The three took a step into the tunnel and did not look back.
~
It took several hours of walking before they came across the first sign of life. Hidden behind a bend in the tunnel, a fire roared, and several shadow soldiers sat around it, weapons at the ready. They looked almost the same as those Eliza had fought off, and she felt a tug at her heart as she took them in. Was there a chance that she hadn’t killed them?
The group of soldiers—five, in total—wore all black, hoods covering their ominous faces. They all wore bandanas over their mouths, too. Only their eyes could be seen, and even then, they made Eliza shiver. From where she stood, she saw only black, edged in red, the whites of their eyes gone.
These ones were different.
Any trace of Eliza, Dorin, and Amitel, had been magicked away earlier, a spell cast by Amitel to protect them. It acted as a shield; their footsteps were silent, their breaths a whisper. None could sense them. It was a kind of glamour, Amitel had explained to her quietly. It hid them enough to give them the element of surprise.
Amitel, Eliza, and Dorin retreated into the tunnel, far enough so their voices wouldn’t carry.
“They will be twice as deadly as the ones you fought last time,” Dorin murmured, one hand clutching the torch while the other hovered over the pommel of his sword. “They don’t look right.”
Eliza shook her head. “They definitely have a different feel to them. Any ideas on how they’re different?”
Amitel rubbed a hand over his chin. “They have been experimented on with magic,” he said as a matter of fact. “Meaning there is a chance that they have heightened skills, be less susceptible to certain types of magic. How did you get out last time?” He directed his question to Eliza, who swallowed thickly.
“Illusions, brought on through Blood Magic.”
He shook his head. “They’ll be immune to that now.”
“How can you be immune to illusions?” she asked, brows furrowed. “That’s powerful magic.”
“Not powerful enough. Especially with the Dark Master. Unless you have any other tricks up your sleeves…” he trailed off, brows raised, as if waiting for her to confess some hidden power of hers.
Her lips parted, and she closed her eyes. Of course, she had a secret power.
Licking her lips, she said, “Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Creeping back towards the soldiers, she hugged the shadows to her body. It concealed her enough to get close to really look at them.
Perched on the shoulder of every shadow soldier was a shimmering light, usually associated with an out of body experience. Eliza followed the light with her eyes and saw the spirits of the soldiers surrounding the fire, faces twisted in pain.
For a moment, Eliza allowed the shadows to slip and caught the attention of one spirit: a young man, probably in his twenties. He looked up at her, eyes widening. His lips parted, and a look of relief seemed to cross his face.
Eliza raised a hand and beckoned him forward, hoping that the shadow soldiers he was attached to wouldn’t feel the disappearance.
“You can see me,” the spirit breathed as soon as they were alone, his voice low and bitter. “What are you doing here? How?”
“I don’t have time to explain,” Eliza whispered, constantly checking the group of assassins. “How much control do you have over your body?”
The spirit shook his head. “Only a small amount. Or at least, I did. But something changed, and now I just float beside it.”
Eliza clenched her jaw. She’d tried once, to animate a body. Back in New Orleans, she’d watched a stranger die; it was a random man crossing the street, and he hadn’t been watching where he was going. The car was too close to stop, and they collided.
Although the driver was fine, the man was not, and he had stood over his dead body with a look of remorse.
In that moment, Eliza had tried something different with her magic. Reanimation. She had pushed magic into the spirit with the intent of bringing him back, and although she had managed to give the spirit a second back in his body, the spell had failed. She’d never tried again. Later, she learned how dark and dangerous something like that could be. She was no Frankenstein, or a God. But she was a necromancer.
But Eliza had time, and she had the fact that the bodies were still alive. And all the spirits were still attached.
“Okay,” she said, sucking in a breath. “I’m going to try something. You need to trust me, okay?”
He nodded hesitantly.
“Go back to your body. Tell the other spirits to be ready to fight for their control.”
Eliza followed the spirit back to the circle of soldiers and watched as he stood behind his body once again. A new resolve had settled on his young face as he looked down at his own flesh.
Pulling her dagger from its sheath, Eliza cut open the palm of her hand. She let the blood hit the sand before she closed her eyes and opened her mind to the spirits before her.
Magic, far more powerful than she had ever felt before, burned in her veins. She called upon the forbidden Blood Magic, gave it her offering of spilt blood, and felt as it heeded her call and infused itself with her own dangerous magic.
Eliza focused her energy to the first spirit, giving him stability, and an opening. In her mind, she could see the line that tethered the spirit and the body, and she gave it a firm tug, forcing the spirit back into its body. She felt the collision of spirit and mind as if it were her own; the sensation of her magic reeled in the energy.
There was a sharp intake of breath as the spirit of the man took back control of his body.
Eliza fell back against the stone wall before deepening the wound in her hand. In her head, she could hear whispers. Warnings, against what she was doing. But she couldn’t stop. It had worked the first time. She could do it again.
She managed to turn three of the soldiers before the other two caught on to the fact that something had changed. It was like a snap of reanimation for them too, like she hadn’t been present until that moment.
One of the converted assassins struck before the other two could attack.
