in ash, the other silver. “Severyn has earned quell rights during combat. ”

“Only second and third-years can use quells during combat. You saw her… she is… unstable with her power, brother.” Damien’s lip curled slightly. “You’ll kill her if she can’t control it!”

A gust of wind blew the ash away as Malachi lowered her arms, surveying me and my trembling body.

Archer squared his shoulders. “Fire quells require release, brother. Severyn’s skills are above the average flame wielder for a first-year. Would you not agree?”

“I agree there’s a reason first-years are barred from quell use in combat,” Damien replied.

I had earned two daggers, but at what cost? Damien didn’t believe I could handle it. Even Knox hesitated to step closer. The only comfort was his familiar golden eyes, staring at me from across the field, reading me up and down with his invasive quell.

I knew it was terror rippling from every pore in my body as Knox broke his hardened stance and cleared the distance between us. “Are you alright?” Knox asked.

“I’m fine,” I said with another lie. Perhaps he sensed my fear. Maybe I would never be able to lie to Knox again.

It wasn’t until I felt his arms lift me that I truly shattered. But the tears never came. They stayed locked behind dry eyes, replaced by a sudden, unnatural grin tugging at my lips. Knox was forcing me to be happy, shielding me from the humiliation of crying in front of my peers.

“Let’s eat dinner together,” Knox rasped. “They’re serving cabbage soup tonight—do you remember how Mother used to make it after our first harvest?”

I nodded, following him across the courtyard.

The first harvest back in Northern Colindale was always a celebration.

The sun blazed, brighter and warmer than it would be for the rest of the year.

Fields sprawled with lush vegetation and ripe produce.

I’d carry a basket through the orchard, plucking hellebore petals along the way.

Mother would begin her canning rituals, and the entire valley worked tirelessly, sowing the next season’s seeds before frost claimed the soil.

The train tracks always signaled the frost’s arrival—the steel groaning as cracks splintered along its surface, screws glistening with a thin veil of ice. Life had felt simpler then, I thought, staring at my raw, blistered hands.

My ears rang as Knox gripped my shoulders. He deserved to know the truth. I could trust him. “You never liked Mother’s soup,” I teased, still giddy from whatever quell he’d inflicted on me.

“Better than whatever roadkill Father and Charles would bring home. I will never forget when we fried squirrel tails that one frost.” Knox shuddered at the thought.

“Nothing quite like Colindale food,” I said as we entered the large dining hall across from the library.

Six rows of fifty-foot wooden tables were centered with green velvet benches.

Savory spices wafted through the air. A serpent sculpture hung from the ceiling—lights flickered from the scaled body.

Dozens of students sat, eating soup and sourdough bread.

Knox went to the large pot and carried two bowls in his hands.

“What will we tell Father when he comes for the Serpent Bid? None of us are in the ranks to take over for him,” I began. “It will ruin him.”

“Then let it. The academy placed us, knowing our history. The Blanches have reigned over the frozen valley in Colindale for a hundred years. Father must have known about Klaus.”

I had never thought the man who would crumble before us in a short few weeks had done it once before—twice, if I counted Charles.

I was tired of lies poisoning me. I had enough venom coursing already .