The shadow heir a standa.., p.16
The Shadow Heir: A Standalone Fantasy Romance (Secrets of the Fae), page 16
“You are despicable, you know that?” It hit me that he would try to kill me again in a few hours.
“People are suffering, and you say I am despicable for wanting it to stop?”
My brows pinched. “What about the trial? Am I supposed to find out all this and report back to you before the trial starts?”
Cold wind tossed his hair across his forehead as he continued. “That would be ideal, yes, but—”
“I see,” I said, cutting him off. “You need my help, but you’re still going to try to kill me in the morning?” My arms flew out at my sides. “You really should work on your bargaining techniques.”
“—but,” he repeated between clenched teeth, “since I know you likely won’t have time tonight, I will have to make sure you survive the trial tomorrow morning.”
My lips parted as breath rushed from my lungs, swirling in the air around the heir’s face.
He was going to save my life to get this information.
Before words could form on my tongue, my head began to shake in disbelief. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to be in your debt.”
He rolled his eyes. “You won’t be. Not after you bring me the information I desire. The mortals who have been poisoned do not know who is behind the attacks. But someone does, and you must find out who.”
My head was still shaking, processing. “Why do you care about the mortals? You like to watch us die.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Do you want my help or not?” I shot back.
With a long exhale, he stepped off the bottom stair and took a few steps away before speaking to me over his shoulder. “Whoever is poisoning the mortals is merely using them to test me. My court is well aware of the antidotes and potions I keep, so each poison they concoct is another attempt to see if I have a remedy. They’re hoping to find one I do not have a cure for, a poison they can use on—on their target.”
“On you,” I muttered.
Casimiro did not respond but his silence was answer enough. Someone in this court of nightmares wanted to kill the heir. The information shouldn’t have been shocking, considering the deplorable nature of these creatures, but it shook me nonetheless to know that this immortal was facing his own deadly trial.
“You want me to help you survive? Don’t you think you should have considered that before you tried to kill me?”
He cleared his throat. “I want you to uncover the traitor in my halls. I will not die by his hand.”
“Or hers.”
He shot me a quizzical look.
“Could be a woman, you know. Especially with as charming as you are.”
I glanced up at the stars, unsure how the heavens or whoever lived in them had concocted such a convoluted mess to toss me in. “I don’t understand. You said they’re poisoning the humans to find out what you don’t have a cure for. How does that tell them—”
“Because I heal them.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
As if moving closer would help me hear him better, I stepped down to the path, blinking rapidly as I tried to assimilate what he’d just said.
“I heal the mortals when they’re poisoned,” he said plainly.
For several heartbeats, I forgot how cold it was out here. Heat flared in my chest as I stared at Casimiro, his hair and his loose shirt rippling in the harsh wind in a terribly distracting way.
Finally, I found my words. “How can you heal some of us and kill others?”
His hand slid across the back of his neck as he rolled his chin upward. “Do not worry yourself with the ways of the Shadow Court. Find out who is behind the poisoning, and I will tell you what you wish to know about your friend. But ask anyone else of your friend, and my magic will bind their words.”
My chin inadvertently turned aside, as if I’d been slapped. “You really are a monster.”
But the words felt less true now that I knew he was healing mortals. He could simply let them die and, in so doing, keep his antidotes a secret, but he didn’t. He chose to save their lives at the risk of his own, and it bothered me to my core. He was a murderer. A wicked man. And yet he showed mercy.
To some.
Not all.
“But after I help you, you’ll watch me die as easily as you’ll watch me live.” A small scoff escaped my lips.
He clapped his hand so hard on the ice-slick rock wall beside me that I yelped in surprise. “You mistake the reason I am watching you, Valencia.” His breaths came fast and hot now, swirling in the cold night air.
For several seconds, I stared at him, unable to respond. My brow worked, trying to make sense of his confession. He did want me to die. Didn’t he?
