Page 77 of Burning Heir

My clothing was soaked in thawed slush. That flame sputtered out, growing claws as it circled me. “Get out!” I choked aloud, ash coating the backs of my teeth. “Get the fuck out!”

Then, a black flame slammed into the stone steps, slithering. Callum yelped as his shirt caught fire.

I became the flame. I traveled up his sleeve, consuming every fiber in my wrath of heat. Callum rolled on the ground, arms flailing. I let him suffer for a moment, let his clothes burn to ash as he’d left me bare and stripped on the iced grounds.

I walked three steps toward him, pressing a firm boot on his chest before I grabbed the hot metal handle of the sword, bowing as the flame sucked back into my palm.

I leaned down in a whisper, “My father will know precisely who you are and how his daughter took your first sword.”

Smoke and smog veiled us, but through the grey haze, Monty crossed his arms as he said, “Severyn Blanche has earned her first sword. And damn… she’s got some angst in her.”

The words I never thought I’d hear. And Callum was silent on the ground, rolling around in blistered pain. Myla helped him up and took him toward the infirmary.

My body felt thawed, as though I’d been frozen in a glacier for a hundred years. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. Damien wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close against his chest. “Let’s get you warm,” he murmured.

I nodded, refusing to glance back at Archer’s shadow. He wouldn’t know he’d been the one to save me. I wouldn’t give him that.

There would be no Skyfall training today. Not when my fingers couldn’t form a fist, and hiding felt far safer than facing Archer again.

Damien didn’t head toward the Night Hall. Instead, he kept walking, guiding me toward the golden spiral stairs that led to the Summer dorms.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“My room, just for a moment. The halls are warmer than your dungeon of a corridor.”

Stepping beneath the sun emblem, the Summer halls were bathed in light. Paintings of suns adorned the stone walls, and the air felt warmer here, tinged with the scent of citrus that lingered in the dusty corridors. Shadowless stone floors echoed under my quiet steps, while the wards hummed as we neared his room, buzzing like electrified gnats around the wooden frame. Damien waved a hand, and the door clicked open.

His room was twice the size of mine and Malachi’s, with a queen bed in the center, its black duvet stark against the pale stone. A large armoire stood against one wall, and shelves filled with books stretched from floor to ceiling. Shards of glass—blue, sea green, and others—were scattered across his desk, catching the light in fragments.

“Glass?” I asked.

Damien picked up a dark shard and twirled it between his fingers. “I’ve been practicing projection with sea glass from the South. This one’s from my bedroom back home, and this one,”he nodded toward another, “was from my dorm at boarding school.”

I watched him as if studying a puzzle I might one day solve. “You can see through glass, like a portal?”

He clicked his tongue in amusement. “As Malachi can hear through the wind, I can use glass as a one-way mirror.” He rummaged through the armoire and pulled out a three-inch shard of broken glass. It looked like it had once been part of a compact mirror. “I stole this from Bridger’s room. I thought you might like it. I assume it’s from North Colindale, and I know you miss home.”

To me, it looked like any other handheld mirror. “What am I supposed to see?”

“Come closer and look into it. I’ll try to project what I see into your mind.”

I held the shattered mirror gently, careful not to cut myself or further fragment the glass. Wild emerald eyes stared back at me, mimicking my own, but they seemed sharper—more cunning. The streak of white in my bangs and lashes appeared brighter, more striking. Then frost spread across the mirror’s surface, and the reflection changed. No longer were those my eyes staring back, but slivered hazel ones. A house on a hill, with a frozen lake stretching before it. North Colindale. My home.

The bitter cold was only… bitter, tainted with Bridger and Callum’s greedy, cold hands. I stepped back, and Damien had seen it all, reliving that moment.

Then I was Bridger’s eyes, which only lasted a second, but a bloodied, pale me lay half naked on the frozen trails. A wolf carried shreds of my fabric in its snarling mouth.

“I should have killed him that day during combat.”

That sword felt heavier on my spine. “I have healed.”

“I haven’t, not when he still walks. I see his mind.” Damien shuddered. “I see it from his eyes and live through it. He does it on purpose… to torture me.”

“Bridger needed revenge and got Callum to do his dirty work. He needed to feel strong, and I will never allow him to hurt me again.” I swallowed my whisper. “And maybe I needed to feel it not to be so weak.”

He cupped my jaw. I felt him in my mind, resting along the childhood memories as if each chapter of my life was immersing him further and distracting himself from his restless one—as if I were another book on his shelf.

No breath escaped me as his forehead rested against mine. “Just say the word, and I’ll keep my distance. Tell me to stay away, and I will, Severyn. I know what Callum said wasn’t true.”

---