Page 35 of Heir of Shadows

“No problem.” I stood, ignoring how the dead things scratched at the edges of my awareness. “I was just leaving.” Scout scampered up my arm to my shoulder.

“Aww, don’t go,” Elio drawled, stepping into my path. “We’re just getting to know you. Tell us, what other little talents are you hiding?”

“Besides the obvious,” Cyrus added, flames dancing between his fingers. “Maybe you have some… private talents.” His gaze swept down my body in a way that made me feel naked, exposed.

I should feel nauseous, sickened, but something about the heat he gave off made my pulse gallop. My eyes and cheeks felt hot as I remembered similar looks from rich guys I’d cleaned for—the ones I’d sometimes given in to, proving exactly what they thought of me.

I opened my mouth but no words came. My throat felt too tight.

Across the room, Keane stayed seated. No glance. No flicker of hesitation. Even Wisp had vanished from view. I was alone. And they all knew it.

“Maids do tend to like their extra tips,” Elio said, moving closer. His hand ghosted over my bare knee—casual, lingering. Like he already owned me. “How much time did you spend on these… scrubbing floors?”

My breath hitched, stomach twisting between nausea and something else, something hotter, something I wanted to rip from my own skin. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms, the sting barely grounding me.

The dead things surged beneath the floorboards, their anger matching mine. Scout bristled on my shoulder, his tiny skeletal form trembling.

“Not very royal behavior, is it?” Elio’s illusions twisted, shadows forming grotesque reflections of my past. The weight of their magic pressed in, suffocating. “But then, what else should we expect from a half-breed? The traitor’s bastard, trying to play at being an heir.”

Something cracked deep inside me. Cold, hollow, endless. The temperature plummeted, frost racing up my fingers, cracking through the glass. My pulse pounded in my ears, my magic thrumming wildly, reaching for something—anything—to shield me from the weight of their laughter, their words, their touch.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Cyrus pressed, stepping closer. The heat of his fire magic clashed with the cold of my necromancy. “Your father sold us out to the vampires. Who will you sell us out to, Marigold?”

The glass exploded in my hand, shards slicing into my palm, but I barely felt the sting. Tears burned hot behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

They were right. I didn’t belong here. Would never belong. I was nothing but a joke, a spectacle, something to be toyed with and discarded. My magic surged against my ribs, a desperate, frantic pulse that I couldn’t contain—stop stop stop stop—but it was too late.

The dead things erupted through the walls—rats and raccoons and what might have been a very angry possum, their skeletal forms a chaotic mess of fury and fear. But it wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t power. It was panic and pain and the desperate need to escape.

Elio’s illusion anchors shattered. Cyrus’s fire wards leapt dangerously high. People screamed— not just at my undead army, but at me. The half-breed. The cleaning girl. The traitor’s daughter who dared pretend she was one of them.

I ran.

Behind me, Raven shouted my name, but I couldn’t turn back. Couldn’t bear to see the pity in her eyes. Or worse—the disgust.

I didn’t stop until I hit the cool night air, sucking in desperate gulps that did nothing to ease the tight band constricting my chest. The dead things followed, angry and protective, until I forced them back, their presence receding like the tide.

My father’s ring pressed cold against my skin, like it was trying to anchor me. But what good was power when they could strip me bare with just their words?

Scout curled against my neck, his tiny bones trembling. But even his comfort couldn’t stop the tears that finally spilled over.

They’d reminded me exactly what I was. And no amount of magic could change that.

The dead things hovered just at the edge of my awareness, silent now. Waiting.

I wasn’t ready for Monday. Wasn’t ready for any of this. But I didn’t have a choice.

I had to find a way to survive. Even if the only thing I could count on was the dead.

The night closed around me as I stumbled away from The Cauldron, trying to outrun their words, their touches, their knowing smiles.

Trying to outrun the truth of myself.

16

Elio

I slipped throughthe hidden door in the tower’s uppermost level, my wards recognizing me like old friends. The circular room opened to the stars through enchanted glass, mountain winds composing their own wild symphony outside. Here, in my sanctuary, the carefully choreographed performances could finally falter.

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