“Eliza Kindall, ward—”
He cut her off. “Ward of Keeper Kindall and guest of the king.” He grinned, showing straight-white teeth. “I’ve heard. People talk.”
She flushed, and quickly took another sip of her wine. She couldn’t help but look over to the commander then, only this time, his eyes were on her. She looked away.
“How long have you been in Cadira?” Lord Irvington asked. He leaned in, giving her his full attention. “I’m only asking because I have never seen you before, and I know Keeper Davis works in the mortal realm.”
“A day,” she said, and smiled honestly. “It is very different.”
He quirked a brow. Servants cleared the dishes from the table, replacing the soup with plates of small roasted bird drizzled in a sweet-smelling sauce. There were roasted vegetables pushed to the side with nut flakes sprinkled over the top. A light sheen of golden powder lightly dusted the entire meal.
Eliza thanked her server and blinked as her wine was refilled. She hadn’t realised she’d finished off the first glass.
“This land… isn’t all that it seems,” the young lord said. He didn’t touch his food. “There are all kinds of secrets hidden here.”
Another memory twisted inside her mind, swirling to the surface. She glimpsed a forest clawing at her before the vision disappeared completely. Confusion swelled within her; she stifled an irritated sigh and bit into a piece of roasted potato. She heard parts of the king’s conversation—he spoke to the Duke about some new development concerning a ‘missing piece’.
“Do you plan on staying long?” Lord Irvington asked, pulling Eliza from the king’s conversation.
She looked back to him, forcing a smile. Small talk wasn’t one of her specialties. “I will stay however long the king desires,” she said. “I hope to see the land, witness the true magic of Cadira while I am here.”
“It is definitely beautiful,” he conceded, smile still on his lips. Something was hidden behind it, though; feral, untamed beauty, she thought, heart twanging. There are all kinds of secrets hidden here. She was certain she was looking at one.
There was something about the young lord that called to her magic. However, when she sent a spear of magic towards him, she felt nothing; an emptiness that should not have been there.
Turning away, she finished off her meal, and waited for the next course.
~
When the dinner ended, the large party was herded into an adjoining ballroom for music and tea and sparkling wine that made Eliza’s head spin. She had tried to think of some excuse to leave, but the king offered his arm once again with expectant eyes, and she was forced to take it with a smile.
Eliza spotted Thorne in the crowd with the same woman from earlier but had lost him when she and King Bastian had been cornered by generals and councilmen alike. But she knew she was being watched by the king, even when she found Commander Thorne.
The commander stood alone by a bay window that revealed the thundering storm outside, a glass of wine in one hand with the other behind his back. Eliza could see herself in the reflection of the window, could see his face and the way he watched her, though he didn’t bother to turn around.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him for a moment. With his back to her, Eliza imagined the man from her dream walking away from her.
She shook her head. There was a stillness to his posture, a glint in his eyes that almost made her stop in her tracks. His stormy eyes swirled with thoughts Eliza wasn’t privy to, and his brows were furrowed in a way that made her think he’d seen something that made him uncomfortable.
Maybe it’s me, she thought, hesitating. Maybe he’s waiting on someone else and doesn’t want to talk to me. But she knew how ridiculous she sounded even to herself.
“What did you think of dinner?” he asked, breaking their tense silence. He still didn’t turn around to face her—their eyes met in the window, and she held his stare. A foggy memory danced in the back of her mind; a blood-streaked gown, the galloping of horses, a broken crown. She struggled to grasp the memory before it slipped away.
Shrugging, Eliza walked straight up to the window and placed her hand on the pane of glass, just as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. “It was alright.”
Thorne snorted. “Trust me, too many people talk and usually it’s bullshit that comes out of their mouths.”
“Oh?” She looked up at him. “What kind of bullshit are you referring to?”
Commander Thorne met her stare then went back to looking out of the window. Lightning struck again, followed by a crack of thunder. “One woman claimed that you must be the king’s new mistress—or bride.”
Eliza’s eyes widened and she choked back a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.
Thorne continued. “Another—this time a councilman—tried to convince everyone that you are an assassin.”
Her brows shot up.
“And another believes you must be one of King Bastian’s bastard children, ready to be legitimised and introduced to court,” he finished, finally looking at her.
“And what did you say to all these assumptions?” she asked, biting back a laugh.
He smiled, and it lit up his face. “I told my comrade that my money was on you being an assassin.”
Eliza couldn’t help but smirk. “God, some people.” She shook her head, exasperated.
The two stood in silence for a moment with only the sounds of the orchestra, the loud conversation, and the occasional rumble of thunder to break the stillness. In the background, Eliza could hear the ladies and duchesses talking about her gossiping as to why she had been on the arm of the king, but she decided correcting them would be useless.
Let them talk.
“I have another favour to ask, concerning, well, everything,” Eliza said, lowering her voice.
Commander Thorne met her stare, eyes shadowed. He stepped closer to her, shielding her from the party. “What exactly do you need?” he asked.
Eliza swallowed thickly, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know Cadira—the landscape. I don’t know the landscape, or to find what I need.” She paused, thunder erupting in the sky. She felt the window shake beneath her hand. “I need a guide; someone I can trust. Someone who won’t ask too many questions.”