“Only so you can use me as a pawn,” I finally managed.
He seemed relieved at my words, as his shoulders sank and his breaths slowed. “Here. Take this.” He grabbed my hand and slapped something small and pointed into it. “Keep this in your pocket tomorrow during the trial and you’ll survive. I’ll find you when it’s over. We’ve spent enough time out here.”
Casimiro turned, and in an instant, his frame shook as his shadow departed from him, flying off into the starlit night. His body kept walking, vanishing quickly around a corner on the narrow trail cut into the side of the mountain.
I stood there in stunned silence, holding a small ruby in my palm and the memory of his arms around me, pulling me from the water.
22
Zara
As I stepped outside into the frost-coated dawn, an anchor of dread dropped in my stomach. The dress that had insisted on being worn tonight was a luxurious purple ballgown with a daring neckline and heaps of ruched fabric creating a sea of ruffles around my feet. Not exactly the type of gown one would wear for a survival trial that involved running, but the dress did have long sleeves, a fact that I relished as the bitter air stung my cheeks and neck.
The dress also had small pockets hidden among the folds of fabric, almost like the dress knew I needed a small place to store the stone, and inside one of those pockets rested the small ruby Casimiro had given me. The entertainers had been summoned to assemble in the arena below, and I knew I must descend the steep stairs. But I couldn’t quite bring my feet to cooperate, to march me toward a deadly trap.
I reached into my pocket and rolled the small stone between my fingers, letting the facets prick at my skin. What lay below was designed to kill me, but the heir had assured me I would survive.
Trusting him felt wrong. I took a step forward. Trusting him could turn out to be a massive joke he and his shadowy friends would laugh about as my body rotted on the sand. Another step. The memory of Casimiro’s arms around me as he’d pulled me from the waters of my homeland both chilled and warmed me, and I took three more steps down toward the arena. He had saved me. Perhaps he would again. The way his veins had turned black and his face had pinched with pain pricked my curiosity. He was an immortal, yet he suffered from something he couldn’t heal, even with all the potions and spells at his disposal. And he too faced an enemy who wanted him dead.
This felt oddly like it placed him on the same level as the entertainers now assembling in the arena. I burned to know what sort of ailment flowed in his veins, and why he couldn’t heal it. His sister seemed overly chatty for a fae princess. Perhaps I could finally accept her invitations to duel and have the chance to talk to her, get her to reveal what plagued Casimiro. But it wasn’t Alba I wanted to talk to. A flip of dread mixed with excitement rattled my already frenzied heart as I pictured speaking to Casimiro again. He had the information I wanted about Talia, and I would find out whatever he wished from the mortals in order to hear what had become of my dear friend.
I’d reached the bottom of the long stairway. The arena sands, painted gray with dawn’s meager light, waited before me.
My legs felt like lead from the running they’d forced me to do yesterday. We’d been chased by rats that would climb up our legs if we stood still. That was enough to get me sprinting through the sand.
My stomach growled at me, but I ignored it, casting my gaze around the dimly lit arena. The stands were beginning to fill with fae in all states of dress and varying degrees of mental stability. Their night of revelry must have been one for the record books, and I shivered with disgust. Two fae with twisting horns and sparkling dinner suits stumbled down two full levels of stone benches, laughing as they tumbled.
Ivy wrung her hands as she stood on the final stair before the sand. Eudoria had already marched quietly into the arena, her face to the approaching dawn. Tomas, Samuel, and Adán stood near the entrance, their heads close together as they exchanged whispered words. Strategies.
I glanced over at Ivy. “Together,” I whispered. She nodded at me, her face pale.
The energy in the growing crowd was reaching a fever pitch as the fae prepared to watch the trial. Goblets of wine clanked in loud toasts, and the volume of the laughter increased as the darkness faded.
My upper lip curled. “Heathens,” I breathed, tearing my eyes away from the fae as they tipped forward and back in riotous laughter.