A blue-eyed soldier pulled a knife free and rushed forward, tackling a black-eyed man to the ground. They struggled in the sand, rolling over, before one fell limp atop the other.
The blue-eyed man rose, and the remaining black-eyed soldier swung viciously at the converted three.
“What the hell is going on?” Dorin came to stand beside her, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. Amitel followed and sent a blast of pure energy towards the black-eyed assailant, sending him to his knees. The last three finished him off in one sweep of a hand, removing his head from his shoulders.
Eliza winced, looking away. She quickly covered the blood that spilled from her hands.
“The spell is going to wear off,” she said, catching the attention of the three she’d managed to pull through. “As soon as it does, you’ll revert back to how you were. I’m sorry I can’t make it permanent.”
They looked between each other, sadness etching its way into their faces.
The one she had spoken to first stepped forward and offered her a smile, before bowing at the waist. “We are honoured that you gave us the chance to fight back. For your own safety, I would suggest ending our lives now, before we take yours.”
A shuddering breath escaped Eliza’s lips, and tears brimmed in her eyes. She couldn’t take their lives, not intentionally, but he stood there, waiting. There was no fear or blame, only hope.
Eliza wanted to ask Thorne what to do, wanted his advice, but she settled for Amitel. She rested her eyes on him as he looked towards the men who stood before them.
He did not spare her a look. “I will make it painless,” he promised.
Closing his eyes, Amitel raised both his arms and flicked his hands, snapping the necks of the three soldiers before them.
Eliza forced herself to watch as they fell to the ground, a single tear running the length of her
face. She knew she could not have done that herself and sent Amitel a thankful look as she raised her hands, igniting the bodies. Amitel turned to her with sadness in his golden eyes.
Together, they watched the bodies burn.
~
The pounding of feet slowed their party to a halt. Since the soldiers, they had come across nothing else that would stop them in their search for the tunnel’s end, though they had been forced to stop twice since.
The first had been because of Eliza, emptying her stomach in a crevice. She’d felt physically ill after watching the men die, and by the time they had walked another hour, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. Following that was a dizzy spell, and Amitel had forced her to stop and rest. They had stayed there for all of twenty minutes before Eliza had stumbled to her feet and pushed onwards.
The second time they stopped, Eliza almost passed out. Again. The whispers in her head had grown louder, almost to the point of screaming, and she had planted herself in the sand with her head between her knees.
But this time…
Beyond the bend in the tunnel, Eliza noticed flickering light, much brighter than with the shadow soldiers. It sent a glow throughout the tunnel, though it didn’t bend with the stone. Nor did it give off any heat.
“The mountain of Mesah will be your doom.”
Eliza spun around. Behind them, the darkness had thickened, until there was absolutely nothing to be seen.
“What?” Dorin whispered, grabbing her arm. “What is it?”
She shook her head, biting down on the inside of her cheek, drawing blood. Her eyes flickered over the stone, and she searched the darkness.
Nothing.
She shook her head and turned back to the tunnel. “I thought I heard something.” But that wasn’t quite it, and she couldn’t help but cast another glance over her shoulder.
The pounding footsteps were a steady sound; neither coming any closer, nor getting any further, almost like the people it belonged to were standing in one place. She could hear no real voices coming from the stomping stampede, but there were no other sounds either. Only the footsteps.
“Probably the Dark Master’s army,” Amitel said, rolling his wrists and cracking his neck. “Quite a few of them too, from the sounds of it.”
Eliza nodded, and let her magic reach towards the army. It snaked across the sand, finding life and death entwined. Indeed, hundreds, thousands, of shadow soldiers. She shuddered. “I can feel them.”
“How do we get through?” Dorin asked. He didn’t sound worried, though, and Eliza met his stare.
“We don’t,” she said, furrowing her brows. Since the soldiers, Dorin had gathered his features into a constant calmness, not once breaking it. Eliza wasn’t sure if it was because he was really afraid, or if it were for some other reason. Maybe for her benefit. But he hadn’t taken her hand or touched her since. Was he afraid of her now?
“We’ll wait for now.” She directed her stare back to the opening.
She’d felt it an hour ago; a shift in the air, in the way Amitel and Dorin both held themselves. It had been subtle, but the whispers in her head had stopped as soon as it had happened.
Beware the sands, the voice had said in her head. They lie.
Since, Amitel had been more on guard, constantly checking to see if someone—or something—was behind them. Eliza had occasionally done the same, hoping Thorne had caught up to them, but no one had approached them from the darkness.
But Dorin… his entire demeanour had changed, though he had made a point to always check to see if she had been drinking water or eating even a morsel of food. His worry was genuine, she hoped.
The sands lie. Did her companions?
The footsteps stopped. Eliza craned her neck, hoping to catch something—anything—from where she stood, whether it be a shadow or a voice, but everything beyond the bend was silent. Ominous.
Threatening.
Amitel held a finger to his lips before bracing himself and casting an illusion around himself.
His illusions were different, Eliza had learnt. They weren’t born of Blood Magic, but rather, elemental magic. It was the way he twisted the light that gave him the ability to seem invisible to the eye. It was interesting to watch.
