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The snake had disappeared beneath the dirt, leaving all the spectators grasping the edges of the iron bleachers for any commotion for the last hour. I had never heard such silence before.

If I saw the snake, I would force it to surrender—at the perfect moment, when Bridger was close enough to strike.

I knew how wrong this was. If I was caught, prison would be a mercy.

But I would lay my life down for my home, for my country, for the thousands who would be turned into refugees, or worse, stripped of their power.

North Colindale needed an heir. My father couldn’t keep the shields intact much longer.

And maybe choosing Bridger was a mistake. But he was the only choice I had left. I could do this. Treason or death—what difference did it make? Wasn’t this the same kind of gamble Archer had made for me?

Besides, no one was watching. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention.

Then Lasar stood slowly. “Someone has killed the snake,” he said.

“How do you know?” I asked, though dread already clawed at my chest. Nothing about this was ever going to be easy .

He motioned toward the edge of the trees. “The vermin have scoured,” he said, nodding toward the swarm of jittery journalists sprinting toward the trial grounds like vultures to fresh carrion. “No journalist runs that fast unless their future is on the line.”

In the distance, a figure emerged from the trees, sunlight clinging to his frame. He staggered forward, bramble clawing at his coat, which was torn and streaked with blood. His face was almost unrecognizable beneath the dirt.

But as he stepped closer, the details sharpened. That single dimple in his cheek. His ruffled dark hair. The sharp line of his jaw.

His eyes looked darker from afar, but it was him.

Damien.

I surged to my feet. “He’s bleeding.”

Three more students appeared, Knox was among them. He looked exhausted, nearly collapsing to his knees as he stepped onto the main field. My lungs squeezed, relief crashing through me, until I counted.

Only four returned. But there had been five.

The headmaster stepped onto the field. “The final trial at the Serpent Academy has concluded. All surviving students have returned.”

But there were only four.

Beside me, Lasar exhaled—a slow, heavy breath. “It’s true,” he murmured. “The blood of a Herring stains the Continent.”

Above us, griffins screeched and peeled away into the clouds. There was no horn of victory. No celebration. Just the eerie hum of wind over stone. There were lips moving, but sound didn’t reach me. Even as I pressed my nails so hard into my palm, that crescents appeared, I didn’t feel the pain.

The field twisted in my vision, a thousand blurred figures with no voices. No color. It was only silence .

Then it came. Screams. Cries. The sharp crack of someone’s goblet shattering when they all saw a Herring had stepped onto that field an hour before and didn’t come back.

“Malachi—”

Lasar gripped my hand. “Do not cry. Do not smile. Do not falter. A Serpent cannot fall.”

But I was already breaking.

“It is with finality that I declare the last of the Herring line has perished,” the headmaster said, his voice echoing across the grounds. “I repeat, the last child of Herring blood is dead.”

The journalists wrote furiously, nearly breaking their wrists to capture every breath of fresh scandal. In the distance, a harp played a sorrowful tune, soon joined by the haunting sweep of a violin.

“I can’t,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I can’t.”

Lasar’s grip on my wrist tightened, his eyes never leaving the field. “A great Serpent contains themselves. You cannot bow, nor shed a tear for a fallen student. A Herring was said to die, and a Herring did. Be grateful it was not you.”

I glanced up at him, my heart pounding. “You... knew.”

Lasar didn’t look at me. “You have no idea what Victor Lynch is capable of, Severyn. He knows the end of all things.”

“Like hell,” I hissed, pushing against Lasar’s chest. “She... I can’t... I won’t let her be forgotten.”

“What will yelling do?” Lasar’s words were sharp, biting. “Will it bring her back? Will it prove these trials are meaningless? Will it make you smile, knowing you got the last word and made a mockery out of your new shadow land?”

“Someone needs to find her body,” I spat, the anger burning hotter with each passing moment.

“Only her grandfather can decide that,” Lasar replied flatly. “If the king chooses to let her lay there in peace, that is on him.”

Damien was alive. Malachi was dead .

It felt like a choice. A begging, impossible choice. One I never thought I would have to make. But she knew it would come. “Who could kill the Herring first?” Damien had once mentioned that twisted game to me on the first night we met.

Then the king stepped onto the field. His cane sank into the wet mulch. He moved between Damien and Bridger, then paused.

