Page 69 of Heir of Shadows

“It won’t happen again,” I promised, the words bitter on my tongue.

“No,” he agreed softly. “It won’t.”

I stopped in my room to grab something before heading back when sounds in the corridor made me freeze.

Mother’s voice carried clearly: “…the half-breed’s untrained magic is spreading dangerous ideas. This blending of powers could undo everything we’ve worked for…”

“Lord Alstone’s methods have proven effective at maintaining control,” Father replied. “Though some find his approach… extreme.”

Echo’s scales shifted to deep purple as I made a decision. Mother’s private study would be empty now. Time to find out what they were really afraid of.

Time to understand why they’d rather break magic than let it flow freely.

They’d trained me to channel magic exactly as they demanded, shaped every spell until the control was flawless. But for the first time, I was starting to question whether their carefully structured paths were really making magic stronger.

Something was very wrong at Wickem. I just had to prove it before they decided I needed Keane’s kind of “corrective therapy” too.

Before they broke my magic the way they were breaking his.

35

Keane

Wisp prowled restlesslythrough the library stacks, her form flickering with increasing instability while I pretended to focus on explaining magical resonance patterns to Marigold instead of watching how the silvery moonlight caught her honey-blonde hair. The instability in my magic writhed beneath my skin, making it harder to maintain control.

“So the energy has to match the intention,” she mused, leaning closer to examine my notes. Her shoulder pressed against mine as she traced a diagram, sending electricity skittering across my skin.

“Exactly.” I tried to keep my voice steady as her fingers brushed mine reaching for another page, fighting to keep my portals stable as they wavered and bled at the edges. “Like during the trials, when our magic—”

But she was already turning toward me with that smile that made thinking difficult. Before I could pull away, she closed the distance between us. The kiss was soft, playful—and for just a moment, the darkness receded. When she pulled back, her eyes held mischief, though I caught a flash of concern as Wisp’s form wavered again.

“Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all. “You’re just really attractive when you’re being all scholarly.”

Heat crept up my neck, but beneath it, the darkness stirred. I should push her away. Should tell her how my magic was deteriorating, how Uncle’s therapy was changing something fundamental inside me. Instead, I let myself lean into her warmth. “I thought you wanted help with magical theory.”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to get you alone.” Her teasing tone made my pulse quicken. But then she bit her lip, suddenly serious.

“Actually, there’s something else I wanted to show you.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a leather-bound journal, the embossed skull sigil of the Fourth Council seat catching the firelight. Wisp’s ears pricked forward with interest, though her form flickered, dissolving at the edges like smoke.

“You remember how I told you about my father’s journal?” she said carefully. “I think there’s something hidden in here. Something I don’t understand yet.”

She opened to a dense page of routine Council records, but her fingers traced the thin, deliberate marks in the margins.

“Look at these patterns.” She tapped a repeated set of lines and symbols. “They don’t look random. And certain words are marked, but I don’t know what it means.”

I tried to focus, but shadows clung to the edges of my vision, the wrongness inside me curling tighter. Still, my love of puzzles stirred beneath the haze.

“These could be cipher keys,” I murmured, pointing to a recurring sequence. “See how these marks connect? Like pathways between seemingly unrelated sections.”

Her eyes lit up with realization. “That’s what I was missing.”

But her expression shifted to concern as she looked at me again. “Keane, your hands are shaking.”

I blinked down at them, at my fingers twitching like a marionette’s strings had been pulled too hard. I pulled away, but she caught my wrist. The touch sent clean magic sparking between us, temporarily driving back the darkness.

She was too close. Those deep brown eyes fixed on mine, full of questions, full of knowing. I couldn’t hold the mask anymore—didn’t want to. Not when every breath I took around her made my restraint feel like a cage about to crack.

---