Page 4 of Burning Heir

A huff of laughter escaped me. “You expect me to fly on that bird?”

Charles’ tight-lipped expression made it clear—flying on the griffin was not up for negotiation.

He rummaged through his bag, pulling out a hunter-green cloak and draping it over my shoulders. “Father gave Knox his riding jacket from his academy days… this was Klaus’s. Keep it.”

I fisted the fur-lined inside. “Thank you. I wanted something to remind me of him.”

“I kept it safe for you.” He smiled, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Now, would you please get on Setrephia before we’re late for your first day?”

I waved a final goodbye to my home. To my iced fortress before I fought to become itsnext ruler.

Chapter Two

We stopped for the night at a Serpent hostel in Otin, a nomadic land that had once been a vibrant town decades ago. Now, nothing stretched across the village for miles except for the bunker where we’d spend the night.

The setting sun dimmed low, but the slivered orb above our country grew with each mile we flew. It seemed odd, like a shield of iced winds barred the light from cracking through the clouds.

Some Serpents bartered seeds; others offered stars in the night sky, giving hope to dreamers. Otin, however, lay in ruin, waiting for its collapse until they did. No one needed ice, which was probably why Father seldom made barters with other realms.

A barren land meant the worst had happened. Blood once stained these grounds. Now, only starved trees and parched plants rustled in the wind. People had lived here once.

I wondered how a land froze over. How the wind carried a different kind of sorrow. They said it began with six after the Forgotten fled.

Dust choked my lungs as we stumbled into the brick building, seeking refuge from the lightning storms gathering in the distance.

Inside, six bunk beds lined the walls, each with grey sheets and worn blankets. A stove sat beside a rusted sink, a kettle rimmed with burnt debris atop it.

“This can’t be a protected Serpent bunker,” I muttered. “I thought Serpents lived lavishly. Is it safe?”

Charles pulled a fern leaf from his pocket, scribbling “North Colindale” before pinning it alongside the palm leaves on the wall. A tradition.

“This is a barren land. Have some respect,” Charles said. “This could become our home if Father has no heir this year. Not everyone lives like you.”

The wind rattled the metal door. “I’m just asking. Why couldn’t the neighboring countries help?” Otin had fallen before Charles was born. My grandfather ruled then, but my father never explained why.

“Ask Father when you’re his heir,” Charles said, tightening the latch. “Lots of politics.”

Lorna sprawled across a bed, tying back her short blonde hair. She glanced at me, eyes hard. “Don’t let those assholes get to you. There aren’t enough female Serpents,” she whispered, nodding toward Knox. “No offense, but given your family’s history—”

I cut her off. “I won’t let anyone get to me.” I fell back onto the stiff mattress, groaning.

“Good. The Iced Valley’s kids of Winborrow are cutthroat. They won’t hesitate to kill you, Severyn,” she said, her voice quieter. “Charles rose the ranks slowly, working directly underthe king. If you don’t make Serpent, Malvoria will find you a place as a guard. He’s worried about you.”

“I’ll find a way to stay alive.” I yawned.

Lorna wasn’t graceful. Her lips didn’t curve upward at a man’s glance. Instead, she flashed a dagger, then a sharp grin. Her parents were both guards. She grew up in Malvoria, born in Winborrow. Charles once said they wouldn’t work out—her parents wanted her to marry a Serpent.

Charles crossed the narrow rug, each step creaking. He extinguished the lantern before heading to bed.

“You’ve got a long day tomorrow, Sev,” he said, slinging his sword over his shoulder. “Rest before you forget what it feels like to close your eyes willingly.”

Knox was already asleep, unfazed by the world. I envied his ability to sleep through anything.

That night, I tossed and turned, sweat soaking my skin. The air was thick, stifling.

I woke an hour before dawn. The mattress groaned as I got up to shower before the others. Ice-cold, cloudy water sputtered from the taps. I braided my neval streak into my hair, knotting the end to keep it in place.

I knew my birthmark was different. Mother always claimed it was a slip of her paintbrush, but it never faded, no matter how hard I scrubbed. Klaus had one, too, though I was starting to forget his face as time passed.

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