“In a rare event,” his voice boomed across the trial grounds, “two students have struck the final blow. Both blades pierced the lindworm’s heart. Damien Lynch, heir of Ravensla. And Bridger Thorne, survivor of the iced barriers of Northern Colindale.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“Please welcome,” the king continued, “the newest Serpents of Verdonia.”

He lifted both their arms high, sunlight catching on blood-soaked sleeves like an offering to the gods themselves. A snake curled up Damien’s arm, its blood-slick scales glinting as its tail flicked across his shoulder, then sank beneath his skin, leaving behind a trail of inked legacy.

Across from him, Bridger bore the serpent’s other half, its head etched along the curve of his neck, the mark slithering down over his collarbone like a brand of war.

Beside me, Lasar leaned down, his grip tightening on my shoulder. “I never agreed with the bargain your father made to keep the sun burning in his realm.”

My lips parted. “He’s alive.”

But the truth slammed into me like a wave. He let me believe he was dead.

I staggered forward, chest burning, but Ellison caught my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Anywhere but here.”

His fingers tightened. “I risked my life for this,” he snapped. “The least you could do is pretend you’re remotely interested in me. ”

“I’m not. And I’m sorry if you ever believed I was.” I took a deep breath. “Actually, I’m not sorry.” I yanked my arm free, but he held tighter.

“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “Charles sanctioned me to keep an eye on you.”

“Then you can tell Charles to kindly screw off, minus the kindness.”

Then the king raised a hand, his jeweled rings glinting beneath the overcast sun. “All are welcome at the Serpent estate for the final celebration. The ship departs shortly to honor the crowned heirs.”

Journalists swarmed Damien and Bridger like starved beasts. Two heirs. It had never happened before in all of the Academy’s history, at least not two heirs crowned during the same trial. And I had no idea what it even meant.

I couldn’t look at Damien. I couldn’t breathe. Because if I did, I might shatter for how deeply he’d betrayed me for letting me believe he was dead.

I couldn’t think of Malachi. I couldn’t let that fresh wound breathe.

“I’m going to the Serpent estate,” I whispered, already turning from the stands. My heels cracked against the stone as I took off toward the dock.

Ellison said from behind me, “I’ll come with you.”

Of course he would. And right now, I didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever brand of desperation this was.

I crossed the courtyard. The sea thrashed below as the boat rocked against the dock.

“Severyn!” Ellison called out again. “Why are you so upset? I thought we were friends—I thought… you chose me to court you. Let me at least try.”

I turned. “I’ll never choose a man just to survive. I’ll never force myself to marry someone because politics says I should. ”

“My father needs an heir,” I added. “And he has one. I’m not for barter. Not anymore.”

Then I left him standing in the cold and climbed up into the boat. He followed, not even one step behind,

“Your brother gave me his blessing, the Serpent, too. This all goes away. My father offered sunlight, take it.”

“Why do you care so badly?”

“Because I see myself in you.”

“Ellison, we’ve known each other for not even a month. It’s weird. You’re acting weird!”

In an instant, we were swallowed by a mass of spectators already deep into their liquor. I was one cheer away from punching someone in the nose. So, I turned sharply, my cloak snagging on a stack of wine barrels as I searched for air.

“If you don’t want a courtship,” Ellison said, his voice tight, “then at least tell me what’s going on with you.”

I turned to face him, heat rising in my throat. “A man I watched die just claimed heir,” I snapped. “My best friend is dead. Don’t ask me to be calm or explain how I feel.”

His brows drew together, curls falling across his jaw. “The one you talked about... he’s alive?”

“It’s just—” I cut off, the words snagging in my chest as my gaze caught on a figure across the crowd. “He’s…”

There was Knox, leaning against the railing.

“Severyn!” he shouted, already barreling through the crowd until he crashed into me.

“Gods, Severyn—I thought you were dead.”

“Knox,” I breathed, gripping him tight. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He pulled back, then brushed a speck of dirt from his face. “I’m sorry... about Malachi. I hardly saw her after the snake dove into the tunnel. I should have stayed by her side.”

My breath hitched. “How did she die? What happened?”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know she was gone until the headmaster said all the survivors were accounted for.”

I threw my arms around him again, holding on tighter. “I should’ve told you sooner how much you mean to me. After this—”

Damien’s voice crept into my mind.

“We’re both Serpents. Look how well things worked out for us, North? Did you enjoy our little game?”

I shifted away from Knox. “What’s the punishment for killing an heir?”