Page 169 of Severed Heir

We slipped into a narrow tunnel beneath the camp; the air was damp and still. Every footstep echoed against stones and falling snow. When we emerged, a clearing opened before us, lined with weather-beaten sheds and sagging rooftops. At the center stood a glowing iron circle, its edges pulsing with faint heat. Two armed guards flanked it, as still and silent as statues.

“Shit, I’ve never seen the Grand Portal,” Kian whispered. “There are six. One leads to the academy, the others to various edges of the Continent. Good for fast travel if the area’s unstable or can’t be portaled into.”

“Kian,” Lorna snapped. “Stop giving away secrets.”

He lifted his hands. “My bad.”

She pointed to a shed at the far end of the clearing. “That one’s mine. Malachi and Severyn, stay there tonight. Kian, find a bunk elsewhere.”

“No. He stays,” I said quickly. “He’s my friend.”

“First-year guards swore an oath,” she said. “He broke it the moment he talked back to Callum. So did Ellison. Not my problem.”

“Then what is your responsibility?”

“Treason. Executions. Criminals,” she said flatly. “I’ve been off-Continent for the past three months.”

Malachi let out a faint scoff. “Executions? Are you going to kill me, after all that?”

Lorna’s snow quell shimmered faintly in the air. “Enough,” she said firmly. “Go to bed. Lock the door, and don’t open it for anyone. The shed is magically warded, no one can enter except me. There are a few spare cloaks and a uniform in the drawers. Make do.”

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ink and something older. The space was cramped, the walls lined with narrow bunk beds. Books, broken quills, and warded maps lay scattered across the floor.

Malachi knelt beside me.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly. “This is… messed up.”

She shook her head, slow and hollow. “You shouldn’t have brought me back.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Callum forced me.”

“You don’t understand how bad this is, Severyn.”

“I think I do now,” I murmured. “I see why my quell is forbidden.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Her voice had gone distant, like it had to travel from somewhere far away. “The Seekers scribed a Herring’s blood to stain the ground. They didn’t follow that with, ‘and then she woke up weeks later.’”

“Klaus…” My voice cracked. “It had to be him.”

“Klaus drowned.”

“Then I die,” I said, the words empty in my throat. “Seems likely at this point.”

She trembled. “I didn’t want to come back. My skin feels wrong. My head is full. Like it’s been stuffed with someone else’s thoughts.”

I reached for her, but she flinched. “What happened during the final trial?”

“The wind’s too loud,” she whispered. “You’re too loud.”

“Tell me what you hear,” I asked.

“I hear screams circling in a vortex.”

I reached for her again, slower this time, and gently took her hand. “Give them to me,” I murmured. “Let me carry them for you.”

We had shared our quells before, but this was different. This was grief, pure and unrelenting, and it poured into me the moment our hands touched.

“I hear his voice every time I close my eyes,” she said, voice barely audible.

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