Ivy shot me a warning glance, like I might possibly offend these deplorable fae.
“Hey, over there,” Tomas said, pointing behind me.
I swiveled on the last step and spotted two people throwing punches a few rows up. Both were wearing the white servants’ tunics. One of the men bent to grab something from a nearby fae. A flash of silver caught the light as he stood and slashed at the other man.
Ivy pressed both hands to the sides of her face. “What are they doing? Somebody stop them!”
Tomas climbed up from the arena into the stands, leaping over the stone benches two at a time.
Samuel crossed his arms and stared at the fight. “The fae probably provoked it. They’re itching for blood.”
“Be careful,” I called to Tomas.
Before Tomas could reach them, the larger of the two men charged his opponent and jammed a knife into the man’s stomach. I turned aside, unable to watch. Ivy tugged my arm, and I clung to her.
The wounded man fell to the ground. Cheers rang out from the fae in attendance. My head throbbed, and my chest felt like someone was crushing it.
“Isn’t anyone going to help him?” Ivy pleaded, but no one was listening.
Behind us, Samuel chimed in. “The fae love this, don’t you see?”
Ivy gripped my arm tighter, and I hurriedly scanned the crowd for Casimiro. He healed mortals. Perhaps he’d heal this man too.
Then I caught myself. Casimiro was the enemy.
“What is it?” Ivy asked, watching my shifting expression.
I gave a small shake of my head. “Nothing.”
As I watched helplessly from the huddle of fae and mortals pressed in a ring around the wounded man, Casimiro’s words blared loudly in my head. You mistake the reason I am watching you.
“Ivy, in the trial, if—”
But before I could tell her she should stay close to me, a fissure opened up in the crowd, allowing Casimiro a pathway to the bloody scene. Felipe flanked him, and Alba trailed behind them, her attention floating across the crowd and up into the sky, as if she barely noted our presence.
The prince’s gaze scraped across the arena, pausing briefly on the man holding the knife, then the wounded man, before flitting again to the rest of the people present. His eyes moved quickly until they landed on me, a flash of relief loosening his tight scowl. He then continued his scan of the crowd.
Heat shot up my legs and arms, despite the cold dawn air.
I turned away, angry at the way my mind was in danger of sinking back into its old habit of assuming the best about someone. I’d assumed the best about too many bad men. I had to remember that Casimiro thought of me as nothing more than a tool. Something to use and dispose of. That was my only value to him—that was why he didn’t . I was no more to him than the limp toy I’d seen him throw to his pet hellhound.
The servant holding the knife lifted his shoulders as the prince neared, but he didn’t drop the weapon. Casimiro snapped his fingers, and the bloodstained knife jerked free of the man’s hand and hovered in the air at his neck, pressed to his flesh with magic.
The man swallowed and lifted his chin away from the blade.
“Cas, let him be,” one of the fae beside the prince said. He was shorter than the rest, his skin the purple-gray hue of a fading sunset. His blue eyes were bright against his odd features, like stars in a night sky. “This is the best thing I’ve seen all week—save that pretty one’s dance.” His attention flashed to me, and he sneered. Gooseflesh washed over my skin.
Casimiro inhaled slowly. “Fine. But clean up this mess,” he ordered the murderer. As he turned to go, he fastened two ebony eyes on me once more.
“Time to go,” Erik beckoned, waving his arms and hustling us down onto the sand. He always accompanied us to the arena.
As the six of us shuffled to the center of the arena floor, the fae whistled and catcalled. Magic sparked in the air.
“We’ve tasted blood now,” Erik cooed as he herded us forward. “You all better not disappoint us.”
A fae with skin almost as dark as the stone surrounding us snapped his fingers at me from the front row of benches. I’d heard someone call him Manuel. “I wager she’ll kill to stay alive.”
His words fixed to my mind like shining black leeches, sucking away my confidence and composure. Would I kill to stay alive? The thought had never crossed my mind, and I hated that it did now, along with a flash of heat in my throat that suggested he might not be wrong.
