Page 187 of Severed Heir

Rok stood guard at the door. Word of my forbidden quell had reached the main institute, and apparently, he’d been assigned to keep me alive or kill me, depending on which way the wind shifted. Lorna still hadn’t woken. And it was only a matter of time before the Serpent Press ran the headline:Necromancer Heir Held in Malvoria.

Two days later, Toni and Fraser returned from the academy empty-handed.

“She’s not going back there,” I told them, as Toni brushed frost from her sleeves. “She died on those steps. She’s smarter than that.”

Toni sighed. Morning light bled across the training yard, catching the silver streaks in her braid. “No sign of her. But a hound caught her scent in the Spring realm. It was lost near the pools.”

Rok cracked his knuckles. “Send the Bribers. Anyone caught harboring Malachi Herring will be questioned for treason.” He pointed to a trembling journalist. “Front page. Write it.”

The journalist scrambled to jot it down. “Treason. Giant scorpions. Got it.”

Callum clapped his hands once. “Alright, heirs. Training time.”

He stalked down the line, coat flaring behind him, gaze sharp and merciless. “Wind will be against shadows,” he called. “Ice versus flame. My favorite.”

Bridger squared his shoulders. “And what good does tiring us out before a war actually do?”

Rok’s voice cut through the tension. “Your quells must be at their peak performance. Failure means death. The first heirs to fall in training will be the first sent to face the Forgotten. Better to lose the weak ones now.”

“That doesn’t apply to guards,” Callum added. “You rise your rank, you earn real defense roles.”

Then Rok's gaze landed on me. “And Severyn. If Callum wins against Kian, he earns the right to watch you. If Kian loses, he’s pushed back.”

My throat tightened.

I needed Callum to win. I couldn’t lose Kian, not when he was bound to protect me. Not when his death would be on my hands.

But the way Kian moved told me he had no intention of losing. Not for me. Not for anyone.

“Looks like we’re against each other,” Bridger said, stepping into view. Then he bowed twice.

Bowing before a duel was a sign of respect. Once was custom. Twice meant something deeper. But Bridger had never cared for tradition. Or respect. I didn’t understand why he did now.

“Great,” I hissed.

“What happened between us at the academy…” he said, voice lower, gentler, “it doesn’t matter. I was immature.”

I hesitated, then gave a tight nod. “Give it your all.”

Then Bridger lifted his palm, and only a soft dusting of snow drifted toward my collarbone. It was nothing compared to how I knew his power could truly feel.

I curled my fist into the ash at my feet, flame flickering low in my chest. “Don’t go easy on me.”

“You’re his daughter,” Bridger said, quiet but firm. “It feels wrong.”

I hurled the ash at his boots. “He didn’t care about you. I didn’t care about you. Hurt me… so you survive.” My voice cracked, sharper now. “You need to be pushed back in the line of heirs.”

Because I couldn’t let him be the first to face the Forgotten.

Because if he died, my father’s wards would fall.

A cold gust shoved me backward.Good. Get angry. I needed him to win. I needed to lose.

Caius shoved past me with a scowl. “Ash won’t injure anyone. Bring that flame up.” He raised both palms toward Bridger, his relic glowing at the center. “Bring it up!” he snapped. “I’m not losing because of you.”

Then a shard of ice slammed into my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs.

“I can’t,” I said, barely louder than a whisper.

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