Page 31 of Severed Heir

A tear slipped down my cheek before I even felt it. I wiped it away fast. “He was portaling through glass. Something went wrong. He got spliced.” My voice cracked. “I thought… I thought you knew.”

Why hadn’t Archer told him? None of it made sense.

“Archer said maybe five words to me when he pulled me from my father’s estate,” he muttered. “None of them mentioned my brother was dead.”

But before I could speak, Myla’s voice sliced through the clearing. “Did you wrangle it?”

A tremor rippled beneath our boots, then the earth split open and Rok bolted. A dozen guards rushed in behind him, knuckles white around chains and ropes. Whatever they were dragging fought like hell. Scaled limbs lashed out. Its massive body slammed into the pit walls, hard enough to send two guards flying into a tree with a single sweep of its tail.

Antonia gasped. “Holy shit, that’s a lindworm.”

Rok threw an arm out, shoving us back toward the trees. “No one sleeps in the woods tonight,” he barked. “The lindworm is headed straight to the Serpent Academy.”

Antonia didn’t move. “What happens when Malvoria finds one?”

Rok’s voice lowered. “It’s free game. Always has been. If it isn’t bound to a realm, it belongs to no one.” His gaze shifted to the serpent thrashing in the dark. “The students in the lead will face it in the final trial.”

Knox and Malachi were both house leads. They would face this thing, and each other. And as I stared into the beast’s molten, unblinking eyes, I knew one thing with brutal certainty. When the final trial came, the Serpent grounds would run red with Herring blood.

Chapter Four

Another night in the dungeons.

At this point, I couldn’t fathom how that girl Giesel had survived a year down here. My body ached, my flame hadn’t stirred in days, and my mind felt wrung out.

When Rok gestured for volunteers again, I almost stepped forward, just to disappear for a few days. But with a lindworm recently found, every guard seemed ready to take a fist to the jaw just for the chance to escort it to the Serpent Academy.

Distant chants of combat echoed through the halls. My fingers were so numb I could barely grip the sponge. Then someone brushed my shoulder. I turned to find the humming girl. Giesel.

“You must fight,” she said gently. “Once you’re here… it gets harder to leave.” Her eyes were bright, star-scattered things.

My throat tightened. “I’m exhausted,” I whispered, pressing my sleeve to my face.

“Then push through it,” she murmured. “I sing to stay grounded.”

“I’m Severyn,” I said quietly. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself.”

“I know who you are.” Her voice was soft. “You’re the golden one’s sister.”

I didn’t ask what she thought of him. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “How did you survive a year down here?”

“I sing,” she said again. “I could sing you a song of my fallen people.”

I remembered her humming that first night, it had to be a quell of some sort. I nodded. “Please.”

She tilted her head, as if waiting for the wind to carry her the melody, but no wind moved in this cold-stone place. Her fingers tapped a slow, familiar rhythm against the floor.

Then she sang.

The sound started soft. But then it rose—clear as glass, sharp as grief. Her voice climbed higher, purer, until it lifted like wings from a cage, threaded with something older than language.

When the final note faded, I stared in stunned silence. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “That’s your quell, isn’t it?”

Giesel leaned back, wiping sweat from her brow. “I can’t fight. But I can sing. I’ll never escape here, Severyn.”

My grandfather ruled this fractured kingdom. My brother had lived by these rules. And me? I wasn’t just meant to endure this place. I was meant to end it.

“Sing,” I told her. “Sing loud. Don’t let them steal your voice.”

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