The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1)

by Stephanie Anne

  “I’m sorry I never told you about any of this.” Davis stood slowly, as if facing off a scared deer. Perhaps that was exactly what Eliza was. Around them, the courtyard brimmed with golden light. Sunrise. “I never knew when this would happen.” Davis reached for her bag; the bag he had given her when she was so much younger. “I hope you will forgive me.”

  Eliza stiffened. “For what?” she asked. Her gaze went to Kay, who had tears slipping down her white cheeks.

  She would miss Kay. Kay would not be able to follow her into Cadira. Not like her grandfather, not with her exile. Kay would have to stay behind in New Orleans.

  Would Eliza see her again? Her eyes shifted back to her grandfather.

  She could see how much he wanted to tell her, but she knew he couldn’t, knew there would be a price—maybe his position, maybe his life. For five-hundred years, Davis Kindall had been protecting the barrier between this world and Cadira without a fault, and Eliza wasn’t sure if she would be the one to break that cycle.

  What Eliza knew about herself was incomparable to what she didn’t know about her grandfather. Did she really expect to learn the whole truth so quickly?

  Eliza stifled a sigh and nodded reluctantly. “Fine. I’ll wait to hear from His Majesty. It can’t be that bad.”

  Her guardians shared another look.

  Oh, I’m screwed.

  ~

  They were running late, but Eliza couldn’t bring herself to care. Sitting rigid in the back, nails picking at the worn leather of the car’s interior, Eliza gazed down at the floor, unable to bring herself to look out the window and see New Orleans pass her by. She did not want to say good-bye to her home, the only home she could remember, not when she had to have hope that she would see it again.

  Despite the melancholy mood, Kay chattered nervously about how much Eliza would love Cadira; “It’s different to New Orleans, sure, but it has that same… lively feel to it. That historic feeling you like so much about home? Yeah, Cadira has that. And since you’ll be in the south, you should try the wine from the Light Courts! Oh, and they have the best pastries! You’ll love them, kid!”

  Kay talked until Davis took the uneven dirt road they’d driven down days prior that led up to the old hunting cabin in the bayou. He slowed down as mud and rocks flew up to hit the side of the car. Eliza had always said he should get a truck, but she couldn’t imagine her grandfather—always impeccably dressed in sweater vests, pressed slacks and leather shoes—driving a pick-up. “This car has stories,” her grandfather would reply whenever she asked about it.

  She still didn’t know the stories, and now she was too afraid to ask. She didn’t want to use up her requests too quickly.

  The car pulled to a slow stop outside the temple. Eliza felt tears prick the back of her eyes, and her chest tightened as Kay opened the door for her. This is it.

  Eliza heard the trunk open and close. Kay had both of Eliza’s bags, while Davis quietly donned his traditional white robes, set aside only for the most important of occasions. She could not remember the last time she’d seen her grandfather in his robes, and something within her recoiled from it.

  Kay’s hand grasped hers tightly as they finally entered the warded, Cadiran temple. Eliza let her fingers tighten around the older woman’s, and Davis opened the portal.

  “I’ll be waiting here for you when you get home,” Kay whispered, leaning down to kiss Eliza’s forehead. “You were always meant for greater things.” A shiver ran down the length of Eliza’s spine as Kay pulled away, leaving Eliza feeling cold and empty.

  Greater things. What things?

  A light flared, and slowly, the mirror began to clear. “We will pass through the barrier,” Davis started, stepping up beside Eliza. He took the duffel bag with care, while Eliza hugged her satchel to her chest. “Kay will stay here and make sure it is sealed correctly while the new Keeper does their job on the other end. Keep a hold of me through the whole process though, okay?”

  She nodded but could not bring herself to speak. Davis smiled faintly, sadly, before nodding himself. “Good. Let’s go.”

  The glass cleared to reveal an identical room on the other side—the same room she had looked into a week before; the blood had been cleaned from the marble, and there were no demons waiting to throw themselves at the wards. Standing behind the always-burning-flame, a figure dressed in the same robes as Davis waited, their clear blue eyes kind as they watched.