Thorne’s eyes narrowed and he leaned in, lowering his voice. “Are you asking me?”
“No.” She shook her head, but her heart did a silly somersault when she thought too long of the man standing beside her. “Of course not. I guess you’re too busy. I just need someone I know I can trust—who you might trust, too, since they’ll probably have to get me to Amitel and where the prince was kidnapped.” Her cheeks flushed, because some silly part of her did want the commander to join her. Stupidly, she knew it wouldn’t happen.
Thorne remained quiet for a moment, still extremely close to Eliza. She could feel the heat from his body on her shoulder, noticed his gaze upon her.
Then he shook his head. “I don’t trust anyone enough with this,” he said, running a hand through his hair, dishevelling it. His eyes reflected the storm outside, swirling with grey and blue and mystery.
Some part of Eliza wondered if his statement wasn’t just reserved for the prince. That part of her hoped it meant her, too.
“And?” she asked, heart thundering in her chest as another flash of lightening illuminated the sky.
“And… I’ll take you myself.”
Eliza blinked, surprising herself at how much she wanted to hear that. Gods, she was turning into a ninny, wasn’t she?
“What?” His eyes flashed, and a smirk upturned his lips. Red tinged his own cheeks, but Eliza couldn’t tell if it was because of her or the sparkling wine in his hand. “Didn’t expect that?”
Eliza shook her head. “No, not really.” She cleared her throat and stepped away, searching the crowd for the king. “I’ll need to speak to the king with you. I mean, you’re a commander in his army. It might be hard to let you go.”
/>
“Not if I’m searching for the prince, it won’t be.”
She searched his face for something more—anything to explain why he would help her. Glory? Duty? Curiosity? Did he believe what the king did? That she had the power to get the prince back? Was he hoping that she would bring up his own status? Eliza internally shook herself at that thought; he didn’t seem the type.
“Okay,” she said, finally stepping away from him, drifting into the throngs of the elegant and wealthy. “Tomorrow. We talk to him tomorrow. I want to get out of here and start the search.”
9
GHOSTS
Eliza was a girl again. Five, at least. She did not recognise the room she was in, nor the clothes she wore, but she felt wood beneath her bare feet and dirt caked beneath her fingernails. Her hands were small and darkened with a tan. She wore a wool dress and footless stockings that did nothing to keep the cold from seeping into her.
Is this a memory or a dream? She couldn’t tell. It felt real; she could smell smoke in the air, though there was a sweetness, like burnt sugar, that enveloped her. The room she stood in was foreign, though recognition twinged in the back of her mind as she looked over the sparsely furnished area.
A small bed had been pushed against the far wall, a door set into the wood walls across from her. Two windows stood on either side, curtains drawn, giving Eliza no indication of what was beyond.
There was a table beneath the window; it had been vacant only moments before, but now a young woman sat there, face lined with fear. She spoke a language Eliza couldn’t understand, not even in her sleep. The words were rushed and murmured, softly spoken. Eliza realised then that there was another girl in the room.
She had to be in her late teens, maybe early twenties. Dark hair cascaded down her back in ringlets that made Eliza envious. Her eyes were bright, but not with fear.
“There is something coming,” a voice beside Eliza said, startling her. Turning, Eliza faced a girl not much older than her dream self, perhaps six or seven. She was thin, bony. There was a wildness in her eyes that Eliza recognised. Her ears, which poked out beneath scruffy white-blonde hair, were pointed.
Eliza looked back as a boom echoed through the room. The woman who had been sitting at the table got to her feet and hurried over to Eliza and the other young girl. Her cheeks were red, eyes wide with fear. She spoke again in that language Eliza didn’t understand.
Another boom sounded and the door rattled on its hinges. The woman who had been standing over Eliza ran away, entering a room Eliza had not noticed before. Footsteps alerted Eliza that the other girl, the one with the black hair, had followed, leaving Eliza alone with the little girl as the door rattled again.
She wanted to speak, but found her voice gone. She wanted to ask why the adults had disappeared, why someone was trying to get in. But no words would form on her lips.
The door rattled again, though this time something scraped against the wood. It sounded like nails digging in, tearing at it. Eliza flinched, managing to take a step back before the door burst open.
Darkness unlike anything she’d seen before hurtled towards her. The spear of night dug itself into the wood at her feet before retracting. The creature howled and light flared behind it, but it wasn’t enough. The spear hurtled towards Eliza again, in line with her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain she knew would come.
But it didn’t. A scream of agony pierced the air, echoing through the howling of darkness and the stampede of feet.
Eliza opened her eyes in shock. The girl with the wild eyes and scruffy hair had taken the blow, the darkness bleeding over her small frame. She had probably been six, Eliza realised. Six, and had given her life for Eliza.
She unleashed a blood-curdling scream as the darkness at the door faded in a flash of light, and she awoke.
