Page 8 of Heir of Shadows

“And yet.” Elio’s hands danced, creating intricate illusion-butterflies that drew appreciative gasps from his audience. “The wellspring seems to think otherwise.”

“The wellspring doesn’t think.” I scowled at Elio. He was always showing off, always hiding behind beauty and charm. And right when I needed someone to face this head on with me.

From his shadowed alcove, Keane spoke up, his quiet voice carrying unexpected weight. “I glimpsed her at the airport.”

A dozen small portals shimmered around him, each offering a different view of her arrival. His spectral fox familiar wove between them, quick and silent. Trust Keane to watch everything—and risk nothing.

“Her power…” he said. “It’s raw, but genuine.”

I stalked toward the fireplace. Ember’s wings spread, amplifying my aura of contained flame, and Elio’s sycophants scattered from the heat. The students repositioned themselves carefully—close enough to show loyalty, far enough for safety. At least the fear was honest, unlike Elio’s artificial charm or Keane’s endless equivocation.

“The Fourth Council seat has been empty since her father’s execution,” I growled. “Nearly twenty years with no heir. Because traitors’ bloodlines don’t deserve power.”

“And now she’ll be living in the royal dorm.”

Elio stood in a single, fluid motion—too graceful to be casual, too deliberate not to be a performance. His butterflies shimmered midair, morphing into a tiny illusion of Marigold: slouched posture, thrift-store clothes, that uncertain look from the airport frozen on her face.

Even his chameleon looked unsure, scales flickering like he hadn’t made up his mind whether this was theater or real concern.

“A commoner in the Shadow Heir’s suite. The witch world will have a field day with this scandal.”

“There’s historical precedent.” Keane’s portals rearranged themselves, showing ancient texts while his familiar, Wisp, watched with keen interest. Keane was always hiding behind his books, using knowledge to avoid taking a stand.

“Three previous occasions when the wellspring chose against traditional succession,” he said. “Each followed by significant political—”

“I don’t need a history lesson.” I slammed my hand through the nearest portal, scattering it in a burst of heat and smoke.

Keane flinched. His familiar bristled.

Something in me hated causing that flinch, but he needed to learn who held the power. Head of the Council and its first seat were mine.

“Her father conspired with vampires,” I said. “The same monsters that tore my mother apart. We cannot let his daughter claim a seat among us.”

Ember trilled softly, a sound like mourning bells. My familiar had been born from Mother’s ashes, and I’d been too young to remember bonding with him.

“Oh, I have several ideas.” Elio’s illusions shifted again, now showing the library. Echo’s scales had taken on an odd silvery sheen, almost like tears. “Picture it: our mysterious scholarship girl makes her grand entrance. Everyone watching, judging. Then…” The illusion-girl tripped spectacularly.

His audience laughed, and his smile brightened at their approval. “We simply help her understand where she truly belongs.”

“Through public humiliation?” Keane’s voice carried a hint of censure. New portals opened, showing past bullying disasters while his fox paced between them. “Historically, such displays often backfire—”

“Because you’d rather hide in your books than take action.” I moved closer, Ember’s heat making the air shimmer. Keane might be a mere freshman like the half-breed, but he was a royal, and he needed to choose—we all did. “Pick a side, Keane.”

His portals began closing systematically—retreat into research, his usual response to confrontation. Wisp pressed against his leg protectively. “Without adequate information—”

“Power isn’t about information.” I let flames dance across my fingers, Ember’s wings spreading to mirror my stance. Why couldn’t he understand? Why couldn’t either of them see what was at stake? “It’s about strength. Control. Order. The same order her father betrayed when he sold out his own kind to bloodsuckers.”

“We are the heirs,” Elio said, giving his audience a flirty bow. “It’s our right.”

They applauded, and once again, I wondered how enraptured these students were. Did they even see us here having this argument? I shook my head. It didn’t matter. Instead I watched Keane, the question hanging between us.

“No.” He met my gaze steadily, one of his rare moments of backbone that always caught me off guard. “Power isn’t about birthright. It’s about who deserves it.”

The flames sputtered—traitorous.

Elio’s fans watched, wide-eyed. So maybe theywerepaying attention. Waiting to see if I’d lose control.

Ember shifted on my shoulder, restless. I clenched my jaw, and another fireball surged to life in my palm.

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