Page 132 of Burning Heir

“If you believe I hate you, being a Serpent will ruin you,” she said, strutting along the path toward Jace.

“Antonia, wait—”

She spun back on her heel, pinching the wedge of her shoe between a rock. “What?”

Alaric’s last words hung on my dried tongue. “Nothing… good luck.”

She rolled her eyes andwalked forward.

I knew I needed to tell. But I couldn’t. He took a dagger for me and Antonia would never forgive me.

Whatever fear I had boiled to the surface. I needed to suffocate it, starve the flesh of my anxiety to skin and bone. I descended the wobbling ladder, taking in the lush, forested path leading to a castle. My heels sunk into the damp earth. Lanterns floated along the expansive property, jutting out from the mountainside, carved with those same scales I’d seen along the way.

It was muggy outside. The golden flecks of light bathing the land were gone, leaving behind dark swirled clouds, brimmed and ready to downpour. We crossed a bridge spanning the rapids below as we walked toward the black castle doors, armed with guards on either side.

“Shield, Severyn. Now,” Damien hissed under his breath.

But the cool air stifled me to a weak simmer. A drop of rain fell onto my forehead. I tried—I tried everything to solidify my shield, but every thought spilled as if I’d held that molten protection for too long.

They are going to find me out. They will see right through me.

The guards assessed us as we entered the castle. We were led down a stone hall, and finally, a single spark of my quell ignited, following a rush of warmth through my veins. It was weak but enough to hold as we entered the bidding room.

Glass.

It was glass that caged us from the Serpents of Verdonia who stood on the other side, as if we were animals for their amusement. I met each of those hardened eyes, searching for Father’s distinct mark.

Archer clustered himself between Victor and another Serpent I didn’t recognize, with shifting embers dancing between them as if their quells were communing. Archer sipped a dark liquor, shadows crawling the lengths of his fingers, delicately tracing shaded shapes.

Serpents passed by the glass, grins curling their lips. I heard Bridger’s muddled name as Lasar, a Serpent of the Frozen Valley of Neverin, pointed toward the Winter students.

We lined up in a single file, separated by realm, facing the glass wall. Damien released a jagged breath as the king walked in, and every vein in my blood iced, including my weak shield that evaporated into dust.

The king waved his hand, and the glass between us shattered into a million dazzling pieces, vanishing before a single shard touched the slick stone. I didn’t dare look for Knox down the line of students. I couldn’t risk a single eye turning to me.

A veil of scales draped the king’s raised arm as he announced, “Welcome to the Serpent Bid.” His wide grin sent fury rippling through my stifled breath.

He continued, “For first-year students, the Serpents will bid on a student to lead their house. If the academy finds a lindworm, the final six leading each sector will be put in a match for the final Winter trial. But first, the students will display their quells one by one. Each student will converse with the Serpent of their lands. As the Season goes, we shall start with Spring.”

Levisly narrowed his slivered, yellow eyes as the Spring students took their stance.

I whispered to Damien, “You’ll be put in a death match if they find one.”

Damien leaned closer, eyes ahead. “Unless you steal the lead from me. Impress them, Sev. I don’t mind a little competition.”

First up was the short, blonde woman I’d seen kissing Archer’s neck during our first night here. She struck her curled fingers in the air, and a lily sprouted from her veins. She traced her finger in the sky, and a vine slithered along the wall. I imagined the force of the vine could strangle. I imagined she’d used it on Archer that night as their lips tied as one.

Levisly nodded in assurance as the next student stepped forward. Her orange-rimmed eyes wavered silently on each Serpent. “My blood is poisonous, tears too. I don’t figure there are any volunteers?” she said.

The room stirred.

The king raised a brow, shooting a narrowed finger toward a third-year Winter male—Callum.

Fear struck his eyes.

“Your Majesty, I don’t wish—wish to die,” Callum cried.

The king pressed his lips together. “Pity. We need a volunteer.”

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