Page 51 of The Shadow Heir

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.

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