The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1)

by Stephanie Anne

  Eliza stepped out of the fountain and cursed. She frowned. The bottom of her satchel was wet too.

  “Just my luck,” she muttered, taking another step from the fountain.

  She sensed the attacker before they struck. Raising a hand, she threw a ball of light at the first soldier and ducked to avoid a blow from another. Focused on those two, she missed the third. He grabbed her around her midsection, forcing her arms to her side. He was large enough to pick her up and managed to cart her back into the fountain.

  Fear and panic struck her in an instant, and she screamed.

  But it was too late. Her screams went unanswered. They were going back into the tunnel.

  Eliza fought back the wave of panicked tears and stopped fighting, forcing herself to breathe. The soldier that held her was twice her size. He carried her without an issue; her feet didn’t touch the ground, but his head was still above hers. If she slammed her head back, she’d only hit his chest. So, she had to think of a way to break free.

  Magic.

  Closing her eyes, Eliza concentrated on the earthly magic that flowed through Cadira. She focused on her connection to those veins of pure magic… but found the connection lacking.

  Gone.

  Eliza’s eyes snapped open and her panic seized her once again, tearing through her chest as her attackers dragged her towards the tunnel.

  She could have torched herself, become a living flame to get herself out of the situation, but the connection to the land—to the elements and to her natural magic—wasn’t there.

  Blood Magic. The words were whispered in her ear like a saving grace, but still she hesitated. Despite what Amitel had told her, she couldn’t get Henry Ivo’s warning out of her head.

  But did she really have much of a choice? She couldn’t summon her defensive magic, and she knew little of Blood Magic, other than spells she’d stumbled across in passing.

  Illusions, the voice whispered again. Sweat dripped down Eliza’s back, the attacker’s arms tight around her. They were entering the tunnel now, sealing her fate.

  This is it. This is my only chance.

  Eliza closed her eyes again and breathed in. Illusions, she remembered, required concentration. Her breathing evened out. Eliza bit down on her lip until she tasted blood and let it dribble down her chin, forgetting the pain entirely.

  And she felt it like a chord snapping into place, the thrum of power that belonged to her blood. No longer did she have to rely on her connection to the land. No longer was she subject to natural magic. Blood Magic was raw and unfathomable and powerful.

  Eliza kept the illusion simple to start with.

  First, she imagined water, dropping from the ceiling. It echoed louder the farther they went, until it was almost deafening.

  The attackers did not react.

  She added another side to it, then. Sloshing water, almost like a river. It surrounded them, drowning out their footsteps.

  Clearing her head, she pictured the demons clear in her mind: the talons as long as her middle finger, arched enough that if they hooked their claws into flesh it would tear like cloth. Next, she pictured their eyes, black like tar and just as slimy, paired with teeth sharp enough break bones.

  She imagined the spindly demons running back towards them, their screams filling the ears of every soldier that surrounded her.

  Then she imagined water filling the tunnel. It dipped towards them, as high as the ceiling. There was no other escape but to turn back. She made sure to add the spray of water, let it hit their faces and her own.

  Her blood thrummed in her veins, and her magic poured through her.

  The soldier holding Eliza dropped her, took hold of her forearm, and dragged her back towards the main cavern, while the others swore quietly under their breaths. Their footsteps thundered in her ears, because she couldn’t hear what they could, or see what they did.

  She grinned.

  Their party broke through the tunnel and back into the main cavern, their footsteps faltering.

  The water should have reached them by now.

  They turned to her, and she struck.

  Eliza hit the shadow soldier holding her in the throat, remembering the early morning training Thorne had forced upon her. The man stumbled back, tumbling to the ground in shock.

  Eliza unsheathed her dagger and brandished it before her.

  After weeks of training, Eliza knew she wouldn’t beat them with only her weapons. She wasn’t strong enough physically, and they likely had years of training. But she persisted, swinging her blade in arcs, hitting theirs. She brought back her illusions to aid her; the water disappeared, and now there were creatures manifesting in its place. They fed on blood, and tasted fear. They had horns and three eyes and ten arms. These were creatures of nightmare, twice the size of the soldiers.

