Page 68 of Heir of Shadows

They won’t listen. The readings are clear. Pushing beyond natural limits will only—

The sentence cut off abruptly. The date was just days before his execution.

I sat back, exhaling shakily. Something about Project Cornerstone got him killed.

I traced my fingers over the ink, thinking of the diary’s weight in my hands, the torn pages, the whispers of the dead. Had my father really died for this?

Scout pressed against my hand as I carefully closed the diary. I wasn’t ready to share this yet. Not even with Keane. Not yet.

But I might not have a choice for much longer.

34

Elio

Mother’s perfect smiledidn’t waver as she reviewed the trial reports, but her fingers tapped a precise rhythm against the desk—one, two, three. The same rhythm she’d used when I was young, counting my mistakes during illusion training. Echo’s scales shifted to warning gray, my familiar always more honest than either of us could afford to be.

“Fascinating.” She set the papers down with movements so controlled they seemed artificial. Everything about Lady Lightford was crafted. “And you say your magic simply… blended with the others? After all the years we spent training you to maintain proper magical boundaries?”

“I maintained perfect control of my illusions,” I said carefully, though Echo’s scales darkened further as Mother stood.

“Did you?” Her smile remained perfect while her eyes went cold. “Because from where I sat, it looked like you let your carefully trained magic mingle with that untrained half-breed’s chaos. Like you’d forgotten every lesson about the importance of proper magical discipline.”

I thought of how my illusions had merged with Marigold’s power during the trials, gaining substance and depth I’d never achieved through careful control.Stronger, not weaker.

“The faculty seemed impressed—”

“The Council,” she cut me off, “expects the Lightford heir to demonstrate mastery over his magic. Not this amateur blending of powers like some untrained freshman.” Her fingers moved to straighten my already-perfect tie. “We spent years teaching you how to properly channel and control your magic. Or was all that training wasted?”

“Of course not, Mother.” I kept my voice smooth, pleasant. Empty. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” She turned away, but paused at the door. “Your father wishes to discuss your… regression. Do try not to disappoint him with more examples of undisciplined magical behavior.”

The walk to Father’s study felt like marching to execution. My thoughts kept drifting to orientation week, when Cyrus and I had seen Keane in the tunnels beneath the auditorium. He’d been moving wrong, his usually precise portal magic bleeding darkness while his uncle spoke about “proper control” and “correcting unstable tendencies.”

Father’s study doors opened before I could knock. He sat behind his massive desk, every illusion perfectly maintained to project power and authority. But lately, I’d started noticing things—how forced the magic felt around him, how Echo shifted uneasily in his presence.

“Ah, my disappointing son.” His greeting was pleasant, poisonous. “Quite the display during trials. Tell me, was it worth throwing away years of careful training just to let your magic run wild with that untrained creature’s power?”

“I didn’t lose control,” I said, but the words felt hollow even to me. Echo pressed closer, her scales cycling through warning colors.

“No?” Father’s illusions rippled with barely contained anger. “Then explain to me why my son, who has been trained in proper magical discipline since he could walk, allowed his power to blend so carelessly with others?”

I remembered Keane’s voice in the tunnels, flat and mechanical:“The therapy helps maintain control, Uncle. The therapy removes unstable tendencies.”

“Lord Alstone has been sharing some fascinating insights about heir stability,” Father continued, watching me too closely. “About how untrained magical impulses can be… corrected. Perhaps it’s time we considered a more intensive approach to your magical education.”

My stomach turned.

“And speaking of control issues,” Father’s voice took on a dangerous edge, “weren’t you supposed to handle the half-breed girl? Make her understand she doesn’t belong here?”

“We’re working on it,” I said carefully, though my stomach churned at the memory of her standing up to our cruel games. At how her untrained power had made my illusions stronger, not weaker.

“Work faster.” His fingers drummed against the desk. “Lord Alstone’s methods may need to be… expanded if she continues encouraging this undisciplined behavior.”

I swallowed hard. “I understand the importance of discipline.”

“Do you?” Father’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Because your performance today suggested otherwise. Blending magic like an untrained child? Letting your carefully honed illusions mix with that half-breed’s raw power?” He stood, his own illusions crackling. “We did not spend years training you in proper magical control to have you throw it away on such… reckless displays.”

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