Page 20 of Burning Heir

A throat cleared from where the Serpents stood. “What are you doing with my student, Thorne?” My eyes slipped up, distorted from the tears masking my vision. The voice was Archer Lynch’s.

Bridger dropped his hand. “I am escorting her out, sir. Jenessa has not chosen her.” He chuckled hoarsely. “She’s nearly lost her mind. She rambles in her sleep. Best to take her outside before she causes a scene.”

Archer glanced down for a second. “Her name is on my scroll.” He flashed the curled piece of paper where my name was last on the list, written in darker ink.

A few quiet murmurs sounded in the room. “Sir, you have thirteen names on that list,” Bridger said. “The maximum is twelve first-year students.”

Humor beamed in Archer’s blue eyes. “Do you have an issue with my decision?” he asked. “Do I need to remind you who I am?”

“Severyn Blanche is a Winter. That girl will not survive under Night’s leadership. You are only delaying her death.”

The room silenced. “Is there anything else, Thorne? I suggest you step away from Miss Blanche.”

Bridger shook his head with a huff.

Archer read the names from his scroll. “Malachi Herring… Jace Lorangail, Alaric Nite…. Antonia Welsch.” My brain was mushby the eleventh name, and I swore when he said Severyn Blanche, I nearly dropped to the stone ground.

The headmaster cleared his throat. “Walk forward, Severyn Blanche,” he hissed.

Heart stuttering, I walked toward the Rite, thankful the attention had turned toward Malachi, strutting a few steps behind me.

Sixty or so students remained unpicked, now the property of Malvoria. Guards escorted them out, bounding them with some type of invisible tether. They went not without struggle, not without curses and thrashing hands.

A soft voice trilled behind me, then a double tap on my shoulder. “You can be my roommate for now,” said Malachi. “There are only twelve rooms available, and you don’t want to bunk with any of the others here. Trust me.” Her amber eyes wavered across the other eleven students of Night.

“Roommates?” I whispered. “You want to be my roommate?” I took in her blonde waves, the freckles on her cheeks, and the single dimple on her chin. She was soft, nearly radiating, and I assumed her to be cruel.

“Yes. We seem to be living the same life.” She uncurled her fist, and a ripple of wind circled each finger. Her eyes went up and down my bruised frame. “I’m a tad less injured, I suppose.”

Nothing seemed real. Not Archer choosing me or Malachi Herring standing in front of me. I locked eyes with Bridger. I knew he wouldn’t stop until I was dead.

Archer spoke to the headmaster and a senior female student. The tips of her shifting fingers were chrome-colored like she’d dipped her arm in liquid iron. Her long, braided blonde hair was tied with a golden ribbon.

Malachi nudged me, noticing my blatant stare. “That’s Delair Sorpine. She’s in line to become Archer’s heir. Stay away from her. She wields metal, and her daggers are sharper than needles.”

She wore the same metal snake pin as Bridger. “She’s… intimidating,” I said.

“As I said, most Night students lack sunlight. Their minds are nearly as dark-willed as their powers.”

“Why—why us? We stand no chance with us being under another ruler’s mentorship.”

She smiled wide. “Perhaps to stir the game. This is all a ploy of kill or be killed. Win or lose. If someone saves your life, expect their demand for retribution. I give great advice. I suggest listening to it.”

Archer’s attention slipped to the onyx stone, and I swept behind the other students, hoping to thank him… hoping to demand why he’d chosen me, why he traveled three days to perform a sudden death to my parents when most students never received a simple letter. Shadows dripped from his perfectly tailored shirt, and I swore I nearly broke my nose, smashing into a shield.

Black and white speckled my vision. I recognized Alaric as one of the chosen Night students who ripped me back. “What do you think you are doing?” His pointed features hid beneath a shadow with eyes resembling a midnight storm wavering up and down.

I choked on my breath. “I was going to talk to Archer.”

Antonia crossed her arms. Her mousy features scrunched, eyes as pale as the silver dagger Charles gave me, were stark against her black hair. Both sides of her nose were pierced, connected with a silver chain.

“You don’t just speak to a Serpent without getting called on. You are lucky his shield didn’t kill you.” She took me in—the snow burns on my dried, flaking skin. The Night students didn’t seem half as traumatized as Jenessa’s initiations.

“I didn’t know,” I muttered.

Antonia pursed her lips. “Now, what does the bitch of the Continent and a snowflake have to do in Night?”

Malachi stood beside me again. “Antonia, no need to be hostile. We have no intention of becoming the heir of Night. Archer and I go way back.”

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