Page 55 of The Shadow Heir

Blue light pulsed in his dark irises, and I recoiled, ready for a spell to hit me, to punish me. But I felt nothing other than the mountain air biting at my skin.

“You humans think your weak hearts are the only ones that feel, but you—”

“No, you listen,” I cut him off. “You live forever, and yet you find no joy in life,” I pressed, unable to stop myself. “You crave death because youneedthe reminder that some things don’t last, and yet it does nothing to push you toward goodness or purpose or happiness. I would be mad, too, if I had to live like this.” I lifted my arms at my side. “If I had to live knowing my life could never have as much passion or purpose as a mortal’s.”

His hand had fallen back to his side. We’d moved away from the rock wall. Freezing wind encircled us, tossing our hair into our eyes and raking icy nails down my exposed back. Casimiro didn’t seem affected at all by the cold. He stared down at me with an angry pinch between his dark brows.

“Enough,” he growled. His eyes blazed with a different kind of heat, and I let out a small gasp.

I stuffed my hand into my pocket, drawing out the small gem. “Don’t you need this back?” I held it out to him, then regretted the movement as the mountain air nipped at my side and a violent shiver shook me.

Casimiro’s eyes flickered down my frame. “You’re cold.”

A laugh burst from my lips. “You live in a frozen wasteland.”

“I tend to forget how the cold affects mortals.”

I was surprised he had noticed at all. “I was born for hot weather. Coastline, bright sun, happiness.” The memory of the waves rolling up onto the pebbled shores outside Leor brought a rush of warmth to my shaking muscles. “Which I fully plan to return to when this wretched year is over.”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Then in a single movement, he removed his sleek suit jacket and, to my horror, swept it behind my head, draping it over my shoulders. The unexpectedness of this strange gesture, and the unfair way my body begged for his warmth still clinging to the coat, left me temporarily mute.

The tiniest flicker of a smile on his lips ripped me from my stupor. I yanked the coat from my shoulders and slung it over the cliff edge. It billowed like dragon wings on the breeze, floating up before it finally twisted and sank out of sight.

Casimiro cleared his throat and took his time rolling up both shirtsleeves before he responded. “You’re welcome.”

Before I could so much as blink, he fell backward off the path into thin air.

I screamed, but in another second, Casimiro stood on the path again, shadowy wings dissolving into nothing, his suit jacket sliding effortlessly back over his arms. I was so dumbstruck that I didn’t resist as he stepped forward, as his arm reached up against the wall once more, one arm over my shoulder, the other slipping quickly into my palm that gripped the vial. His cheek brushed against my hair as he withdrew, twirling the vial in hisfingers. He smelled so good—like cinnamon and the inside of a cozy wooden trunk. As he lowered his arm, I breathed in deeply, but the cold air washed over me, and my traitorous mind wanted him to reach back out and block the frigid breeze.

“If you do not want my help, I understand,” he seethed, snapping my mind far away from his comforting aroma. “You did say you would never ask for it.” He wiggled the vial between two fingers, then hid it behind his back.

“That’s not fair!” I pinched my lips and stared where his hands had disappeared behind his waist.

“Fair?” He chuckled. “It wasn’tfairthat I gave you the antidote in the first place and no one else.

Desperate for the antidote and for warmer air, I tucked my hands in at my sides and shuffled my feet underneath me, thinking of a way to change his mind. “Why do you have to be so wretched? What pleasure does it bring you to be cruel to those weaker than you?”

For several seconds, he studied me with eyes I thought might light up with those eerie blue flames any moment. Instead, he withdrew the vial and held it at face level.

“You insufferable monster.” I reached for his hand, but he pulled the vial back, out of reach. All that I succeeded in doing was slamming my chest into his and nearly losing my balance. I huffed in embarrassed frustration, trying not to think of how strong he felt.

His brows lifted.

I was about to demand he give me the vial when I recalled that I’d promised never to ask for his help.

Swallowing, I stepped away from him. “Answers. I will talk to the mortals and then I want answers.”

“Very well.” He took a few backward steps down the frosty path.

A small item flew toward me, and I caught it without thinking. The vial of St. John’s wart felt warm against my fingers.

“Keep that.”

“But I didn’t ask—”

“Remember, mortals don’t have to speak to be easy to read.”

I let out an exasperated huff, but he was already gone, evaporating into nothingness as I prepared to shout the rebuttal that died on my tongue. Cheeks flaming, I raced back the way I’d come, through the arena, and back into the dark mountain halls, clutching the vial of antidote close against my chest and wondering what under the heavens above Casimiro thought I’d communicated without using words.

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