Page 25 of Severed Heir

He thought for a beat. “I mean… I hate the sound of chewing. You could try that.”

I sighed. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Ellison,” he said, too smooth for someone currently failing at basic combustion. “Ellison Sinclair. I’d shake your hand, but…”

“I’d rather not freeze to death,” I snapped. “So please, try to summon your flame before a beast eats me alive.”

He gave a theatrical sigh and crossed his legs as he sat. “We could just talk instead. Tell me—why would flirting with you be a terrible idea? That shadow girl really piqued my interest.”

I glared. “If you don’t get me out of this, you’ll find out.”

“Fine. I’ve got an idea. But if I get frostbite, I’m going to be upset.” Then he started dragging his palms over the ice.

“I appreciate the effort, but rubbing your hands on my chains isn’t going to magically melt them.”

A welt was already blooming beneath the cuffs. If I didn’t get out soon, I’d lose all the feeling in my hands.

“You don’t like the cold, do you?” he asked, quieter now.

I stiffened. “I grew up in an ice fortress.”

He raised a brow. “And?”

“It’s... complicated.”

He didn’t push. “I could never live somewhere cold. I like the sun, citrus trees, and dry breezes. This,” he said, gesturing at the frozen courtyard, “just isn’t for me.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “The cold sucks. Now, do you feel your power or not?”

The sun slipped behind the horizon, casting the courtyard in a bruised lilac hue. The world tilted toward night faster than I would have liked.

Then came the first howl of a beast. A second followed, higher and thinner. Panic climbed my throat like a vine. I was going to die here. Chained. Helpless. Torn apart by beasts because my flame still refused to answer.

I didn’t want to call Archer. I didn’t want him to see me like this.

“How does it feel to you?” he asked softly. “The flame.”

I swallowed. “It’s in my veins. Like the heat is rising in my chest. Like… instinct. It justhappens.”

He nodded. “I was supposed to attend the Serpent Academy a few years ago,” he said. “Didn’t get chosen at the Rite.”

A sharp growl tore my attention to the treeline. Two yellow eyes blinked from the shadows.

“Leave me, Ellison,” I said, voice tight. “There’s no point in both of us dying.”

He followed my gaze, his jaw tightening. “Death dwellers,” he muttered. “Nasty bastards. Their venom traps you in nightmares that never ends.”

I kicked against the ice-bound chains, biting my lip as they cinched tighter around my raw wrists.

The creature stepped into the clearing—skin slick and black as oil, wings ragged like torn parchment. Its claws scraped the stone with a low, vibrating hum.

“Go,” I snapped, harsher this time. “My death isn’t on your hands.”

The death dweller raised its wings—then charged.

“Stay back!” he shouted. “Yeah, you heard me!”

It loomed over me, tattered wings dragging frost behind it, its claw lifting before it struck. Then, suddenly, it wasn’t a beast at all. It was Archer.

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