Page 27 of Burning Heir

Archer’s voice cut through the metallic din. “How are the first-years supposed to learn by watching?”

Myla nudged me in the ribs, her eyes fixed on Archer. “That’s your Serpent leader? He’s...” Her voice tightened as she stared. “Intimidating.”

Two students over, Margaret added with a smirk, “And hot.”

Knight glanced at Archer. “Very well. But if one of them dies, their blood is on your hands.”

Archer had a voice I would never forget. Even if he had saved me, I still couldn’t trust him. My thoughts seemed to drift to him at the worst times, like now, when Antonia reached him first. Hershadow quell danced around her feet, subtle yet deliberate, as she batted her liquid silver eyes at him. He brushed off her flirtation without a word, his gaze sliding past her and landing briefly on Malachi.

He must have a preference for blondes, I thought bitterly. Spring students were absent. Rumors swirled about their private classes and special wards.

It seemed everyone was willing to lose themselves to impress the Serpents.

Knight’s gravelly voice broke the tension. “Do any first-years wish to spar today? Five daggers win you a sword. We rotate realms against realms.” His gaze shifted to Damien. “Summer might be our champion this year.”

His tone grew stern. “Quells are prohibited until your second year. The more daggers you claim from other realms, the more eyes you’ll draw at the Bid. Combat builds strength—and alliances, should you win your title or graduate as a Griffin.”

I gripped the hilt of my dagger instinctively, the words sinking in. Titles, alliances, survival—it all came down to blood and blade.

Margaret went to raise a hand, but Knox beat her to it. He glanced at me, and before I could shake my head, he said, “Severyn Blanche will fight.”

I shot my brother a look of death. I knew he’d done it to ensure our legacy stayed within, but I couldn’t help the silent curses I threw at him. “No, I won’t,” I said loudly enough that nearly every student turned to face me.

I took a step back, and Myla widened her eyes, tracing over the bruises covering my exposed arms.

“Severyn, go.” Knox shoved me forward. “You can fight. Remember what Father and Charles taught you.”

Malachi stepped toward the circle. “I’ll go against Severyn.”

My heart beat faster as Malachi tied back her hair, those almond-shaped, amber eyes hardening as a smile curled her lips. We were each given a dagger of a similar length from an unknown territory. The wood markings seemed to be from a Spring realm, with flowers carved along the handle and copper-stained metal.

We both bowed our necks, the courteous way to address someone before striking.

She swung before I could react, slicing my right leg. I countered her, and our blades collided. She grunted, aiming for my neck as I dove and rolled over my shoulder, stumbling onto my feet. She was quick. Years of calculated training showed in those lunges and dives.

“You’re fast,” she said breathlessly. “But you haven’t landed a single hit on me.”

“Perhaps I am learning you,” I yelled, dodging a second blow.

My blade hit her shoulder, she swung out of the way, and I took my moment to pounce and pin her chest down, elbow lodged into her throat as I held the blade against her neck.

“I also have four brothers,” I hissed.

She could have countered me, could have kicked her legs up and into my stomach, but she didn’t. She let me win, and for whatever reason? To show her weakness to others? For Monty to watch and curl his finger under his chin as all eyes were on me now.

“You won,” she breathed, gripping the blade’s sharp end.

I helped her up. Then Bridger ripped the dagger from Malachi’s grasp. “You let her win.” He stole the words right from my bitten tongue. “Let’s see—you against me, Colindale. Perhaps that’s what you need to gain your quell.”

I stared desperately at Professor Knight for him to interject, but he seemed just as interested in seeing the daughter of the Serpent and the lead to take North Colindale fight.

I caught my breath, keeping that dagger tight in my fist. “Fine,” I hissed.

Bridger didn’t bow or take the respectful three steps back. He swung right away, landing a blow on my shoulder and twisting. I screamed in pain as he dragged the blade under my shoulder—and something inside me tore. His leg came up, kicking the dagger from my sweaty hands as it flew behind me.

“You can’t do that,” I grunted, reaching for the dagger—fingers skimming the bare stone.

A boot pinned my chest down. My heart thumped as a rib popped, heat swelling in my cheeks. Then, it was only silver eyes peering at me. A valley of cruel ice consumed my sight as the blade pressed against my throat.

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