Page 92 of Burning Heir

“Well, it has led to this, Knox. I watched them snap your neck in front of me. How could you not come to me first?”

“The academy is here to help us strive to be our best. You would have stopped me, and I feared if the king found out at the Bid, he would kill you immediately. This was me helping you. They stripped Mother of her quell. Klaus is dead. I couldn’t lose you, too.”

I clenched my fists, my voice sharp. “I expected this from Charles, but not from you.”

I left him standing there, the weight of his betrayal pressing heavily on my shoulders. My steps echoed down the spiral stairs as I descended, my energy spent. The lanterns flickered and extinguished one by one as I passed, as if the academy itself knew I had nothing left to give.

The Night halls loomed before me, cold and uninviting. The door wouldn’t open on command, forcing me to summon my last bit of strength to twist the brass handle. Malachi’s lips moved as she spoke, but I couldn’t hear her words over the ringing in my ears—the ringing of Knox’s scream, the haunting sound of Alaric’s bond breaking. I felt her at my feet, untying my boots, and then, as the covers tucked around me, she kissed my forehead with a small, comforting smile.

I slept through warding and avoided combat for three days. My walks to class were silent, Damien absent from my side. Naraic couldn’t fly until his wings healed, and even then, I feared reopening his wound. Students whispered as I passed, their eyes following me. Winning Skyfall had made me infamous. Even Monty, who I thought was still angry about Archer’s punch, smiled at me in the halls.

That evening, I had my portrait painted for the grand hall. I sat still for three hours, the rows of framed faces staring back at me, each one poised and etched. Twenty-six frames down, I found my mother. Her old name, Fallon Berret, was inscribed beneath her image. Her portrait captured her before she lost her eyes—a younger version of me, down to the white birthmark on our bangs. Her green eyes gleamed with happiness, her full lips curled into a radiant smile. She was everything I had imagined and more.

I leaned against the wall, my chin high. I wouldn’t become my mother. I wouldn’t let the king steal my quell, my eyes.

My life.

“You could have at least smiled in your portrait. In fifty years, the new students will believe we tortured you,” Archer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he appeared from the shadows. He wore a grey suit, his polished leather shoes gleaming in the dim light.

“Half true,” I shot back, forcing my mind away from that one night.

“Someone needs rest. Is Damien keeping you up at night?” he drawled, his smirk infuriatingly casual.

“Yes, in fact, I was needing some well-deserved rest.” I turned to leave, but his hand gripped my wrist, pulling me back. The rush of that night overwhelmed me, the memory all-consuming.

“I heard the king invited you to dinner,” he said in a low voice.

“I ensured Ciaran and Naraic’s protection if that’s what you’re asking. Please let me go unless you need me for something else, Serpent.” My voice wavered as I held back tears.

Archer recoiled slightly. “He knows about the Gemini dragons?”

“He knows about my quell. He forced me to watch Knox die and then save him.” My voice cracked as I stifled a sob, themental image of Knox’s neck snapping fresh and vivid. “If you’ve come to annoy me further, I’m not in the mood.”

“I had no idea. Ciaran told me she saved you at the race. I assumed any third-year would have pieced together what you were to me once they saw you on my dragon’s back.”

What I was to him.

“I need the cure, Archer. I’m weak. My left leg could hardly hold me for two days after the race.”

He grabbed my wrist again, a hint of humor touching his grin. “That’s normal when riding dragons. You’re gaining muscle.”

I yanked my hand free, my patience gone. “I’m not in the mood. I understand you dislike me, but we both know Naraic chose me the day Klaus passed.”

Tears burned down my cheeks, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. Then, unexpectedly, his arms wrapped around me—strong, unyielding, pulling me into the solid warmth of his chest. My cheek pressed against him, and for a moment, the weight of the world eased. His hand lifted, brushing a tear from my face with surprising gentleness.

“I never wanted this for you,” he hissed, his voice low and raw.

“What do you mean?”

“For us to care for each other. Knowing only the other’s name was simpler. Now, fear and death bind us, and I’m not sure how long I can pretend your tears don’t hurt me.”

I melted into him, something stronger than gravity anchoring me against his chest. For a fleeting second, it felt like I could breathe again. Then, as quickly as it began, he dropped his arms. His face paled, and without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me alone with the aching void of what remained.

Damien was walking on the seventh day with only a limp. Knox hadn’t said a word to me either, even as we silently were pinned against each other during combat, and I knew he let me win that day. I knew him throwing me a dagger my way was his version of apologizing.

I spent that afternoon with Damien, learning shielding. We sat by the docks as the darkened sea crashed into the sand. “Pretend your mind is made of solid metal, Severyn. Block me out,” he said.

I gripped the wooden dock, strumming my fingers over the splinters, forcing an invisible wall up. Metal curled around my mind like bent iron. There were still gaps where Damien managed to break in and throw my thoughts back at me—where I relived, over and over, Knox’s death.

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