Page 138 of Burning Heir

Blue eyes caught my stare. I went to Archer’s portrait—to see a version of him who’d been the last to see Klaus alive as if Malachi’s words of the wind absorbing the past would make him appear. As if I could hear his voice once more and tell him I would win it for him. And he’d already be standing beside me if love and hope could bring him back.

I imagined the portrait beside him to be Klaus—those freckles, though I could never recall how many, and the eyes that seemed too brown in the painting back on the wall at home. But there was no portrait, and I would never know the moments he existed while I was away. Those versions of him had ceased to exist.

Archer didn’t smile. Instead, his expression was defeated—the face of a man who had disappointed his father and taken the Night title. He was a man who had to claim that name for himself before he even understood what it meant. He’d done everything right, yet it would never be enough.

I saw myself in those portraits, in the reflection of failure and resilience. And I knew I had no choice but to make that vision a reality. I would lay my life down for my home, just as Archer said made a great Serpent.

I’d save the boy and the man—my father—who had done everything right, as if fire could not melt ice but could instead mold it into something entirely new.

“Are the shadows true?” Malachi asked softly.

“It’s true,” I said, uncurling my fist and showing her the faded shadow relic on my palm. “I don’t want to claim Archer’s title, but I don’t think I have a choice. I didn’t know Ciaran and Naraic were born in Demetria.” I drew out of my breath. “He keeps saving me.”

Malachi looked over the wall of Serpents, thumbing the lace bodice of her dress. “Possibly. But you saved him first.”

I didn’t believe that was true. I hadn’t saved him—I only prolonged his inevitable death. And everyone who knew about my forbidden quell was on that list. Malachi included.

I’d seen enough. “We should get back to the bid,” I said, turning on my heel.

We were back in the hall that reeked of booze and sweat. Serpents communed with one other, speaking of warding andinfrastructure. Bottles clanged together, and a glass of wine was already in my empty hand as a server whisked away in the flurry. Father spoke to Knox, patting him on the back. Archer talked to a Serpent of Autumn, a wide grin spread across his face.

Everyone had a place. I could speak endlessly of the frost that coated our windowsill and the howls of the ice beasts in the middle of the night. I had a million words to say, but none that made sense. I could not speak of the heat and how I’d seen every ray of sun. But perhaps that mark of the Unknown was for my heart—and so for the next hour, I spoke about ice whenever the conversation dulled.

Lasar seemed particularly interested. Even debated the best types of snow with me. Archer’s voice brought me back to the present as I downed another drink.

“I never knew that was how snow formed,” he said while grabbing the stem of my glass and finishing the last sip as red stained his lips.

Heat flashed in my cheeks for no reason. “There are different types of snow, and it all depends on the amount of water in it.” He’d claimed me to win a title, and here I was speaking about the snow.

“Moisture,” he mumbled. “Do you enjoy the cold, Severyn?”

It was all I knew. “No, not really.”

Archer furrowed his dark brows. “Then the heat?”

I had to say yes. “It is better than cold.”

“You’ll have to visit the Night realm sometime. I think you’ll find it the perfect temperature, Severyn.” He played the act of not knowing more than my name well. Meanwhile, I debated dragging my nails down his chest and mounting the Serpent of Night.

The wine sloshed in my stomach with one look at the shadows dancing within his fingers.

“Take me.”

“Is that a demand, Severyn?”

“It was a demand, Serpent.” I’d spoken it aloud, and Lasar gave me a strange look.

Archer grinned back. “Someday.”

Heat flushed my cheeks.“Can we speak alone?”

Archer nodded.“Let’s not be rude, Severyn. Your guests are still here.”

Father approached, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I love you, Severyn. I should have said it more.” And his shoulders finally relaxed after all those wordless months he’d been weakened from warding. I knew he loved me. I knew he held on to see us become Serpents, even for us to live a life carved with our own daggers.

“I love you, Father,” I promised again to make him proud.

That was all. I nodded and watched him leave, and a part of me thought I’d never see him again. The king kept glancing at us, and I swallowed hard when he stood from his golden throne, cane stomping into the stone as he walked closer.

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