  Eliza pushed half her magic into the five creatures she’d created, willing them to do her bidding. They were real enough; they struck at the assassins and small demons with ease, sending them into the rubble and sand. One creature had three of its limbs cut from its body, but she manifested six to replace it.

  Sweat poured from her body as she was left to face one shadow soldier. He stalked her, eyes black and unnerving. He did not fight with weapons, but instead with his hands.

  Eliza was no good at hand to hand combat. Thorne had told her as much. It had been one of her problems while training, and though she tried hard to do better, it hadn’t been enough.

  “If you think I’m dropping this, you’re fooling yourself,” she breathed, holding up her dagger.

  The soldier said, “I don’t need you to.” He dipped and swung his leg out, aiming for her feet, but she jumped back.

  “I’m from New Orleans,” she laughed, shaking her head. “I know how to fight dirty.”

  Choosing offensive, Eliza swung her blade, aiming for his chest.

  Eliza felt her illusions slipping from her, though. She was no longer bleeding. Wide eyed, she cut herself on the leg, wincing as the blade cut through skin. Blood bubbled from the gash, but she didn’t stop.

  Silence, save for the thundering of her own heart and the slow drip of her blood in the sand, met her ears. Death surrounded her, infused with her dark, unnatural magic. She shuddered, and dropped her illusions, save for one.

  It was that one she used to finish off her opponent.

  Eliza summoned the illusion to her. It thundered across the sand, answering her call, and bounded straight into the last of her attackers.

  He flew into the adjacent wall and did not get up.

  She released a breath and cut the tie to her last illusion, sending it away to join the others in her head. Although she felt lighter, exhaustion filled her muscles, and she fell to the ground in a heap.

  The carnage and destruction caused by her magic almost made her stomach empty. They might have been figments of her imagination, but they managed to cause more damage than she had ever thought possible.

  This is what necromancy and Blood Magic can do. Bodies, broken and bent, littered the sand, crumpled against the ruins of Azula’s city. Death and destruction. That is all I am worth.

  Everyone—and everything—was dead. She could see the spirits of the assassins standing over their bodies.

  She did that.

  Stumbling to her feet, Eliza clutched her stomach as she limped towards the portal. She was going to be sick. I did that. I killed them. When she reached the portal, she closed her eyes and called out for the spirit guarding it, hoping it would answer her call.

  Fresh air hit her wet cheeks. She sucked in deep breaths despite the heat that still radiated from the earth. She filled her lungs with it until she was sure she wouldn’t be sick all over the sand.

  Eliza opened her eyes. There was no one on the street, no one watching her. She spun in two circles to make sure there were no demons or shadow soldiers lingering in the shadows.

  Nothing.

  ~

  “Where the hell have you been?” Thorne
asked when she finally stumbled through the front door of the house. He stood from his chair at a table, eyes wide, looking over her beaten body. “What happened?”

  Eliza met his stare, then dropped it. “They found me.”

  “Who did?” Thorne walked up to her and grasped her shoulders firmly, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Eliza, who found you? Who did this?”

  Behind him, Dorin stood with a mug gripped in his hands. Hair tousled, it looked as if he’d just awoken from an uncomfortable sleep. Seated at the table was his mother, and beside her, Celia, who looked even worse.

  Finally, Eliza met Thorne’s stare. “I found the portal, but there were assassins waiting for me when I got out.”

  “Why didn’t you wait for me?” Thorne asked, voice harsh.

  She closed her eyes and released a heavy breath, falling against his body. The weight of the magic she’d used, along with the fight and her lack of sleep left her empty, like she had no reserves left.

  She craved sleep, but at the same time feared it.

  “He’s been down there, the prince,” she murmured into his chest. Eliza breathed in his familiar scent, wrapping herself in it. “He isn’t there now. But he was.”

