Page 15

By the weekend, I had survived.

One full week in this godsdamned place. Part of me almost wished Sabitha knew, just so I could throw my survival in her face.

I avoided Rok whenever I could. Even Callum hadn’t looked at me—not when I scrubbed his blood from the floor. Not when I nearly collapsed in the ring. Not even when he started drunken chants to celebrate resting day.

The forged bond had stayed quiet, but I kept my barriers up. There was too much at stake now. And honestly, I didn’t care who the voice belonged to anymore.

I leaned against a tree, letting the sun warm my raw, pruned fingers. A week of scrubbing blood had worn them down to nothing. I had to win. I had to make my flame rise.

Or I’d never leave this place alive.

A knock brushed against my mind as I sank into the grass. “Severyn,” Archer’s voice murmured. “ I’ve been trying for days to speak to you.”

I swallowed the exhaustion burning at the back of my throat. “I didn’t know,” I said. I had been waiting to hear his voice. But if he saw what I was going through, I knew, he would raise all hell .

“You’re not sleeping, are you?”

My eyes swept the clearing for Archer. “Can you see me?”

The leaves stirred above. The bond pulsed. And then—he was there. Archer stepped from the shadows, a golden sheet of parchment in hand, its edges curling in the morning light.

“Severyn,” he said again, and pulled me into his arms.

I collapsed into him like he was the last solid thing in a world tilting sideways. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

He brushed a tear from my cheek with the gentleness that always undid me. “I hate seeing your tears, little heir,” he murmured, voice fraying on the last word. “What’s going on?”

“I just... haven’t been sleeping.” I kept the bruises and scars out of sight, because I didn’t want him to know how truly terrible this first week had been.

But his eyes scanned me like he already knew something was wrong. Like he was searching for the parts of me no one else bothered to notice.

He looked the same, still impossibly beautiful—but there was something brittle in his gaze. Like one more truth might shatter him.

“I came to tell you something,” he said. “The guards gave me an hour of clearance. I don’t have long.”

He lifted that golden parchment, and my stomach turned when I saw the capital seal.

“What?”

“My father has reclaimed his sunlight from North Colindale.”

The words didn’t register. “What... what do you mean?”

“At the Bid, I claimed you as my heir. In return, he was allowed to take his sunlight back. He’s chosen your father’s land instead of Demetria.” Archer’s hand rose to my jaw again, steadier than his voice. “I didn’t want you hearing it from anyone else. ”

“That wasn’t the deal,” I whispered. “If I won Serpent...”

“You won the heirship,” he said. “But Victor never said which sun.”

“You let him take the Northern sun?” My voice cracked. “My father—”

“There are still weeks before the frost settles.”

“The civilians, Archer. My people won’t survive that long.”

“I’ll take them in. All of them. I’ll shelter them in my land until your father negotiates a new bargain. I swear it.”

But I was already unraveling as another voice slid through the silence, taunting and uninvited. “Deceitful. My, oh my... your life is so intriguing.”

I shoved it away. “Did you know he would do this?” I asked

Archer’s response came heavy. “No. But there was no alternative. My father doesn’t have an heir. The bargain is over.”

“You mean the one where I marry Victor’s blood heir?”

“Yes.”

“I need to get back. I have to help my father.” I turned—but his hand caught my waist.

“You can’t just leave. The guards won’t allow it.”

“I don’t give a damn.” I spun on him, fury flaring through the ache in my chest. “I don’t even know if I will have a home to return to. And if leaving here means I’m only your heir and nothing more, then fine.”

“I never wanted you to be only my heir,” he said.

My pulse roared in my ears. “You don’t know what it’s cost me.”

His gaze dropped, then stopped at a bruise, faint but rising beneath my sleeve. It was in the shape of a fingerprint.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.”

Archer stepped closer, pulling my sleeve up. “Severyn… who di d that to you?”

I yanked the sleeve down, turning away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“No,” I snapped, my voice stripped bare. “You chose the easy way out of this. You chose to hide me.”

His hands dropped like he’d been burned. Like touching me might finish what this place had started.

“If you leave this place,” he said, “you are only my heir. And I’ll have to pretend that’s all you ever were.” His breath caught. “That might be the worst kind of torture.”

“It’s better than being tortured in silence,” I said. “And I don’t need your help.”

I turned and walked away, but Archer’s voice hissed through the bond. “Don’t make me your villain.”

I barely had time to process his words before another voice slipped through the cracks of my mind. “Trouble, trouble, little heir. Even the King of Night doesn’t see your worth.”