I reached forward and grabbed Ivy’s hand, tugging her back to walk beside me. “I won’t hurt you,” I whispered into her ear. My fingers squeezed.
She squeezed back, her thin fingers stronger than they looked. “I know.”
My shoulders lifted.
Ivy cleared her throat and added, “The magic of the arena changes people. Best not to think about it too much after.” Her hand slipped from mine, and she smoothed her hair back.
“Magic?” I pressed my hand to the pocket containing the ruby, desperate for it to work and keep me alive.
Ivy flashed me a pinched-brow look. “They can cast enchantments on us while we’re in here. Or on the arena. Or on the objects they give us. On all of it. Or none of it. The only rule is that they can’t kill us…directly.”
The ruby in my pocket called to my fingertips again, but there were too many eyes watching, so I kept my hands at my sides as we turned to face the audience. Our footsteps squeaked in the sand, whereas Erik walked silently, a ghost leading skeletons to their graves.
“I’m not dying today,” I snarled, glaring at Erik.
He flashed me a smile that glowed white against the surrounding gray. In his hair, small twisting vines appeared, growing straight out of the air and reaching up into an impressive crown of leaves and stems.
I’d thought the long-sleeved dress would help me stay warm, but this icy morning had claws that raked my cheeks and chest. Curling inward, I wrapped my arms around my body and prayed this torture would be over soon. But I wasn’t sure who or what to pray to. Many Avencians prayed to the sun, some to the stars, but now that I was here, in a place the sun had no power, I didn’t think it was worth my time. Ivy’s words about the First and Last flashed through my mind. She’d said all power gifted to the fae came from this deity I’d never heard of. If he had power over the immortals, he must be truly omnipotent. I worded a quick prayer to this god I didn’t know, hoping he cared for little mortals like me, whose lives were but a breath.
The laughter and the chatter of the fae drowned out a fainter sound I couldn’t place. A quiet whoosh-whoosh that didn’t match the silence of the still air.
In the brightening sky above, a dark shape floated across the few remaining stars—a dragon, wings spread wide. It was high above, uninterested in us, it seemed. I watched until its small black outline disappeared behind the cliffs.
“Did you see that?” I whispered to Ivy.
“A dragon,” she said with a nod.
“I thought they caged them all.”
“Oh, no. The dragons hate the fae. And so the fae capture some of them and train them like horses, just to prove they can.”
What I wouldn’t give to be free like that creature right now.
My eyes fell and landed on the sole figure standing in the rows of stone benches, arms crossed, feet wide. Casimiro’s expression was hidden in shadow, but the faint light of dawn rested on his shoulders and shining hair. When he’d rescued me from the water earlier, he’d worn nothing but an unkempt white shirt, but now he wore a shining black jacket over it, his first button still lazily undone. On his head sat the black crown. He was speaking to Alba, a smile on his face, and I found that I couldn’t look away.
“Zara, remember. They can enchant us,” Ivy warned from nearby.
The words snapped me back to reality. The trial. Casimiro was about to try to kill everyone standing in the sand but me. I couldn’t think of him as attractive.
Ivy stuttered a little, then crept closer. “Do you know St. John’s wart?”
I lowered my arm and turned to her. “It’s a plant, but what about it?”
The stands continued to fill with other fae prancing in to watch us bleed from whatever perils the heir had cooked up for us. One female fae crept in on all fours, dressed like a white tiger, with actual whiskers and—if I was seeing correctly—a tail.
“It can ward off enchantments for a brief period. The mortals here all clamor for it, but it’s hard to get. The servants are the only ones with access to it, and they don’t give it out freely. Everything here costs something, and these fae value secrets above all else. Pay for St. John’s wart if you can, and take it before every trial. If I’d had some left, I’d have given you some, but I haven’t gotten hold of any in weeks.”