Eliza counted the seconds—one, two, three—before he reappeared. Eyes wide, lips parted in a silent scream, he tumbled to the ground in a heap.
“Amitel!” Eliza whispered, dropping down to the ground beside him. She shook his still form, panic rising in her throat. Behind her, Dorin said nothing.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Eliza didn’t have a chance to brace herself as the darkness took her in its waiting grasp.
34
THE LOST PRINCE
She was in the courtyard of her home in New Orleans, standing by the main entrance. A cool, autumn breeze washed over her, and the smell of city fumes came with it. In the distance, Eliza heard the ever-constant chatter of the city that she had always loved, almost drowned out by soft jazz music that breezed through the open windows.
“Ah, I didn’t think I’d see you this soon.” Eliza directed her gaze to where Kay stood over a pot of delicate flowers, their petals dim and weathered. “But I suppose now is good.”
The older woman looked up and smiled at Eliza, who couldn’t help the tears that spilled down her cheeks.
“I’m scared,” Eliza whispered, lip quivering. “I’m so scared.”
Kay’s smile dropped. The magic that brought them together seemed to dim slightly. Around her, Eliza could see dark-sand walls closing in on her.
“Eliza.” Kay walked around to stand in front of the young witch. “Stay with me just a little longer, okay?” Her violet eyes were pleading. Eliza nodded hysterically, forcing her breathing to settle, for her heartbeat to steady. Slowly, the scene around her strengthened the longer she breathed. In. Out. In. Out. She repeated it to herself until a calmness settled over her, albeit uneasily.
“Good girl.” Kay kissed the top of Eliza’s head, spreading her warmth. “I am so very glad that you have come to see me.”
Eliza sucked in a steady breath before meeting Kay’s stare. “How did I get here?” Her voice still trembled slightly.
“I brought you here.”
“Here?” Eliza’s heart started thundering in her chest once again, but Kay’s voice soothed her.
“I am in your dreams, Elizabeth. It is here that you—we—are safe.”
Eliza shook her head hastily. “We aren’t safe Kay; you need to go before he gets you, too!”
“He will not get me. Your mind is strong, as is your will.”
Stepping away, Eliza ran her trembling hands over the flowers. She was home, back in New Orleans. She could taste cinnamon in the air and smell black coffee brewing in the kitchen behind her. There was a familiar sense to the landscape, but there was also a void, one that she wanted to—but could not—ignore. She had wanted so bad to go back there, and now that she was, she knew she couldn’t stay.
“Have you found the prince?” Kay asked quietly, breaking the silence. “Are you with him? Are you two in danger?
Eliza shook her head. “I haven’t found him yet… but I’m close. So close I can taste it, Kay. He’s right here. I know he is.”
“That doesn’t answer my other question. Are you in danger?”
Eliza dropped her eyes to her feet, to the cracked cement below them. “I think I am, yes.”
“I thought you were. I would not be here otherwise.”
Eliza’s head shot up at the sound of Celia’s voice. The young woman stood beside Kay, still in her riding gear, her dark hair braided back. She smiled only slightly; there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and those untouched emotions swirled beneath the surface of her calm façade.
“How did you get here?” Eliza asked, looking between the two. “I thought you were with Thorne!”
Celia nodded sadly. “I was—am—with him. I think. When you were knocked unconscious, I was rend
ered so as well. I am in your thoughts, much like Kay.”
Releasing a breath, Eliza asked, “Why are you here?”
“To protect you.” She clasped her hands in front of her, back straightening. “And I am here to help you.”
“How?”
“Your magic,” Kay answered, smiling. “We will help you use your magic to release you from your restraints.”
Eliza swallowed thickly and pushed a hand to her temple. Pain erupted there again, with the force of a sledgehammer, and it sent her stumbling to the ground.
“What?” Celia asked, rushing to her side. “What is it?”
Groaning, Eliza stood with Celia’s help, and leaned against her for support. “I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut as pain rocked through her again. “But whatever it is, it hurts like hell.”
When she opened her eyes again, Kay had a look of quiet rage on her face; lips pursed, eyes narrowed, and hands on her hips. Eliza had seen that look a thousand times, especially directed at her. But there was a difference to this look, one that shook Eliza to the core. Fear. It seeped through the lines of her face, showed in the set of her brows. Kay had never been one to show fear, and yet… there it was, shining through the cracks.
“Okay,” Eliza said, forcing a new kind of determination on to herself. “What do I need to do?”
Kay’s eyes snapped to hers, and a flicker of relief appeared in her hardened eyes, softening her face. “We will teach you how to get out using a kind of magic that has been… settling, in your veins.”
“You have always had this power,” Celia said, wary, “but you have never been taught how to control it.”
“Tell me,” Eliza said, steeling herself.
Kay’s lips thinned before she said, “Blood Magic.”
Eliza’s brows shot up and her eyes widened. “How did you know?” she trailed off when Kay’s stare hardened again.
Her eyes dropped to her hands, to the shallow cut she had inflicted upon herself only hours before when she helped the shadow soldiers. She’d used Blood Magic. Despite promising Thorne, it had come so naturally to her that she hadn’t thought twice about it.
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 32