Page 7

I held my breath as his eyes swayed to meet mine.

It had been years since I’d seen him. Most Colindale males had the same golden hair and plain features that never turned heads twice.

His mother had fallen ill when I was eight, and after she stopped her visits, she was replaced in a day—another faceless servant to my family.

Shit. He’d kill me if he recognized me.

I tightened my cloak around my shoulders as we followed silently behind him toward the main courtyard.

He arched his neck, walking backward. A green-handled sword was sheathed tight against his spine, and several daggers were strapped to his limbs.

“Come along,” he said. “My name is Bridger. Third-year and I will be your Winter student leader. Once a year, the Serpents choose their lead for the potential crown, and I’ve yet to have that title stolen.

Jenessa graciously left the Rite up to me, meaning I’ll be the one who tells you if you stay or leave. ”

He flashed a grin that lasted longer than the cold it took to bite my exposed knuckles as we neared the frozen trails.

“Malvoria will be a kinder sentence than pissing me off. If you cry, your face will freeze. The forests harbor deadly beasts, so stay on the trails unless you wish to die. Any questions?” He paused, clapping his gloved fingers. “Great.”

“My name is Myla,” the curly-haired girl whispered to me. “Myla Reinhart. I’m from Ravensla.”

He was too close. I couldn’t risk saying my name.

“Sev,” I whispered back. “Nice to meet you. ”

But her words sank in only after. “Ravensla? Isn’t that a heated realm?”

She nodded. “I’ll explain later.”

Had my father been a tyrant during the famine? Were the rations enough to feed our village? He was lower class, barely above the poverty line, but his family had roots.

Frosted wind scurried from the trail, dancing like cotton.

I’d spent two days under the sun. It was long enough for the cold draft to nip my skin on the first step through the ward.

Snow’s bite was deeper than a beast—not venom slipping through my veins, but a burrowing sense that clutched my bones.

I wiped my dripping nose, stuffing my hands under my armpits.

Bridger daringly walked backward. The ends of his hair slicked to the sides of his forehead. “I hear we have the Serpent’s daughter with us. Severyn Blanche, what does one do if they get frostbite?”

Dread settled in my stomach. Golden eyes leached onto me from all around. “Check for hypothermia and seek help,” I said.

Myla widened her eyes, clipping her breath. “Oh, shit. Your father’s the Serpent?”

Another student hissed from behind, “Looks like first-blood to me. Easy target. They seem to favor the legacies here.”

Bridger cocked his head. “Who will help? I sure as hell am not stepping in. Say you are alone in the forest, the temperature drops, and there is no chance of warmth. What do you do?” He bit his glove, pulling it off and showing us his fingers where the tips of two were missing, concealed with a nasty stitch.

“I stitched my hand up after I lost the top bit from frostbite.”

Myla breathed loudly, “That’s… badass.”

Guilt washed over me.

“I do not know, sir.” I needed to play nice, perhaps a bit dumb. I became increasingly aware that everyone wanted me dead. To know I was hated for simply having a last name felt heavy. I didn’t know them, but they knew me.

I continued, “I would pray to Soliath. Hope he spared me until the sun came up.”

“And if no God answered your call, you would accept death?” A smile curled up his lips. “Severyn Blanche is a prime example of why the title is earned and not given through blood. Now, I understand the passion to claim, but killing her will not make you a leader.”

Snide remarks simmered from the other students.

Our title was passed through generations of Blanches. Bridger couldn’t steal that from our heritage. But could he? My family needed a Serpent to carry on our legacy. We would lose everything without one.

The slow venom of coldness ripped and scratched through my skin. Grinding my teeth, I kept on. Golden eyes locked onto me as if I were nothing more than a privileged daughter of titles. I refused to let the whispers around me linger.

I refused to die because of my last name.

Mistletoe grew along the swaying trees, bulbous red berries dangling above.

The narrow, tight trail forced most of us to step onto the icy mulch.

Bridger’s lantern swayed, its light the only source as it creaked side to side, the hinge groaning with each movement.

We walked in silence for a while. Caws and hisses echoed along the path.

The dagger Charles gave me was tucked between my slacks, the sleek metal pressing against my hipbone.

Bridger suddenly thrust out his hand.