  Her grandfather offered her his hand, and Eliza took it hesitantly. Beyond the new Keeper, Eliza could just make out the wavering figures of what looked like soldiers, though they seemed to be hidden by a layer of darkness.

  Eliza and Davis stepped up to the glass, and she forgot everything else as they stepped through the portal. Together.

  5

  CADIRA

  Eliza felt hot and cold all over before a strange sensation, one Eliza could only associate with magic, washed over her when she finally made it through the barrier. To her surprise, it reminded her of stepping through a spirit, only icier. Eliza could feel the magic all around her, like a living entity that awoke when she finally entered its realm. Unlike Cadira, New Orleans—and the whole mortal realm—had no natural magic that stemmed from the world itself. Their magic came from whatever seeped through from Cadira, but even that wasn’t as much as what Eliza felt. It claimed her, something she never imagined she’d feel. It took only a moment of her being there to sense the depths of her magic rise and strengthen, just like Kay had told her it would.

  Opening her eyes, Eliza looked around the marble temple, at the soldiers and the Keeper that waited. She turned back to the barrier, to see if Kay was still on the other side… to see if maybe she could spot New Orleans through the cracks.

  But it was already gone, gold mist and shadows taking its place.

  “Welcome.” Eliza turned back to the Keeper, a young woman with stunning midnight skin, and hair the colour of starlight. When she smiled, she revealed teeth as sharp as razors. “If you would, please follow the King’s soldiers. They will take you to the Winter Palace.”

  The soldiers—Eliza counted ten, though she wondered if there were more hidden around the temple grounds—stood armed to the teeth with heavy-looking swords and daggers strapped to their hips. At least three carried small crossbows the size of their forearms. They all wore armour, metal plates strapped to their chests, arms, legs, and torsos. They did not look like they were welcoming a friend into their land.

  Eliza turned to her grandfather—for clarification or to check that he was still with her—but he was already following the party of soldiers, shoulders tense. She suddenly did not feel safe in what was supposed to be her home world.

  As she stepped out of the familiarity of the temple, Eliza did not know what to expect.

  Trees, so tall they almost reached the sky and leaves made of glass, spread out around her. Burrows and twig huts were built into the branches, like small cities floating in the sky. Some of the trees were bent out of shape, while others moved and danced while no one else watched. Light filtered through the branches, casting the meadow in golden light. Dancing in the beams, Eliza swore she saw sprites and wisps, bathing in the warmth before winter arrived.

  She had to remind herself that Cadira and her world were very different. Each season could span anywhere from a few weeks to a year. It was never the same, and there was no scientific explanation as to why. Cadira lived by the laws of magic and magic alone.

  A breeze rushed through the glass leaves and they twinkled in response. In the distance, Eliza could make out the sound of rushing water—the border between Cadira and the Fae territories, she remembered faintly.

  Something buzzed by her ear—a pixie, shining the colour of rose-gold—while another danced warily in the trees. But in between the magic that seeped through the very pores of this world, Eliza could sense something darker, something that tasted eerily like death.

  She turned to her grandfather then, brows furrowed.
His eyes danced over the landscape, like it was a place he had not seen in years, before turning to her, nodding sadly. “There is something… rotten about the land, isn’t there?” he said.

  Eliza bit down on her lip; they continued to follow the party of soldiers, Eliza and her grandfather situated in the middle of the circle they had formed. “I mean, it’s beautiful, but… yeah. Rotting is a good word for it.”

  The soldier in front of her stiffened; Eliza could see it in the set of his shoulders beneath the plates of steel. He had taken his helmet off—several of the others had, too—and he wedged it beneath his arm.

  Without realising it, Eliza had speared her magic out into the world, searching, fumbling for the darkness that embedded itself within the magic in the land. Where she should have seen light, she saw only shadows; sensed only fear from the living creatures that relied on that essence.

