Page 156 of Burning Heir

I was silent for a moment. “This was a Forgotten attack?”

“Yes. Verdonia is slowly dying with each attack. Charles was under compulsion that night. One of the Forgotten, or nomads,holds a forbidden quell that can compel. This was only the beginning of their attacks on us.”

“What do they want?”

“I thought it was to take over Verdonia, but knowing they could control the Malvoria army and wipe out half of our Continent, I am not sure anymore.”

“My mother said she wanted to fight for the forbidden quells. I’ve been thinking, what if they are the rebellion, fighting for our humanity? What if they aren’t the enemies?”

In the darkness, Archer shook his head. “Those kinds of words will get you killed, Severyn. There are no wards here. Even my shield is weak.”

Archer was right. My eyes danced over the whirling dust caught within the shabby lantern above us, the tight space only large enough to fit one other person. My skin crawled, thinking of how it was stripped to nails and shredded curtains. A cracked skylight was above, a narrow square, just large enough to see the stars above.

Then, the night took me under its veil and through a dreamless state.

The capital was a monstrous city along the coast.

We flew in as close as possible, docking Ciaran on a hill. The capital was neutral land. Not bound with wards of Spring nor heat. The ground was hard, stiffened with a layer of ice.

The first frost of the year was always the coldest and most ravenous time, as if our bodies had never felt a chill in our bones before. Knox always hunted on the first sign of frost. The townspeople would gather, a silent weep to tame the wind. Ash rippled the sky, and the burning of logs continued for months.

I never understood the cruelty of the lands that claimed lives like Bridger’s. I’d seen his ear, his fingers sewn together, but I never believed Winter was that harsh.

A year ago, I was reading by a fire. Now, I was trying to steady my flame as we entered the Capital.

Most of the king’s circle were Griffins—people who were great but not quite Serpents. Those who survived three grueling years at the Serpent Academy. Guards stood at attention, swords drawn, as towering buildings rose from the dirt, touching the golden clouds. Scavengers lined the walls, their eyes hidden beneath tattered cloaks, their trinkets and knives clinking as they beckoned us, offering trades and bargains.

I shuddered, staying close to Archer as we passed through the gate leading to the white-stoned castle behind it. My dress clung to my body, tracing every curve.

One scavenger called after us, “What’s your price for the neval? King pays well.” He muttered something before slumping forward.

Archer pulled me closer. “Where do most scavengers come from?” I asked. “They are without quells.”

“Across Verdonia,” he said. “The lands like the one we stayed in last night. Those people had nowhere else to go. Most of those lands became nomadic long ago. My grandfather took many from the Spring land into Demetria. Some children have shown quells since. Amria’s family were refugees. The aftermath of a barren land is always tragic.”

I looked out, spotting grey patches where life once flourished. “That’s devastating. Amria is from a barren land?”

Archer nodded toward the guards. “Amria is the first in her bloodline to have a quell after surviving a barren land. She was only seven when she came to our land.”

My heart pounded as we ascended the final steps to the king’s estate. Wild griffins soared above, their golden armor gleaming.Their golden eyes watched us, talons sharp. I remembered the feel of those claws during Skyfall, grateful for the leathers Archer had given me.

The guards escorted us through dark halls. A haunting melody echoed, sending chills down my spine. I wrapped my flaming shield tightly around my mind.

A dragon, frozen in liquid metal, was carved into the throne. The king sat, one leg crossed, tapping his fingers along the chair.

“Severyn and Archer,” he rasped, his voice thick with age. “I didn’t expect you so soon.” His gaze sharpened on Archer’s hand gripping my elbow, how I leaned into him.

Did he see Veravine between us? The lust he could never fulfill?

I felt the leather of my new jacket—one Amria had made for me—press against my back. The serpent’s tail slid down my ribs.

Archer bowed, his head low. “Sir, Severyn has killed the lindworm. She is my heir.”

The king clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing toward the arched doorway behind us. “Show your mark, Severyn Blanche.” He rose, his eyes cold and piercing.

I closed my eyes and slipped off my jacket. Amria had sewn a diamond strand along the spine. The gown clung to my body, cinching at my waist before flowing out at the hem. I turned, revealing the serpent mark on my neck. My breath trembled as the cool air touched the still-healing skin.

The king’s breath caught—half fear, half disbelief. He flicked his wrist, and in an instant, he stood beside me. His hand hovered above the mark, his touch a sting of invisible light.

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