Page 137 of Burning Heir

Since Brantlyn’s death, Malachi consumed his ranking, claiming the lead to become an Autumn Serpent.

I was worth the sun. The warmth I had dreamt of during every Thaw, through every one of Winter’s harsh breaths during the ice storms, had been me the entire time.

The remaining Serpents bid on Malachi, but most did so while staring at the king, as if that would keep them in his good graces. Father too. He had made his bid on her. And that was when I realized—he had no idea I was against three titles. He bid six diamonds, one for each realm, and all he wanted in return were seeds, even asking for some hellebores.

A violin played softly in the distance as gallons of wine were poured after the bid. Nearly every Serpent was drunk an hour later.

I downed three glasses after that interrogation, and my stomach churned as Malachi grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the flurry of the Serpents.

“Shit. You got claimed by two Serpents, girl. That is unheard of,” she hissed in my ear. “You really are Fallon’s daughter.”

We were a blend of burnt orange and flame as we twirled under the starlit ceiling. I nodded—apprehensively, still uncertain what that even meant. “Now what? We dance after that?”

“We drink, we dance. We pretend for a night we are not all fighting for our lives and that tomorrow does not exist,” she said.

The king kept his eyes on us. And I wondered if he knew it now—if he could see right through my shield and the screams in my mind telling him that I am his family.

And I spun until my stomach whirred on that red wine, grabbing Mal’s elbow to steady myself. “Can we walk around the estate? Is that allowed?” I desperately wanted to escape this room.

She smiled quickly, eyes on the metal door behind us. “For the other students, no. For me, probably not, but let’s do it anyway.” She pulled me through the room, past a set of heavy metal doors, and into a hall that stretched on and on. A red and golden runner went down the entirety of the narrow room.

“It’s… portraits,” I said.

“This is the Serpent Gallery. Every Serpent who has ever claimed title has their portrait on here.”

History. A hundred years of faces were loved, and some were lost. Others looked no older than me as they stood proud with grins. I found my grandfather’s snow-white beard and round glasses staring back fifty-seven frames down. He had the samecrinkled, golden eyes as Father and Charles, and I swore the glass frame was frosted with cracks.

A hundred years of title no longer rested on my shoulders. And it was bittersweet.

I shifted my eyes over Veravine Almera. And I couldn’t help but notice the color of her eyes, how that striking green was a shade of every fern, every leaf… and how I saw my mother in those features. She had a neval streak—smudged and concealed through time and age. She wore a red dress. The exact one I was in, right down to the diamond straps and the stain on the collar.

I was wearing Veravine’s gown.

My lungs burned for air. “Malachi, I think that’s—” The words didn’t dare to empty from my trembling lip. Once spoken, I could never take them back in this unforgivable place.

Malachi understood. She saw what I saw, the eyes, the dress. She tilted her neck, listening—

“Veravine was born in Southern Ravensla. She was known for her beauty and charm. She met a boy at the academy, and they fell in love, but that boy had a future already planned for him, a marriage arranged with Autumn because to control the air meant you controlled the very life force of everyone. They met every few years, relinquished in the simple days when a title meant freedom. No one knew what happened to her. Some say the wife killed his mistress in a jealous rage. Victor claimed her title years later, even her home. There were a few rumors of muddied blood, a daughter born, stolen by scavengers, and forced to live a life unknowing the power she held.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“The wind does more than give us life—it hears everything, even those secrets hissed under breaths years before. Veravine’s daughter lived a hard few years, never knowing who she really was.” Malachi shrugged her shoulders. “I wonder if this waswhen she found out who she was. If she stared into the portrait of Veravine and saw her own reflection.”

But Malachi stared at me as if I was finding my truth, the bare truth stripped to chipped paint and clouded glass. I was never destined for Winter—my lungs would forever bleed flame, and I was the burning heir.

Veravine was my grandmother, and she was beautiful.

I couldn’t claim Archer’s title when I knew where my blood was born. But no matter how I was pulled along this life, I’d lose a piece of myself either way. My father’s life for my own will. He had done everything to ensure I could walk my own path, never realizing I’d be the one to save him from his own barter.

“I don’t believe this. I stayed in Ravensla, in Victor’s home.”

My mother lost her title to Victor. Ravensla was mine to reclaim. A scavenger must have found her as a little girl and sold her for the neval mark she bore. Victor claimed Veravine’s title—my mother’s rightful name as the Serpent of Ravensla.

Victor’s barter with my father was revenge against Fallon because he knew he could control her. Or perhaps he knew how powerful their bloodline would be together. He knew whose daughter she was and hoped to lace his heritage with royalty, replacing his tattered tapestries with golden columns.

“Perhaps she led you there. Most secrets as powerful as this don’t like to be kept.”

I continued down the line of Serpents until I got to my father’s. His hair was less grey, eyes less concerned, unseen by the horrors of the world. He was just a boy.

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