  “There is an absence of light,” Davis said, stepping carefully over an exposed root. Around them, green grass glinted like polished emeralds, and in some places, snow melted. Overhead, dark clouds filled the sky, extinguishing the sun’s rays. “The people of Cadira are losing their hope, and because of that, they are allowing darkness to take over.”

  She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “This isn’t a movie, Grandpa.” She sidestepped what looked like a boot made of wood. When she blinked, it was gone. “It sounds like you’re quoting Harry Potter or something.” She felt his gaze of disapproval slide over her, but she shook her head. “This all happened after the king’s wife and daughter were killed, right?”

  It took him a moment to respond. Around twenty years ago, a series of attacks befell the King of Cadira, leaving many of his soldiers dead. Eliza knew the story, had heard it a thousand times from her grandfather and Kay. Even wayward ogres and gnomes in the mortal realm recounted the stories to her. Although the king was not harmed, his wife had been killed, along with his eldest—his daughter. And his son, who had only been born two months before, had been taken in the night, never to be seen again.

  Eliza knew her grandfather had been a part of one of the search parties who had gone searching for the lost prince, and that he left his position in New Orleans to recover the infant and find the attackers. But, like many, he had found no trace, no evidence of the prince anywhere. It was almost like he had never existed, never left a mark.

  “More or less,” Davis finally said, releasing a breath. “But it has always been there, a fixture in this world. I honestly cannot remember a time when there wasn’t darkness here.”

  They stayed quiet; Eliza’s hand now tucked into the crook of her grandfather’s arm. They walked at a steady pace with the soldiers, though Eliza’s eyes kept catching on the man in front of them with dark brown hair. A silver chain glinted around his neck, though he never made a move to look behind him.

  Her grandfather said something to one of the soldiers, who replied in a brisk, curt voice, “Ten minutes.” By that point, Eliza had stopped listening.

  There were too many thoughts clanging around in her brain, thoughts she could not ignore. Darkness, the king, his lost son. Something insidious stirred within her, like an unquenchable fear. Perhaps she’d be facing her death sooner than she thought.

  Between the dense trees, she made out a white wall.

  Surprise and wonder took over as Eliza gazed at the Winter Palace. It was made of white marble and designed like it came out of a Victorian period novel; a white stone exterior with too many windows to count, and lush green gardens powdered in snow. Gargoyles surrounded the roof, staring down at her with unseeing black eyes, wings spread like they were ready to take flight. Perhaps they were, since Eliza could not tell if they were real, or just stone. Attached to the grounds, however, spirits wandered unseen amongst the living.

  Since their walk from the temple, a fog had settled over the land, casting everything in a muted grey light. The spires became unseeable from their position at the gates, stretching at least four storeys high. Great dark-wood doors stood before them. The palace looked somewhat serene. Whimsical.

  Eliza hated it.

  When she thought about her audience with the king, she imagined him looking down on her and ordering her execution or locking her away in a tower for the rest of her short, miserable life. She pictured him as malicious and brutal, especially after losing his whole family to this unseen threat.

  The wrought iron gates closed behind them as they stepped into the grand gardens of the palace grounds. As their group walked, Eliza made out rows of tents off to the side of the palace, in what looked like the games yard. Soldiers—like their guides—milled about. Fires had been lit at intervals. She could already feel the chill bleeding through her clothes and wished now that she’d packed warmer clothing.

  “Why don’t they have proper housing?” Eliza asked her grandfather, her voice low enough so the soldiers couldn’t hear.

  Davis’s eyes skimmed over the setting; grey brows furrowed. “In all honesty, I’m not sure. It looks like a small army, doesn’t it?”

  Eliza pursed her lips but said nothing more. At the foot of the stairs a well-dressed man in what looked like a butler’s uniform—black vest over a white dress shirt, an overcoat with pointed tails and pressed black slacks—waited, his hair combed neatly back, and his face impassive. She then noticed his piercing, red eyes and the curl of his lips. He shooed the soldiers away with a look of disinterest, then looked down his nose at Eliza and her grandfather.

  “Welcome to His Majesty’s Winter Palace.” The doorman spread his arms wide. “Please, do follow me inside.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and walked to the doors. They opened without a sound.