“Who are you?” I screamed silently into the bond.

“Are you going to lock me out again?”

“Yes.”

“But we’re a team, Severyn. How can we trust each other if you won’t even try to figure out who I am?”

I couldn’t do this. Not now. Not when my home stood on the edge of collapse. I slammed the bond shut and moved through the institute, desperate to find a way out.

Who was it? Who had breached my head?

Ellison? No, he didn’t have the arrogance. Callum? Maybe. But he didn’t seem like the type to play games, not now that I was no longer my father’s heir.

Myla caught sight of me and waved me over. “Gods, you look awful,” she said, gripping my shoulder. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it the full week.”

“Myla…”

Her expression shifted. “Shit,” she whispered. “You know. ”

“Please. I need to get out of here. I have to make sure my father is okay.”

Before she could answer, Rok’s whistle sliced through the courtyard. “Guards. Round up. Today’s a rest day,” he called out. “But danger doesn’t rest. Myla will be conducting her first posting.”

Myla gave me a tight smile before she stepped forward. “I’ve selected three to join me on outpost duty,” she said. Her gaze flicked to mine. “Severyn, you’re one of them.”

I asked, “Where are we going?” But I already knew. I could feel it in my chest—it was about my home.

“It wasn’t a question,” Rok snapped. “Myla thinks you’ll be useful.”

She cleared her throat, trying to soften it. “We’re going to North Colindale. It’s just a precaution to make sure the land’s still secure.”

“How are we getting there?”

“You’ll portal,” Rok said with a shrug. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you a crash course.”

“It’s just a precaution,” Myla added again quickly. “Your father never reported the extent of what happened. The guards need answers, and you know the land.”

The thought of portaling twisted my stomach after what happened to Damien. “I’ve never portaled using my own power,” I said.

Rok stepped closer, arms crossed. “Well, isn’t today your lucky day. Out of the dungeon and straight into a portal lesson.”

I nodded. Maybe I didn’t need to risk getting hunted just to escape. For once, I was grateful Myla had chosen me. “Okay. Teach me.”

He smirked. “Raise your relic and picture fire.”

“And then? ”

“Smell the cinders of your home,” he said, voice low. “To portal, something must burn on the other side. Feel the candlelight. Let it pull you through.”

The air smelled of citrine, cinnamon, and vanilla—the scents we lit for Klaus. There was always a fire, even when the wind howled through the windows. But Mother rarely lit vanilla. She believed grief shouldn’t be softened. It should sting.

Rok raised his hand and drew the fire straight from me. Two flickering halves spun in the air, then folded inward, forming a vortex of ash.

I jerked back. “Shit.”

“Don’t fear your power. Step into it.”

My body pitched forward. And the pain hit instantly, like flames were crawling across my skin. “I can feel it burning me,” I gasped.

“Portaling through flame isn’t meant to be enjoyable,” Rok said coolly. “It feels like your skin’s being stripped away—until it doesn’t. That’s the cost of antecedent quells. You wield flame, but your body still burns.”

I winced. “What about portaling with someone else?” My voice cracked. “Couldn’t I travel through Myla’s snow?”

“That’s not just advanced. It’s fatal,” Rok said. “Some quells are safer to portal through. Ice and flame aren’t one of them.”

As if I didn’t already carry the weight of Damien’s death, his words pressed it deeper, like guilt had found new ways to bury itself in my spine.

I lifted my hand. “Then teach me to use my shadow,” I said, voice steady despite the ache. “I want to travel through that instead.”

Rok’s boots crunched closer. “Tell me again,” he said, almost gently, “how you gained a shadow quell.”

“My dragon is from the Night realm. ”

He sniffed the air, like he could taste the forbidden magic clinging to my skin. “I can sense that the power is old.” His eyes locked on mine. “But I’m curious... what’s your natural quell?”

I lowered my gaze just enough to fake exhaustion. “My mother was born a Scavenger. Maybe I inherited her weaker blood.”

Rok’s brow lifted in blatant disbelief. “Doubtful. Didn’t she once wield the death quell?”

“She was stripped of her power, but you should know that.”

“And your brother?” His gaze slid to Cully. “I hear he’s a dead Seeker. Is this one, too? He’s a writer, it would make sense.”

I stiffened. “Cully is not—”

“Can we get on with this before I grow gray hair?” Myla cut in.

Rok grabbed my hand, nails biting into the relic. “Feel for your flame,” he growled. “Build it.”

And something answered.