Page 44 of The Shadow Heir

“Ready as ever,” I answered.

The deaths of the mortals couldn’t matter to me. I saved the ones I could, and it had to be enough. My top priority was protecting Alba from the plot of the usurpers and from the cursethat would pass to her, should I die. No entertainer’s death could possibly weigh heavier than hers would.

“Don’t worry,” Felipe said, his chin tilted up in that way soldiers employed when speaking boldly to their captain. “Between your research and my magic, the antidote will keep getting stronger.”

The books on the desk mocked me with their proven remedies, time-tested formulas for beating all known poisons and curses. The one inside of me was not among them. And no antidote yet existed that could remove it entirely. The Shadow King had been thorough when he’d crafted the spell.

I nodded firmly, dismissing my friend. An uncomfortable feeling of gratitude had welled up within me. Instantly, pain prickled again in my veins.

Father had never actually left. Not really.

“See you at breakfast,” Felipe called as he strode toward the door.

As Felipe closed the door behind him, my physical body dropped into my chair once again. Hallways away, my shadow form peered out a small window onto the balcony at the windswept girl standing in the sunlight like some star-descended saint. My jaw clenched as pain lanced through my veins, warning me that my thoughts were drifting somewhere my father would disapprove of. But I only planned to use this woman as a tool before she died—a shovel to uncover whatever murderous plot was afoot in my court. Andthatwas something Father would approve of.

I stood there, watching her from the shadows, temporarily forgetting that she would die in a matter of months. Curse the light. She was a spark, and I was a moth, drawn toward the fire that mocked my existence. But like every other spark that wandered into the darkness, she too would snuff out.

Pity. For what a thing it would be to watch her spark catch fire.

Pain like lightning surged in my veins.

19

Zara

At dinner the night before our first group trial—or rather the first meal of the night, which was equivalent to breakfast for these fae—the servants bustled about with vivid unease, their movements hurried and their shared glances long and meaningful. I’d spent the past several days—after our ridiculous training sessions—roaming the halls again. I found doorways that led to other worlds and doorways that led to libraries, washrooms, and an indoor archery range. To my dismay, the doorways to other worlds hadn’t opened for me.

I’d been so tired from switching days for nights that I’d slept through several meals, and no one had woken me. Tonight, however, my empty stomach growled, and I wasn’t about to miss another meal. The roasted almonds and Manchego I’d taken from the pantry earlier hadn’t been enough to satiate my hunger.

In the cavern, the fae buzzed with magical energy, their skin glittering and their eyes glowing. In the cages above the tables, the animals spun in frenzied little circles.

“What’s going on?” I asked Ivy as I settled onto a bench at the otherwise empty table. “And where is everyone?”

Ivy chewed a bite of puff pastry—a delicacy drizzled with honey and positively sparkling with sugar. “Tonight is the new moon. The peak of the Shadow Court’s power. When they especially like to go terrorize the mortal world.”

“Oh.” To think the shadow fae could beworsetonight than previously gave me a nasty twist of unease.

She nodded toward the middle of the cavern. “And you asked where the others were.”

I squinted, looking around for Eudoria, Tomas, Samuel, and Adán. Ivy lifted her eyes, and I followed her gaze to a cage, hanging above one of the fae tables. Samuel sat inside, his long legs scrunched up to his chest.

“No,” I breathed. I caught sight of Eudoria huddled in another cage, her fingers wrapped around the iron bars and her face resting against the back of her hands.

Ivy stared at her pastry with a forlorn expression. “Occasionally, when they get bored, they use us for other types of entertainment. This week was different because two new entertainers showed up, you and the one who didn’t make it, giving the rest of us a break for a few days.” She offered me a small smile. “It’s not always all of us, and there’s never any warning. Sometimes it’s the cages, sometimes it’s the dance floor, sometimes it’s”—she coughed and cleared her throat—“standing on the tables dressed in food while the fae pull it off you.”

I gaped at her. Her cheeks were so red I knew better than to ask about it.

“How long have you been here?” I asked quietly. I had only been here one week, and it felt like a lifetime. The prospect of surviving here for twelve months sounded almost impossible—almostbut not quite. One year, and I could return to my father, my life, my house…home, where no one tortured me or humiliated me for fun.

Ivy wore her wavy hair loose tonight rather than a tight bun. “Ninety-six days. The next trial will only be my third. I had to start keeping track of the days by using the kohl they provided. I mark the inside door of my wardrobe. So far, no one has noticed, save the clothes, which always riot a little when I make the marks.”

A wry chuckle escaped my lips. “The clothes here do have very strong opinions.”

As Ivy nodded in agreement, a disheveled figure stumbled in from a side entrance, his open-collared shirt even more wrinkled than usual. I stared at Casimiro as he crossed the vaulted space to an empty table. The fae puzzled me. In the human world, power was a magnet. Those who had it were like carcasses, and the vultures that buzzed around them never ceased trying to take a bite. Humans flaunted their power, lording it over those beneath them. But here, this fae, who apparently held the highest authority in the king’s absence, was a solitary figure. I’d seen him walking the halls mostly alone, save for once with Felipe, and now he chose to sit alone. His sister had eaten with him last night, but she was currently sitting at a different table with two fae women, laughing and smiling beneath Adán as he shook against his cage, his screams silenced by magic. The heir’s sloppy appearance suggested he cared very little for his position of authority, but I couldn’t figure out why. I was still staring at him when Ivy cleared her throat.

I looked quickly away, staring at the gorgeous fruit they always placed on our table, tempting us or mocking us—or both. As much as the fruit here beckoned to me, I’d been warned not to eat a single bite of it, unless I wanted to risk losing my head to what Tomas had calledel caminoloco, the crazy walk. People who ate the fruit typically woke up hours later without any recollection of what transpired.

My eyes flashed back to Casimiro, who slouched over his book, his goblet pressed against one cheek as if too lazy to sit up and take a sip. The hatred I felt toward him fanned my heartrate to an angry tempo and heat flushed up my neck.

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