Page 62

Hours later, Lorna slipped inside and took off her leathers with a sigh. Then she collapsed into a bunk without a word.

Malachi’s amber eyes peeked out from beneath the gray duvet. She looked like a creature snared in barbed wire, trembling beneath the weight of something she couldn’t name.

She was afraid, and I didn’t know how to reach her.

Giving someone a second chance always took something from me—a piece I didn’t realize I’d given until it was already gone. Tonight, it felt like it had taken everything.

“Sev,” Malachi whispered. Her voice barely carried, muffled beneath Lorna’s quiet snores. “I’m thirsty.”

I scanned the room for anything—an old canister, a forgotten flask, gods, even a chipped bowl. But there was nothing but dust and discarded parchment. “Can you wait until morning?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. “Or I could wake Lorna?”

“No.” She groaned softly, curling tighter beneath the duvet. “Let her sleep. I just... I really need water. My throat’s so dry it hurts.”

“Okay,” I said, rising to my feet. “I’ll go. It’s safer if I do.”

Her gaze met mine, softened by fatigue and something more vulnerable. “Hurry back. ”

Leaving Lorna’s side was a risk. But Malachi had clawed her way back from death. The least I could do was ease her suffering.

I slipped into the night, each step light against the damp earth.

Rotting leaves softened my footfalls as I crossed the clearing, their decay sweet and sharp in the cold air.

The chill bit at my cheeks, threading beneath my collar like fingers made of frost. Moonlight poured through the trees in narrow streaks, turning the mud to silver and casting long shadows across the path ahead.

Something twisted low in my stomach, not fear exactly, but nerves. The kind that made your palms sweat and your breath go shallow. The kind that took you back to being nine years old and sneaking into the iced forest long after your father told you not to.

I crept deeper into the compound, past rusted carriages half-sunken in earth, past shattered shields and copper siding curled like brittle palm leaves, flaking beneath years of sun and silence.

I didn’t want to do this. But I didn’t want her to suffer, either. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was almost certain I’d seen a hose coiled near one of the sheds.

I squinted into the shadows, but the moonlight had vanished behind the clouds. Everything ahead was swallowed by black.

And I couldn’t see a damn thing.

“Want some help?” Damien’s voice sounded in my mind. “You look a little lost.”

“Not from you.”

“What happens if you’re caught? Surely, you’re up to something.”

“Malachi needs water. Use your mind-reading trick and tell me where the kitchen is.”

He let out a dry laugh through the bond. “You want me to invade a guard’s mind? You think they’re that easy to crack?”

“Was I? ”

“You were untrained.”

“Get out of my mind and leave for good.”

The wind stirred loose dust across the path, curling through my fingers like ash. I thought he had left for good.

“Three cabins down,” he said at last. “The one with the broken window. There’s a kitchen inside.”

“Whose mind did you pull that from?”

“One I’ve known for his whole life.”

Kian.

I tugged my cloak higher and slipped into the shadows, keeping low and silent. The night felt stretched thin, every gust of wind brushing my neck like a warning. I moved like a Scavenger might, practiced and unnoticed.

Up ahead, a guard staggered through the doorway, sloshing a thick drink over the porch. Another followed, laughing too loud for the silence around us. And then came Callum.

They were drunk.

“It’s a shame Lorna outranks you,” one of them slurred. “I’d kill for a night alone to interrogate Miss Herring.”

“Damn girl cheated death,” the other muttered. “Should’ve stayed buried. I hate the elites.”

I pressed myself flat against the wall, heart hammering in my chest. Then Callum’s voice cut through the night—clear, deliberate, and far too sober.

“Lorna’s been summoned to the prisons,” he said, loud enough to carry. “Which means I get to decide what happens to the false shadow heir and the blonde bitch when she gets posted.”

“Kian won’t like that,” someone laughed. “He follows her like a dog. He tried to duel me once, too. One kick to the ribs and he remembered where he stands.”

“Oh, I know he won’t,” Callum replied, his amusement dimming. “Night Realm civilians are sworn to protect Severyn. He’d throw himself into a fire if I laid a hand on her.”

My pulse surged.

Kian was bound to protect me. If Callum struck, Kian would take the blow. And they were planning to use that against him—to test my quell.

I slipped into the third cabin.

It was dark and still, save for the faint ticking of a warped clock on the far wall. In the corner, I spotted a small kitchen. My hand trembled as I turned the faucet, filling a copper canister I’d found on the counter.

I was about to leave, but something rooted me in place.

