Page 38 of Burning Heir

“How is a pigeon supposed to help me?” I mocked, my voice laced with sarcasm.

“The Serpent of Shadows isn’t of sound mind. Allowing a Winter under his mentorship is… blasphemy. It’s either your head or mine.”

I stalled, dragging out the conversation. “Don’t you think I would have bonded by now?” I said through gritted teeth.

Callum shot Bridger a glance. “Scale the damn wall so we can move on with our lives.”

My gaze locked onto the icy wall below. Gripping the slick snow, I began to descend, balancing on the first ledge. Slowly, step by step, I focused on breathing through the sharp jolts of pain radiating from my wrist. Bridger and Callum’s whispered conversation drifted to me as I edged further down, their white and golden hair stiff in the lashing wind.

Bridger had been right earlier—death would be kinder than this. I’d pissed him off before he’d even met me.

The sound of shuffling boots drew my attention. Bridger leaned over the edge, his lip curling with malice. “I can’t allow you to claim the Serpent title, Severyn.”

Before I could respond, he uncurled his fist, blasting snow down onto my spine. “You knew this was coming. You knew where this would end when we were alone next.”

An icicle shot down, slicing through my fingers and pinning a thin piece of skin to the wall. I groaned, my foot wobbling on a precarious shard of ice. Snow whipped around me, twisting into sharp, violent daggers. Three more struck, driving into my exposed skin as I clung desperately to the wall.

“Do not let him see your weakness, Severyn.”I shot forward, hearing the same voice leading me to the lake.“You do not bow to him.”

My cheek pressed against the cold barrier. Breathing slowly with each pound in my chest, begging for this torture to stop. Callum and Bridger would kill me. They’d claim I fell. I knew Knox would send a letter home. I knew dying in Winter was worse than being called to another realm. I’d grown, breathed, and lived in Winter all my life.

Failure. I was a failure.

I ground my teeth to hold back another scream, gripping a stone with my sore wrist. I’d take that damn egg hidden under my bed and bring it to Archer. I would forge a bond with that griffin if it were the last thing I did.

Bridger allowed me a few more steps before he swung an icicle at my ribs—Callum joined, and it was ice on snow pelting at my body.

My blood froze to the wall, staining the blue ice a pale pink. I kept my head low, hoping Bridger wouldn’t see the crystallized tears falling from my cheeks. I had painted a masterpiece that stirred fear as the next students who dared to claim the title wouldsee my blood, my fury in those handprints. Would Malvoria still accept a broken body?

Would father still accept me, knowing I’d failed? Knowing I did not die in glory but as a weakened mess of fragile bones.

Bridger pulled his arm back, and I knew the next blow would be the one that took me out. “Please don’t,” I begged.

“I need to claim the title, Severyn. No hard feelings. I’ll give your mother the decency to live, but I’ll ensure your father knows I was the one who killed his last possible blood heir.” He pushed his palm forward as a pointed icicle aimed for the back of my shins. I pressed against the wall, bracing as three more released, one heading straight for my broken wrist.

A darkened ray speckled between my stiff hands, coated with a dazzling sand texture almost resembling crushed starlight.

Shadows crawled along the wall, flattening my chest against the ice.

Bridger hissed, “No fucking way.” His stare locked toward the clouds I was too afraid to look towards.

A black-scaled dragon, nearly three times the size of a griffin with a pearlescent underbelly, broke through the tree line, blowing a flurry of darkened air before dipping toward me and flying off with a howl. Frost-licked branches snapped off, falling to the ground with a groan. Dust glimmered between my shaking fingers, illuminating a trail.

I took another shaking step down. I glanced at Bridger, whose arms were crossed, a wild, frenzied glare gleaming in his pale eyes of ice as he watched the sky for that dragon to reappear.

I nearly cried tears of joy as my feet touched the solid ground, and before I could catch my breath or warm my frozen fingers, Bridger stood beside me.

“Find your damn enigma,” Bridger growled.

Bridger could portal. There was no way he climbed that fast. And to the left stood Callum.

My feet sank into the snow, boots dusted with that same brilliant sheen. “Do dragons normally enter the frozen realms?” I asked.

“That dragon hasn’t been seen in nearly two years. I suppose the Serpent was keeping tabs on you, and now that he’s seen what a pathetic, shivering ball you are, I don’t think he’ll bother us anymore,” Callum hissed.

That was Archer’s dragon. It had to be.

Damien mentioned it was missing. That creature was everything I suspected Archer’s enigma was: jet-black scales resembling a swirled midnight sky, slivered violet eyes that matched the shirt buttons he’d worn at the Rite.

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