  Already, a sense of exhaustion rose within her; the mental strain of the last week casting a haze over the magnificence of the palace. Her mind, too occupied on the meeting with the king and her possible death sentence, didn’t quite take in the foyer like she’d wanted to.

  Davis, who knew her so well, patted her hand, which was still on his arm, and they followed the bustling man into the palace.

  The butler began talking again, his steps growing quicker. Eliza almost snapped at him to slow down. “You will be shown to a set of rooms designed to meet your every need.” They approached a set of grand, imperial looking stairs leading up to the second storey. Eliza blanched, but followed, awed by the marble and the elegance of the palace. “In these rooms, you will be expected to bathe, change, and be ready to meet with His Majesty in his private court. You will have two hours to do this. Food will be brought up to you. Appropriate attire will also be provided.”

  Eliza didn’t question the man as they followed him up yet another set of stairs, though she doubted he’d bother to respond. With his hurried pace, she couldn’t even look around or take in the strange yet alluring architecture surrounding her. She was too busy trying not to get lost in the maze of halls to pay attention.

  They stopped before a set of doors; the doorman rested a white-gloved hand against the gold handle.

  She took the time to breathe as he rattled off further instructions. “Your accommodations, Miss Elizabeth. A maid will be waiting for you inside. You have two hours. Keeper Kindall, if you could please follow me.”

  Fear sparked in her chest, eyes widening at the idea of her grandfather leaving. She’d been in Cadira for all of twenty minutes and already she and her grandfather were splitting up.

  Davis touched her cheek lightly. “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll be down the hall. We’ll be apart for a couple of hours.” He smiled and stepped away. “You usually hate when I stick around anyway. Don’t I embarrass you?”

  Eliza narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her thundering heart. “Cadira is different.”

  “You’re tired,” he reasoned. “Take the time to rest, eat something. Mentally prepare.”

  Then they were gone, disappearing beyond a bend in the hall. Mentally prepare. She snorted. Mentally prepare for what?

  Silence settled, unnatural
and foreign. She shuddered. There wasn’t even a spirit to keep her company. But she gave herself the chance to finally look around.

  It wasn’t hard to guess that Eliza was in the less favourable hall of His Majesty, King Bastian III; it didn’t look like it was used often to entertain important guests. There were a couple of threadbare tapestries hanging on the walls around her, and other doors the same red-brown wood as her own. Sconces with gaslights flared every so often, like they were reminding the guests that they were, in fact, there. Unlike the outside of the palace, the inside looked less magical.

  She shuddered at the eerie silence. Totally normal and not weird at all. With a sigh, she pushed open the door.

  The room was much bigger than her one back home; full of light-pink and gold décor, a four-poster bed up against one wall, and large windows that opened onto a balcony overlooking the darkening forest and the soldier encampment below. There was a door to Eliza’s right with steam billowing underneath, and she could hear someone humming beyond.

  Eliza dropped her duffel bag with a thud, and the humming stopped. Waiting, Eliza watched the door to the bathroom open, and a girl with pretty red hair and striking jade eyes slipped out through the steam. She had to be a couple years older than Eliza, maybe in her early twenties, dressed in a pale-yellow gown with a white apron. Must be the maid, she thought, offering the woman a smile.

  The girl dropped into a curtsy; Eliza watched, uncomfortable, wringing her hands before her.

  “You don’t need to bow,” Eliza said as the girl rose. A blush swept its way over Eliza’s cheeks. She so wasn’t used to that. “I’m Eliza.”

  Her smile was frightfully wide, but there were no fangs or needle-point teeth. Human. “My name is Clio. And I know who you are,” she replied softly, tilting her head. “Follow me, please, so that I might ready you for the king.”

  Swallowing, Eliza followed her into the steaming bathroom, and noticed the porcelain tub—definitely bigger than the one she had in New Orleans. After a pointed look from Clio, Eliza hesitantly stripped her clothing, cheeks burning in embarrassment.