Page 78 of The Shadow Heir

“Cas,” I whispered, a sinking feeling in my stomach. My eyes flicked toward Talia’s house once more, a massive estate of flowers and horses and sunlight—a beautiful place that was better than even the best of my imaginings. But my attention quickly traveled back to Cas, to his arms, his face. The skin around his eyes was tight. His muscles looked taut, and the veins on his arms stood at attention. “You’re in pain,” I said, feeling rather stupid for my pronouncement. It seemed utterly preposterous that a fae with as much power and influence as he had would sit in the sunlight with a mortal while he was in so much pain. “Shouldn’t you go inside?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, but the muscles in his jaw flexed several times. The skin on his face was turning pale. Then a doorway appeared out of nowhere, nothing more than a dim rectangle in the otherwise bright scene. He stumbled toward it, and I moved with him.

“I need…”

His words were cut off, and all of his muscles went limp. As his heavy body teetered, I couldn’t move fast enough to extricate myself from him. Together, we crashed sideways through the door.

32

Zara

We hit stone and freezing cold air swallowed my face and shoulders. Cas moaned and rolled to his elbows. I scrambled to my feet, blinking to clear my head and steel myself against the discomfort of my throbbing headache and dully aching leg. “What do you need?”

“In…side.”

I grabbed his shoulders and hauled him the rest of the way through the door, my spike of adrenaline the only thing keeping me going. When his feet passed through the strange doorway, it vanished, depositing us on a windy balcony outside of Nightsong. The starry sky was black, with no hints of daylight in the east or west, and I had no idea how long I’d slept in the sunlight on the other side of that magical door.

This time, oddly enough, I was relieved to be returning to the shadow palace once more. Taking hold of his booted feet, I swiveled him around and pulled. He scraped across the balcony’s rough stone floor.

“Ow,” he moaned, reaching up for his head. “What are you trying to do to me?” His arm was solid black all the way to his elbow.

“I’m trying to help you.” I stood and planted my hands on my hips. “But you’re too heavy.” I was exhausted, but he’d helped me when I’d needed it.

He curled around on himself. His skin was so black now that he looked like he was turning into shadow.

“Help me stand,” he said.

I curled my arm under his and heaved upward. It was little use. With a few heavy breaths, I pulled him into a seated position and then shifted my weight so that I was somewhat under his shoulder. From there, I pushed myself up as he shuffled to get his feet underneath him. He was thin but strong and currently so limp it felt like I was lifting an unconscious racehorse. One of his inky black hands steadied himself along the rock wall behind my head.

“Can you take a step?”

He shuffled one foot forward.

“Good. Okay, another one.”

A few laborious steps got us to the door, and after another two, we were inside his room.

I peered toward his study through the archway across from us, remembering walking through a magical door in his study the night he’d grabbed me from the waters. But instead of the carved doorway that had been on the wall the last time I was in here, I saw only a burned black scar on the stone wall.

His bedroom was large but not vast, and his massive bed lay in an alcove along the wall to the right. I wondered if he could feel my heart beating against him as I led him toward the bed. That seemed like the most logical place for him in this state, though the thought of him lying in bed in a room that I was also in made my skin tingle.

As I leaned forward to push him onto the bed, I stumbled. My hips crashed into the mattress, and he tipped onto the soft blankets. I backed away quickly, but his hand grabbed mine before I was too far to reach.

“No,” he said. He rolled so that he could see me, my hand still gripped in his. “I need you to get something. The antidote.”

I could barely hear him over the sound of my own heart beating.

“In the other room. Small bottle. Clear. Top shelf.” As I stepped away, he tightened the grip on my hand. “No, wait. It’s on my desk.” Then he dropped my hand, and I raced toward the archway that led into his study.

I glanced at the place Ariana’s unconscious body had lain as I rushed to his messy desk. Half full bottles, some corked, others not, littered the space atop books and loose papers. One book had a vial crammed inside, possibly functioning as a bookmark, and another had only the sleeve of a white shirt draped through it. The rest of the shirt was wadded up at the edge of the desk, and it had clearly been used as an inkblot at some point.

“Stars above,” I said, as my hands hovered over each bottle, searching for one that was clear and small. Small must be relative, as the largest bottle was still half the size of a typical bottle of wine. Finally, I settled on grabbing two bottles, both clear, both smaller than the rest on his desk. One was full, the other half-empty.

I ran back to the bedroom. He had pulled himself fully onto the bed and was lying at the edge. I raced toward him and held both bottles up to his face.

“Which one? They’re both clear.” He glanced between them and grabbed the half-empty one in my right hand. I set the other one onto a small table near the bed, then wiggled the stopper out of the one he’d selected. “Do you need to sit up?” I said, instantlyreaching for the back of his head to cradle it. His head was hot, feverish.

I lifted his head a little and brought the vial to his lips, barely tilting it, as I wasn’t sure how much to administer. He grabbed my hand and shoved the bottle up, taking one giant gulp. A few drips ran down his chin as he pulled the bottle away.

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