Near the window, a cluttered table caught a sliver of moonlight. Parchment was strewn across its surface, the edges curled, the ink faded. They were Serpent Press articles. Dozens of them.

Above the table, a chalkboard hung bolted to the wall. Lines and markings spiderwebbed across it. It was a rough, hand-drawn map of Wrathi. One region had been circled over and over, the chalk strokes layered and jagged, as if the hand behind them had grown more desperate with each pass.

Something in my chest pulled tight.

I stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of the nearest page as wind rattled the pane. I shouldn’t have looked, but I did.

June 11, Summer Gathering: Why does Blanche’s land remain untouched while his neighbors starve?

January 15, Wrathi Days: Blanche accepts a marriage bid. But all eyes were on his wife, the once-untouchable death wielder—as her unborn daughter is set to marry the son of her former rival.

February 11: A male marked only as “F” was seen escorting a Serpent’s wife upstairs… Some may call this a scandal.

July 15: Fallon and Victor share a room during Veravine’s funeral. Some wonder if they were ever truly rivals.

And then the final page :

The Last Serpent Ball: Six students are mysteriously dead. Some say the elite Serpent Academy will never host another grand ball. Victor Lynch was seen comforting Fallon for a moment too long. Was it the queen of death?

A throat cleared from behind me.

“Those are private,” Rok said flatly. “Not something your eyes should be seeing.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” I murmured, still gripping the parchment. “Victor hated my mother, yet he’s comforting her after a ball and sharing a room at an inn?”

“Or maybe,” Rok said, stepping closer, “the barter was made out of spite. A man like Victor doesn’t give something away unless he’s desperate… or in love.”

“In love?” I scoffed. “With Andri in the picture?”

“Yes,” he said evenly. “Victor Lynch was in love with your mother. And when she chose Andri, he wanted revenge. What better revenge than forcing their daughter to marry his son?”

I swallowed hard. “Why Hadrian then? Because he was powerful?”

Rok’s gaze didn’t waver. “Fallon met with Hadrian eighteen times. Willingly. Maybe they were both dealing with the same ghosts. Or maybe they were truemates who finally couldn’t resist each other.”

“She had an affair.”

He tilted his head. “Desperate people make strange bargains.” He paused. “Your mother was a Scavenger, Severyn. Her choice was Victor’s leash under the sunlight bargain… or freedom. Even if it meant sacrificing everything.”

“All she did was lie,” I said.

“She knew the wedding would happen, and she waited—waiting was her revenge. Victor loved her, but she chose Andri. So he made the bargain, not for her daughter, but for Andri’s.

That was the insult. In Victor’s eyes, she was just his wife.

Just a pawn. And in the end, his own words are the reason your homeland’s sun remains, because he thought lesser of your mother. ”

I stared at the table, voice low. “Do you think they were in love? Hadrian and my mother?”

He leaned back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Would it make this easier, knowing you were created from love? I went through something similar. I understand how you feel.”

“What happened?”

Rok’s voice lowered. “You already know some of it. I felt a mind-reader inside my thoughts earlier.”

My throat tightened. “When your realm went barren?”

“It was war.”

“Delair was… your sister?” I asked.

He nodded. “My father was the Serpent of our fallen land. I was seven. Sorpine was the first to arrive after the attack—sent to clear out the survivors. That’s how he met my mother. Delair came nine months later.”

“She was invited to the academy,” I said softly. “Even though her realm went barren?”

“She was. My mother was proud. Royal blood didn’t matter—Delair was chosen to begin a new life in Demetria. I was sent to live there, too, but I chose to grow up here, under Sorpine’s watch.”

“And you?” I asked. “Were you invited to the academy?”

“I declined.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. “Because the day my land died, I inherited every dying breath. My mother hid us in a basement while Sorpine’s men raided the village. She needed a protector, and he was there. I could never understand how she could fall for a man while my father died defending our home.”

My voice caught. “You became a siphon… at seven? ”

He nodded. “I didn’t take your shadows out of revenge, Severyn. I did it to feel something untouched by pain. To know shadows could exist… without fear or death.”

“I never wanted to hurt her,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Rok’s jaw tightened. “Would you forgive him?”

My throat burned. He meant Charles. He meant Klaus. “No,” I choked. “I don’t.”

“Then you have your answer.” His voice turned to steel. “Don’t say sorry. It won’t bring my sister back.”

A sound cracked from the doorway.

“Quick,” Rok said sharply. “Scream and make it believable. No one can know I didn’t turn you in for snooping.”