Page 157 of Burning Heir

“That mark is rejecting her. Once we strip her of her quell, she won’t survive.”

I yanked the jacket back onto my shoulders and spun to face him. “Strip me of my quell? What do you mean?” The door creaked open. Charles stepped through, his eyes as hard as steel.

He glanced at me, frost dusting his lashes, a new silver badge pinned to his suit. “Severyn Blanche, you harbor a forbidden quell. Under Prospect Five of the Tome of Verdonia.” His voice trembled slightly as he read the ancient text. “Forbidden quells are punishable by death or stripping.”

Archer seethed. “How many of your siblings will you kill, Charles? You’re a traitor to your blood.”

My heart rattled. “You killed Klaus?”

Charles met my gaze, his expression calm, almost detached. “I had no choice, Severyn. He died with honor.”

“Tell her, Charles,” Archer spat. “Tell her how you stripped him mid-flight during Skyfall.”

Charles exhaled sharply, silver medals gleaming in the lantern light—one for bravery, two for nobility, and a fourth, with my name replaced by a silver badge. Rage surged through me, my fingers starting to smoke. Archer didn’t cool me with shadows. He let me burn.

“Monty Garcia provided this information. My hands are tied, sister,” Charles said, his tone clipped. “I must strip you of your quell. If you survive, Malvoria will take care of you.”

Archer slammed his fist into the ceramic column. “You’ll kill her if you do that. She’s healing!”

“There’s no other way, Serpent,” Charles muttered, his words heavy with duty. “I must do my duty as the lead guard of Malvoria. Severyn is a threat to our continent. And you,” he sneered, “are in no position to speak. Harboring a lindworm is treason. Perhaps I’ll deal with you both.”

This wasn’t the king’s decision. He’d spared me before, knowing I’d saved Knox. But with Malvoria’s wards breached, I knew I stood no chance.

Charles’s gaze faltered as he reached for me, and I sank to my knees, searching his face for any trace of tenderness, any hint of mercy.

“Charles! You’re my brother. You’re supposed to protect me.”

“This is me protecting you from yourself,” he said, his voice cold, almost pitying.

Veravine’s port rattled on my wrist. A voice echoed through the chambers.

The swallows of songbirds tore through the muggy Ravensla air that morning. I watched her from afar, her beauty as she ran through the streets. She’d once given me this bracelet as a gift, my heart nearly shattering as she embraced me. It wasn’t made of fine material—just a simple silver chain with a glass pendant. I kept it, crying as the relentless moon watched me every night.

I knew she was mine—her diamond-shaped face, the strand of blonde curling against her jaw. I’d ensure her safety, and that Lynwood would care for her if she ever needed anything. I never wanted this life for Fallon—a life of hiding, of mystery. She was better off never knowing the truth. They’d kill her if they found out whose daughter she was.

I watched her roam the streets. The knots in her hair were always untied weekly. Did she feel unloved? A life spent searching for a place in a cruel world. And was I cruel for letting her dwell on those thoughts, on the idea that she might never know her worth?

Her children were cursed with quells, tainted by Forgotten blood. But death was no punishment. The blood of the misjudged would rise. Weakness would find strength, sprung through the shallows of flame and shadow.

They’d come for me. But they didn’t kill me because my heart pounded for a man of power. They killed me because they believed I didn’t love them back. But I smiled as my blood ran red—the same color as theirs.

As my last breaths filled the night air, they came for vengeance, and I stared at her slender fingers as her quell broke through my body. If only I had told her how much I loved her, would she have killed me? Would the king still have stolen her eyes?

And on my last breath, I whispered, “You will rise, Fallon.”

“What was that?” I gasped. “Who was that?”

Charles struck me again with his relic of ice, its power seeming to drain not just my strength, but my very essence. Frost settled on my lashes and coated my vocal cords, and I was pulled lower, sinking to my knees on the cold stone before the king’s throne.

No one else seemed to hear it. Not Charles, not the king, not Archer. No one had heard Veravine’s voice.

Charles lowered his trembling hands. “You have no quell, Severyn. I don’t understand,” he murmured. “Monty said you resurrected two students and a dragon.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps it wasn’t Naraic. In my old age, I see things... it must be the songbirds. They’re quite loud.”

Songbirds. The king had heard her port… but how?

I peeked between my hands, bracing for pain, for death—but neither came. Had I used all those keys? Could Damien be alive? Archer would have told me.

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