Page 115 of Burning Heir

“Combat got a bit heated today,” I hissed through my teeth.

Estella raised a brow. “I’ll say. They missed your nerve by a hair. You could have spent the rest of your life frowning, and how awful would that be.”

There were a few beats of silence as she stitched my cheek. “It must be hard seeing all these wounds,” I whispered.

She thought for a moment. “I usually don’t see anyone more than once. Being in this room means you are weak or have a target on your back. So, who did you piss off, Severyn?”

“Monty, apparently,” I whispered, “I don’t think there’s anything worse than pissing off a Serpent.” Power had a level, and I had reached my peak to where others saw me as a threat. Monty—Monty wanted me dead. But why?

Estella shifted, dropping the thread and needle on the metal table pan. “Do you remember that story I told you about your mother’s eyes?”

Distantly, I searched for the memory of my first combat class. “I remember. You said my father could never find that color of green again.”

Estella held her chin high, those brown eyes narrowing as if the walls could hear. “That story wasn’t about your father. It was about another man who searched all of Verdonia to find them. A man who’d be willing to steal the eyes of a stranger simply because he’d gone years without seeing that shade of green.”

Something in my gut told me who it was, but I still could not dare say his title. “Monty wants me dead because—”

“Precisely,” she hissed, lips thinner than the needle she used to stitch me. “Your mother suspected who her father was, but that kind of accusation could crumble the dynasty. I knew as soon as I laid eyes on you and when they shoved you into Winter that you were not born to follow, Severyn.”

She held onto my shoulder, heaving forward as if all the air in her words were stolen. “The king is your grandfather, Severyn.”

Estella’s eyes shot toward the ceiling as she gripped her chest, dragging a hoarse breath through her lungs.

“Estella? Are you okay?” I whispered.

“I have guarded this for nearly thirty years, but it is time for a queen to reign. Do not—not let my last words be in vain. They will lie to you. They will hunt you. Don’t—let them.”

She was warded, just like Charles was.

She collapsed, and I dropped to my knees, holding her head in my lap. “Estella!” Her heart still beat, but her eyes were blank and dimmed. “Please wake up.”

A tear fell from her eyes as she stared at me. “Your mother was my best friend, Severyn. Forgive her, please.”

“What do you mean?” I cried.

Her eyes whirred, breathing falling. “You look just likehim.”

I could not save her. Not when whatever ward she’d been placed under was strong enough to silence her but cruel enough to keep her petrified.

I could not save Estella, but I tried. I held her there for hours, but no flicker of light shone from those still eyes. I had seen Charles and how it nearly killed him when we were flying to the academy. But that—that was nothing compared to the silent shudders Estella released. It was nothing as I cried any of my forbidden quell into her, hoping whatever God could hear my sobs would listen and release her, even kill her so I could save her.

Who else was warded? Who elseknew? And that Daylight quell I’d seen in the king made sense now that Knox was called there. Malachi and I’s quell share was powerful because we shared the same blood. Malachi was my—family. And this wasn’t a rivalry between us. This was death, a forbidden secret breaking through the debris of shadows.

My cheek pulsed where her stitches were. I’d favor this scar for the rest of my life as Archer kept Klaus’s last piece. It wasn’t her name boldly scribed on my body but her mark and that gentle stitch of her mending fingers.

“I will find a way to save you,” I said through tears. “I promise.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

I left Estella there. I had no choice.

I passed through the shadowed corridors and ran up those hundred steps toward the Serpent towers. I didn’t know who I could trust, which scared me more than living a lie my entire life.

I imagined a younger Estella with my mother, her grey, wispy hair replaced by dark braids, their leather boots pounding against stone halls as they uncovered secrets at the academy. Had they stripped Estella of more than her voice? In another life, did she wield power beyond stitching wounds, now reduced to tending students’ injuries as penance?

I pounded on Archer’s door, urgency burning in my chest. When the door swung open, I stumbled in. My gaze caught the violet buttons and silver bows neatly arranged along the walls. Archer stood by the circular window, dressed entirely in black. He looked like he’d just returned from a Serpent meeting.

“How is your cheek?” he asked, voice measured.

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