Page 21 of Heir of Shadows

Elio

Echo’s claws tightenedon my shoulder as we crept through the maintenance tunnels beneath Wickem. The stone walls here were older than the campus above, worn smooth by centuries of magic flowing through hidden channels. Cyrus’s fire cast dancing shadows, but even his flames seemed muted by the oppressive weight of old power.

“Careful,” I muttered. “Getting caught down here would be… inconvenient.”

Cyrus shot me a glare and snuffed the flame with a sharp flick. Darkness swallowed the corridor, heavier without his light. “You think I don’t know that?”

His control had been slipping all week—heat in his footsteps, sparks when he spoke. Ever since the Council had announced they’d be attending the ceremony. Lord Raynoff didn’t do pageantry, so their presence could only mean one thing: judgment. Assessment.

I twisted my rings absently, remembering my own freshman ceremony. The perfectly worded excuses from my parents, the empty seats where family should have been. But now the entire Council would attend for her—the Shadow Heir. The hypocrisy of it all…

“You’re sure this will work?” Cyrus asked.

I grinned. “Oh, it will work. The only question is whether she’ll rise to the occasion… or crumble.”

Echo’s scales rippled in sudden warning. Footsteps echoed from deeper in the tunnel network, accompanied by voices that didn’t belong down here. We pressed into a dark alcove as two figures approached.

“…the connection must be maintained,” a man said, his tone carrying unnatural weight. “Focus on the task at hand.”

Lord Alstone. Keane’s uncle. The Council member’s presence in these maintenance tunnels was strange enough, but something about his voice made Echo’s scales shift to a sickly color.

Cyrus tensed beside me, heat radiating from his clenched fists. I shook my head in warning—we couldn’t afford to get caught down here.

Keane emerged first from the shadows. His movements were stiff, wrong somehow, like he was fighting against himself. His fox familiar kept flickering in and out at his feet—something I’d never seen happen before. A half-formed portal beside him bled darkness into the air.

His uncle followed. “We’ll need to continue these sessions more frequently,” he said. “We can’t risk any disruptions. Not with the Shadow Heir’s arrival causing instability.”

“Yes, Uncle.” Keane’s voice sounded hollow, distant.

Another portal attempted to form at his fingers but its silvery edges collapsed, that same darkness spreading through the air. Wisp pressed against his legs before fading completely as Lord Alstone gripped Keane’s shoulder.

They disappeared through a hidden door that melded seamlessly back into the wall.

“What the hell was that about?” Cyrus muttered, reigniting his flame, which was flickering uncertainly. “Since when does Keane meet his uncle in maintenance tunnels?”

“They have therapy,” I added quietly, “but here? And what’s wrong with his magic?”

“We should ask him what’s going on,” Cyrus said, staring at where they’d vanished.

“Would he tell us the truth?” I asked. Even though we’d grown up together, attended the same schools, Keane had been distant, especially since his parents’ deaths. “Besides, we have our own plans to worry about.”

“I don’t like it,” Cyrus insisted, watching after them. “The Council doesn’t come down here unless something important is happening. And did you see how he was moving? Like a puppet—”

“We stick to our plan,” I cut him off, though Echo’s colored scales betrayed my own unease flickering through grays and sickly greens. “For now.”

Despite my words, I glanced back as we continued on toward the auditorium. Even if we weren’t exactly friends, the heirs always stuck together, needed to stick together.

And if there was something wrong with Keane…then we were all in danger.

9

Marigold

That evening, theother heirs and I waited at the doorway for the welcome ceremony to begin. The circular auditorium stretched above us, its glass dome letting in the last rays of sunset. Students sat in ascending rows around the center stage. The front row was half empty, and half filled with people I didn’t know—well, except for Lord Raynoff.

“Ready, darling?” Elio’s voice slid over me, sweet as spun sugar and just as sharp.

Despite the venom tucked in his tone, heat bloomed low in my stomach. I shook it off. Residual enchantment. That’s all it was.

---