Page 10 of Heir of Illusion

Opening my eyes, I find the shadow wrapping itself around the blade and pushing against the wound. I suck in a breath, wincing from the discomfort. The shadow isn’t feeding, instead it looks as if it’s… attempting to apply pressure?

It lays its head down on my thigh and nuzzles against me.

It’s trying to comfort me?

I turn to the reaper for answers, but he appears just as stunned as I am. His eyes are comically round, and his mouth hangs open in confusion. Glancing around, I find that the other shadows have begun to calm down too, as if their blood frenzy has been sated.

“What are you?” he whispers, his tone a mix of awe and horror.

The question stirs an ugly feeling deep within my gut. Biting my lip against the searing pain, I pull the blade from my calf and toss it in his direction. The snake lifts its head to hiss at the disruption before returning to its task. The reaper doesn’t even flinch as the weapon flies past him, only an inch from his head.

“You missed.”

I almost laugh at the disappointment in his voice as the blade clatters to the ground somewhere behind him. Closing my eyes, I summon the last of my strength as I rub my temples. Blood drips from my nose and ears. Using so much power tonight has weakened me, but I force myself to push past the pain and dizziness. After several seconds, I look up and meet the reaper’s gaze.

My grin resembles a grimace as my attention shifts behind him. “No, I didn’t.”

He turns around to find myeidoloncrouched on the tips of her toes, baring her teeth at him. Her blood crusted fingers clutch my favorite dagger as she leaps. He dives out of the way as his shadows surge into action, trying to restrain her. Their distraction leaves me free to jump to my feet and run for the door.

Burning pain shoots up my calf every time I put weight on my right leg. Despite my exhaustion, I manage to summon an illusion and make myself invisible. I stumble slightly as my stomach lurches from the familiar sensation settling over my skin. Pushing past all of it, I tell myself the pain isn’t real. It’s merely another illusion, and I am its master.

Hidden from view, I race into the cool night air, quickly putting distance between myself and Darrow’s shop. The streets of Highgrove are empty at this hour, but I still choose to cut down alleyways to stay far away from the glow of the streetlamps.

I glance over my shoulder several times, paranoid about the trail of blood I’m leaving behind. Every shadow that dances across the night has me nearly tripping in panic. My aching calf wants to give out, but I keep pushing forward. Luckily, Highgrove is the closest district to the palace.

Finally, the stone gates come into view. As always, there are two guards manning the side entrance. Their familiar faces feel out of place after everything that’s happened tonight. As I slip past them, I pick up the end of a dirty joke followed by their muffled laughter.

Apprehension skates over my skin as I hasten through the palace grounds, limping with each step. My eyes scan the lush gardens, searching for the reaper. I tell myself it’s all in my mind, merely the product of adrenaline lingering after the fight. But the tingling sensation on the back of my neck has me wishing for one of my blades.

Movement catches my eye, pulling my attention to the sloping roofs of the palace.

Gargoyles line the ledges, guardians peering down at us in silent judgment. As I scan their frozen faces, I notice something that has my blood turning to ice in my veins. The winged statues stand together in a row, but there’s something different about one of them.

His giant wings aren’t made of stone; they’re made of feathers.

Chapter

Three

Aseries of dull thuds has me shooting out of my chair, a blade in my hand as I land in a crouch on the floor. I groan as fiery pain shoots up my calf, a reminder of my self-inflicted stab wound. Slowly standing up, I stretch out the tightness in my leg, wincing as I flex and point my toes.

After spotting the winged reaper watching me from the rooftop last night, I took off running until I reached my room. Tending to the injury had been the last thing on my mind as I locked the doors and curled up on my settee. I planned to stay awake all night to ensure the soul collector didn’t slip in through my balcony, but as the adrenaline faded, I passed out with a knife still in my hand.

Sheer ivory curtains do nothing to block the sun from forcing its way into my room and blanketing the soft colors of my decor in early morning light. As the incessant pounding continues, I realize the noise that woke me is coming from the other side of my door.

Ignoring the pain in my leg, I slip on a silk dressing gown in an effort to hide last night’s conspicuous outfit. Keeping my blade behind my back, I make my way to the door and crack it open, scowling when I see who’s woken me up so urgently.

Kaldar Burgess.

“Woof,” he says, a smug smile gracing his face, clearly proud of the tired jab he’s made hundreds of times before. Pet jokes are a favorite among the courtiers.

I shut the door, not giving him a chance to wedge his foot into the opening. I’ve only taken two steps toward my bed when the knocking resumes, and I’m forced to open it again.

“What do you want?” I demand.

He rolls his eyes. “If you hadn’t slammed the door in my face, I might have been able to tell you.”

I stare at him blankly as I wait for an answer to my question. He hates when I don’t play along. Afterall, a good little pet lives to please.

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