Page 92 of Severed Heir

“I won’t let you have her,” I rasped, the words barely more than breath. “Even if I die—”

“Monty!” I tried to scream, but it came out as a wet, gurgled croak. No one answered. “Monty, help!”

Damien leaned in. “I hate that it had to be me.”

I didn’t want his hazel eyes to be the last thing I saw, but I needed to know. “Then why?”

His hand brushed my cheek, almost tender. “Because if you die, it proves you’re the Herring they warned about. And we both know Monty tried to kill Severyn at the Academy. He’ll try again.”

I held my breath and, for a moment, stopped my own heart. Then I let my body go slack. And he bought it.

“I’m sorry, Mal,” he said, and left me there to die.

I forced my hand forward, dragging myself inch by inch toward the faintest glint of light. I angled my body, trying not to jolt the wound, praying no more dirt worked its way into the gash. I didn’t want to imagine the pain of pulling the glass free. Hopefully, I’d be unconscious by then.

I swallowed hard as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through me, shaking my entire body with a sick blend of adrenaline and fury. I was so close. Just a few more feet. I must’ve been crawling for nearly an hour, maybe more. Honestly, I’d blacked out a few times.

Then my arms gave out. I collapsed, gasping as the glass shard drove deeper into my ribs, I swore it wasedgingmy fucking heart. A groan tore from my throat, too raw to bite back.

But I didn’t stop.

I reached for the light like it was a lifeline, the last thread of sun I could grip in a world gone dark.

Three more pulls. That’s all it took.

I collapsed over the edge, half in the crater, half out. My breath came shallow, frayed at the edges.

“You bastard,” I rasped, eyes fixed on the trails of Summer. The heat hit like a slap. Of course, bleeding out wasn’t enough. Now I’d get a sunburn, too. Gods, if this ended with an open casket... I’d look like hell. And I had the best skin of anyone I knew.

And there it was.

The lindworm’s massive body convulsed in the dirt, caught in its final spasms. Two blades pierced its thick, silvery hide—one driven in by Bridger. The other... Damien.

A Herring’s blood had stained the academy grounds. Maybe the gods wanted me to survive. Maybe I would. But the real question wasn’t whether I’d live. It was who would kill the Herring first. And the answer was already soaked into the dirt.

Damien.Asshole. Lynch.

Chapter Eighteen

The snake had disappeared beneath the dirt, leaving all the spectators grasping the edges of the iron bleachers for any commotion for the last hour. I had never heard such silence before.

If I saw the snake, I would force it to surrender—at the perfect moment, when Bridger was close enough to strike. I knew how wrong this was. If I was caught, prison would be a mercy. But I would lay my life down for my home, for my country, for the thousands who would be turned into refugees, or worse, stripped of their power.

North Colindale needed an heir. My father couldn’t keep the shields intact much longer.

And maybe choosing Bridger was a mistake. But he was the only choice I had left. I could do this. Treason or death—what difference did it make? Wasn’t this the same kind of gamble Archer had made for me?

Besides, no one was watching. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention.

Then Lasar stood slowly. “Someone has killed the snake,” he said.

“How do you know?” I asked, though dread already clawed at my chest. Nothing about this was ever going to be easy.

He motioned toward the edge of the trees. “The vermin have scoured,” he said, nodding toward the swarm of jittery journalists sprinting toward the trial grounds like vultures to fresh carrion. “No journalist runs that fast unless their future is on the line.”

In the distance, a figure emerged from the trees, sunlight clinging to his frame. He staggered forward, bramble clawing at his coat, which was torn and streaked with blood. His face was almost unrecognizable beneath the dirt.

But as he stepped closer, the details sharpened. That single dimple in his cheek. His ruffled dark hair. The sharp line of his jaw.

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