Unease mixed with fear knotted in Eliza’s stomach as she opened her eyes and blinked up at the ceiling. There were no stars glued to the white paint, no strings of fairy-lights winding their way along the corners of her walls. But there was a wide bay window with fluttering curtains that weren’t her own, and a comforter so soft she would have called it dreamlike. The room was both familiar and unfamiliar.
Still in Cadira. Part of her had hoped it was just a bad dream, that she would wake up in the comforts of her own bed in New Orleans. But she wasn’t in her own bedroom, she was in the Winter Palace. The mission still hung over her head, freedom tied with it.
The dream drifted away from her, her only recollection being the fear that still burned on her tongue. What had she seen, she wondered, to make her heart race like it was?
Eliza squeezed her eyes shut and turned in her bed. Sweat, sticky and now cold, covered her body, forcing her to shift until there was only a thin sheet covering her flushed body.
Sighing, Eliza opened her eyes, and yelped.
Kneeling over her bed was a child—a little girl, maybe ten or so—her red-rimmed eyes staring out the window, her mouth open in a silent scream. When those eyes found Eliza, the little girl hunched over her. Blood covered her mouth, her teeth, though there was a kind of gentleness to her form as she looked Eliza over.
“They’re coming,” she said, voice soft. Fearful. Eliza swallowed. “They know you’re here.”
Eliza bit back a scream. “Who? Who does?”
The little girl looked back towards the window, then at the doors to Eliza’s room. Beyond them, the floorboards creaked. Someone’s out there. Perhaps it was just Clio or the doorman, or some wandering noble sneaking back to a lovers room.
Spirits could not hurt the living; Eliza had learned that from an early age. But it didn’t stop her from flinching as the little girl crawled closer, making no indents in the ruffled bedsheets. “Demons. Dressed in darkness and shadows. They know you are here. Run.”
The little girl disappeared from the bed. Eliza sat up, her breathing heavy, fast.
She remembered what the king had said to her, that creatures like the ones who had taken his son had once come for Eliza, too. Had they already found her? She shook her head in disbelief before clambering out of the bed, sweat clinging to her.
Ruthless creatures of the night, she thought. She threw on a pair of jeans and her hoodie, along with a cloak that Clio had left for her.
She didn’t need anyone getting hurt for her; these demons had taken out the king’s entire guard back then. There was no telling what they would do to a palace full of civilians. What she needed to do was get out of there before anyone could get hurt.
Gathering her meagre belongings—she needed to thank Clio for already preparing the saddlebags and pack—Eliza sucked in a deep breath before cautiously opening the door a crack, but no one was there. She left her room, heart pounding, careful not to wake anyone as she crept through the halls and down the main staircase towards the front doors. Not a living soul walked the halls. Strange. There should have been guards.
But if anything were to happen… she wasn’t sure what else to do as she opened the door just enough for her to sneak through.
High winds picked up her cloak and her hair as she ran down the slippery steps, careful not to fall. She could barely make out the soldier encampment through the haze of rain, but she held the cloak close to herself as she ran towards the tents. It was still dark, an endless night already in upheaval.
Eliza passed through the gardens soundlessly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her cloak. The tents came fully into view and the little girl appeared in front of her, untouched by the rain. “Hurry, you don’t have much time.”
Eliza stopped. “Do you know which tent belongs to Commander Thorne?” Eliza had to yell over the rain, but the ghostly girl heard her well enough to vanish and reappear beside a pitched tent towards the front. She lifted her arm and pointed into the darkness, where Eliza hoped the commander would be.
Without thinking, she ran into the tent and dropped the hood of her cloak. Commander Thorne sat in the middle of his cot, half naked
with a sword in one hand and a sharpening stone in the other.
Eliza’s cheeks burned as he looked her over with furrowed brows, lips pressed into a frown. When his eyes met hers, Eliza almost stopped breathing.
“Demons,” she said, sucking in a breath. “And soldiers. The ones who came after the prince.”
Commander Thorne dropped his sword and stood, reaching for his shirt. “How do you know this?” he asked, fastening a belt across his hips, along with a dagger and a raven pommeled sward.
At least he works quickly. Within moments, he was dressed and ready, pulling on his boots. His eyes never left hers. He was waiting, she realised, for an answer. One that she couldn’t give. The soldiers were likely after her because she was a necromancer—she wasn’t about to give her secret away to someone who might betray her in the end.
Eliza shook her head, biting her lip. “Part of my powers. Just trust me.” She cast a wary look behind her, as if the soldiers were already upon them. Her dark hair stuck to her forehead as she looked around. “We need to alert the king and the rest of the guard and disappear. They’re after me.”
The commander frowned. “It might very well be safer if we just leave.”
She shook her head, but before she could argue, shouts echoed through the night.
Eliza tore through the tent with fear pumping in her veins. Fire consumed the other side of the gardens, like someone had tried to create a physical barrier between the darkness and the palace. But it did not stop the creatures that bounded through the trees and flung themselves over the walls, heading straight into the flames and ripping apart anyone who got in their way.
A hand tightened around her upper arm. Eliza looked up to find Thorne looking over the destruction already caused.
This is why the king has an army, she realised with dread. He knew it would happen. That someone would come after her.
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 10