Shadow of the Heir

Out of the Shade; Out of the Shadows

"Renervate,"

Ella gasped before her eyes opened. It was like swallowing sand mixed with glass. She coughed from the pain in her throat and groaned from the headache the stun had given her. Death sat in front of her—in plain clothes and not the robes she had only seen him in. He looked severely less threatening in pinstripes and blue, and it almost made her laugh at the bizarreness of it.

The Death's Hand who'd unstunned her stepped away from the table between the two. Ella was still rigid, and still trying to piece together how she'd gone from the hallway with the others to here. The last thing she remembered was watching Emrys walk away and Sebastian's voice—she couldn't even remember what he had said. Her gaze fell over the table. Tea set, but no cutlery. Stabbing was off the table, literally. Perhaps if she broke the teapot?

Death cleared his throat and her gaze snapped back up at him and the amused look he had plastered on his features. "You're scared."

She laughed. "No, no, I'm not scared."

"You're looking for a weapon."

"It's not because I'm scared." Ella glanced down at herself as inconspicuously as she could. Thankful she still had her clothes on, though she was suddenly very self-conscious of the burned-away fabric of her trousers.

There were three others in the room. And Emrys. Her nostrils flared the moment she laid eyes on him. The rat. She'd kill him—the Malfoy line could fade away into nothing for all she cared about.

"Just for sport then?" Death clicked his tongue at her.

"Sure."

"Quite the enigma, you and your friend."

Friend. She almost laughed—and realized rather suddenly that they had, once again, not put a label on it.

He poured his own tea and held the pot out to her. Ella looked at it like it might bite her and she rather suddenly reminded herself of the Ashwinder they'd taken prisoner—she wondered if she'd starved to death yet. Good riddance if she had. She became tenfold more suspicious of the amicable air in the room when she remembered how quickly Sebastian had changed up in the same situation.

"If we wanted to kill you, Miss Malfoy, we already would have." Death offered with a half-laugh. It sounded less menacing than before, but it wasn't totally void of danger. Perhaps he was just worse at manipulation than Sebastian.

If he was worse at it than Sebastian, then she had nothing to worry about. She'd done this before.

She snorted. "Good luck with that."

"No one wants to hurt you; although, it seems you don't hold the same ideals toward my people."

"I do not, no." She agreed with a swift nod. "Don't try to convince me that your people are harmless. They hurt my friend."

"The girl, yes." Death sat back in his chair, tea in hand. He sipped it slowly. It annoyed her. "Apologies are being made."

The floor shook—she watched the tea in his cup ripple and heard the clattering of the cups against their dishes. The guards looked concerned with their thinned lips and glances at each other.

"The man who hurt her is already dead." Ella continued.

"I'm well aware."

"What are you doing to her?"

"She's in a nice room with accommodations. You really act like we're animals."

Ella paused for a moment. "How long has it been?"