  Thorne pulled away, just as Celia spoke. “You are bleeding. What did you do?”

  Eliza looked down at her leg, at the blood that had slowly stopped spilling from her self-inflicted wound. “I did that to myself,” she said, wincing as Thorne prodded it. “I was using Blood Magic.”

  “What?” Thorne hissed, stepping back.

  Eliza shook her head and tried to ignore the way his actions made her stomach twist. “It was the only way. I lost my connection to natural magic, and I was running out of time. I needed to do something.”

  He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have gone down there in the first place. You should have had someone with you!”

  She flinched and limped towards a seat. “I don’t need you to yell at me, Thorne. We are so close to completing this mission.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” he asked, sitting down beside her.

  Dorin’s mother quietly left the room. Her son took her spot, his worried stare aimed at Eliza as well. He threw a cloth to her, and she wrapped it around her leg to stop the bleeding.

  Thorne passed her a mug of water. “Tell us what happened.”

  “Alright,” she sighed, taking a sip. “This is what I found out.”

  32

  THE END OF TOMORROW

  For the first time in weeks, Eliza’s sleep was peaceful, undisturbed. She awoke the following morning feeling refreshed and vibrant, almost like the previous night hadn’t happened. It had been a welcome change from the swaying bodies and the shadow creature. A welcome change from constantly dying in her sleep.

  The water Thorne had given her the night before had been laced with a sedative, she was sure. Perhaps something he’d picked up in the last town. But she couldn’t be mad, or blame him; for once, she felt ready to face whatever came at her, even if it was an army of shadow soldiers and demons.

  “Where’s Celia?” Eliza asked as Thorne entered her room—Dorin’s room. He’d taken to one of the couches in his mother’s sitting room, while Celia occupied the spare bedroom. Thorne, Eliza could tell, had slept in the hallway, either to keep watch or make sure she didn’t sneak out again.

  His voice was low when he said, “Resting. I didn’t want to disturb her.”

  “You don’t want her to know about this, do you?”

  His eyes were sharp when they met hers. “No,” he said, unflinchingly. “I don’t. She doesn’t need to be a part of this anymore. She isn’t well enough.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Eliza asked, settling herself into the bed. Dorin’s mother had provided Eliza with old clothing, including a thin nightgown Eliza wore to fend off the heat. She’d managed to unstick her hair from her skin and pull it back into a messy bun atop her head. “I… I know you two talked. About a council being mad about a deal…”

  Eliza watched Thorne from the corner of her eye. In the dancing light of the Mesah sun, his skin looked golden, even glistening with sweat, she admitted. The strong line of his jaw was shadowed with dark stubble, the rise of his cheekbones reddened from the harsh sun. The slump of his shoulders revealed the muscles of his back and arms, the thin undershirt tight over his coiled muscles.

  He did not have the same classical beauty of Dorin; when Eliza thought about Dorin, she imagined romance and a fluttering heart, of Disney princes and endless stars.

  But then there was Thorne, who was rugged and broad and strong, who Eliza felt safe and comfortable with. There was a security about him, a peacefulness. But she couldn’t escape the feeling that he expected more from her.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. He hadn’t caught her staring—he was looking at his clasped hands, long lashes brushing his cheeks.

  “The sickness…” He wavered and gave a stiff shake of his head. “It’s not right. There’s something wrong with the symptoms, but Celia won’t listen to reason.”

  “Why not?”

  Thorne’s eyes were bright as he looked her over. “She’s worried.”

  Eliza released a shaky breath. “About me? Or the promise she made to her sister?”

  He stiffened. “What do you know about her sister?”

  “Only that she died,” Eliza said carefully, “at the hands of a… a shadow creature. That she tasked Celia with finding a way to destroy it.”

  Thorne nodded mutely, his attention elsewhere. “This whole mission has been hard on Celia. Seeing you, she imagines you’re on the same path as her, and will end up the same way.”

  “Dead.”

  “Lost,” he said quietly, meeting her stare. “That you will be lost to us.”