The trail dipped sharply into a pool of black ice, leading to a guttered ledge. Crystals protruded from the cliff like makeshift handles. Snowflakes swirled through the misted veil, catching on the cliff’s jagged edge.

Bridger gestured downward, yelling over the unruly snowstorm, “You’ve all been selected to reign over Verdonia’s frozen valleys.

Each of you was chosen because the academy believes you will be the next Serpent for these lands.

Only one heir is yet to be claimed, and the Serpent’s daughter stands with us.

” He arched a brow at me, then continued, “Scale this wall, and you’ll officially be initiated into the running for Serpent. ”

A blonde male wearing a fur coat cocked his brow. “They call this the wall of crimson.” He took a barreling step toward the edge. “Don’t mind if I go first. Not all is fair in the title.” He sank to his knees, crawling down with a grin.

Bridger brought us up one by one. Most used the same technique: legs first, straight down, bleary-eyed on their boots. I stifled my breath as I heard the first crack—the screams that followed as the ice broke away.

Three more fell, their voices echoing for the next hour, carried by the shuffle of limbs and heavy sighs. Bridger would save me for last, but he’d be the first to take me out as the ice seeped into my bones, my joints snapping with the next step.

These slacks barely kept me warm. I took another step forward every twenty minutes once the student either fell or made it down, and from the screams, about half were gone, broken-limbed, waiting at the bottom.

This was a nightmare, a cold, deranged nightmare.

Myla was next. She glanced at me, tightening her lips. Her one hand slipped as she stared below, yelping.

“Your hands can hold you up if you lose balance. The bluer the ice, the older it is,” I yelled.

Bridger scorned me, “Don’t help her, Blanche. Myla’s father was born in Icillian. She can tap into her distant blood.”

Ravensla was the hottest country in Verdonia. It was beyond cruel to allow Myla to face this, to be called to become a Winter Serpent.

No screams sounded after the first few moments. A half-hour passed. Then Bridger nodded at me .

“Let’s see if all those years of hiding like the little princess you are if you have it in you to know what real Winter is like.”

Scoffing, I said, “I can handle it.” I was the last to go down, but Bridger forced me to wait even as I took one final step toward the ice wall.

His fist went up with a slow shake of his head. “Patience, Severyn.”

“You’re going to kill me, Bridger,” I hissed through my chattering teeth. But I’d allowed him to see me crumble as frozen tears clung to my cheek.

His neck rolled. “I have every right to kill you, Severyn.” I didn’t know a grin could stretch that far as he hissed, “But I won’t ruin my image around the academy.

I’ll instead let the cold kill you as it nearly did to me.

First, your fingers will turn black before they die off.

But your mind begins to stray before that. ”

He reached for my trembling jaw, hands tight around my chin. “Tell me, has your mind gone yet?” Hooded silver eyes crept through me, colder than the ice rattling my bones.

It took everything in me not to tear his hands off my skin. But I leaned desperately into his cruel warmth, salvaging whatever heat escaped him.

Numbness crept up my joints, leaving the slow hammer in my chest a fighting chance. Bridger dropped his hand as I hissed, “My mind is fine.”

He allowed me to pass with a silent scoff when he saw my stiff legs stumble past him.

Every bend of my knees sent sharp pain through me as my fingers scraped against the ice.

I lowered myself, belly down, dragging across the frozen surface.

Bridger loomed above, his white locks fluttering softly in the snow flurries.

He reveled in my struggle—enjoyed the pain in my eyes as I descended, the panic on my face as I believed I’d fall to my death if my fingers didn’t loosen .

“I waited two years for the remaining Blanches to join. I think I’ll have some fun with you.” His lip curled into a mock pout. “Shame your brother couldn’t join us. He gets to live another day, unlike you.”

I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to lose my footing.

My fingers felt like brittle glass with every slow, calculated movement, and the ice was slicker than ever from the last thirty-one hands that had touched it.

I shouldn’t have glanced up, but the fury in Bridger’s eyes above me was worse than the dark, swirling pit below, where five bodies had already been swallowed by the growing snow.

They had come here to prove themselves—to become my father’s heir. The rest were struggling to stay warm, some running in place, others blowing into their palms. Only Myla’s eyes were on me, sharp and unblinking.

“Prove you’re worthy, Severyn,” he yelled down at me. “Prove to me you’re better.”

The cry that escaped my chapped lips betrayed me. “I am worthy.”