  Lost to us. Something in Eliza cracked, a fleeting memory—Thorne, tears wetting his eyes, Celia standing in the rain—clouded her mind for a quick moment before disappearing.

  Eliza cleared her throat and pushed those emotions aside.

  “We don’t necessarily need to put Dorin into any more danger.” As she said the words, her heart raced.

  “Exactly. Just you, and me.” The way he said it brought up unfamiliar emotions. She hadn’t realised just how much she had missed hearing those words, missed the feeling of it just being the two of them completing the mission. But it also meant keeping everyone around her safe—Dorin, Celia… it wasn’t their fight, it wasn’t Thorne’s either, but he’d been there since the beginning.

  Eliza closed her eyes briefly and released a sigh. “I killed those soldiers,” she whispered. “I actually killed someone.”

  “You said they had black, red-rimmed eyes?” She nodded, confused. “If Henry Ivo is correct, and there is a chance that Blood Magic is involved, then those soldiers were being controlled by the Dark Master. They would have been forced into a sacrificial blood ritual. They were probably already dead.”

  Maybe Thorne was right; maybe they were dead, and their spirits had been holding on. Couldn’t she have just found another way to get out, though? To save them?

  For a necromancer, she thought, I suck at dealing with the dead.

  “Stop feeling like you are to blame for their deaths. You had no choice; they would have taken you,” Thorne said, forcing Eliza out of her thoughts. “You freed them from slavery, Eliza. If it was blood magic that bound them, then there would have been no other way. If anything, you freed them.”

  An emptiness yawned within her. “Still doesn’t make it right.”

  Eliza didn’t cry over them, though, and hated herself for it. Shouldn’t she be grieving for the lives she’d taken? Wasn’t that the right thing to do? She had used Blood Magic; forbidden, deadly magic. She’d used it to slaughter them. And she had enjoyed using it.

  Amitel was right.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Thorne said quietly, leaning in closer. Their faces were inches apart, so close that she could feel his breath fanning her lips. “You got out of there aliv
e, and I am thankful for that.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip. “Even if I used Blood Magic to do so?”

  He frowned. “Even if you used Blood Magic.” Something dark flashed in his eyes, disappearing before Eliza could understand what it meant. “It is dangerous though, so I don’t think you should do it again.”

  Eliza nodded. “It uses up too much power anyway. I held on to my illusions for only a couple of minutes. By that point I was exhausted and ready to throw up.”

  “How powerful were these illusions, again?” he asked, brows furrowed.

  She shrugged; memories of the fight rose to the surface. “They were the ones that killed all the soldiers and demons. I created five monsters and made them disappear. I also made it seem like the tunnel was flooding.”

  Thorne looked away. “Although that would be helpful in battle, I wouldn’t recommend delving into Blood Magic again unless it becomes absolutely necessary.”

  “Alright,” she agreed. “No Blood Magic.”

  They sat in silence for several moments, listening to the bustling city beyond the walls. People shouted and carts rattled. Children laughed and screamed as they ran through the sandy streets. Dorin’s mother could be heard cooking, while Celia occasionally coughed in the other room.

  Peaceful, untouched normality. Something Eliza missed dearly. She missed New Orleans, the city that never slept. She missed her grandfather and Kay. She missed her life, her freedom.

  Not long now, she thought.

  “We still need a plan of action.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “The tunnel is always being watched, mostly by demons.”

  “Fire usually wards them off.” Thorne scratched his chin absentmindedly. “But if we want a chance of fighting them off, then you will need a lot more rest. We still don’t know how far the tunnel leads out into the desert.”

  She pursed her lips. “The tunnel isn’t high, like the ones we found in the south. The ceiling is probably just a head taller than you.”

  “Which means they won’t be above us.”

  Eliza nodded, smiling triumphantly. “Exactly. Only problem is… the tunnel has corners, which means they could be hiding anywhere. I mean, we could flush them out. A wave of fire through the tunnel might scare them enough.”