“Why do you think I have this power?” Eliza walked back towards Amitel. She twisted her hand, hoping the energy would fall to him, would help him heal. She could still see the blood pouring from his stomach, mixing with the red sand.
Alicsar followed her back towards the centre of the cavern. His gait was calm, almost excited. He met her near Amitel, his face hard.
“The power of the Ecix grants one control over the dead. You can see spirits, converse with them, and you have the ability to animate the dead. You’ve managed to reanimate my soldiers with a little Blood Magic, and you have overpowered my own controls. But that won’t happen again.” There was a touch of… desperation in his voice as he listed off what she could supposedly do.
For as long as she could remember, her power had simply been known as necromancy, though the ability to bring the dead to life had just been beyond her reach. But what he had been saying was all true; she could speak with the dead, could animate bodies and push spirits back into their own flesh. Hell, she was sure there was more she could do if she experimented with her power.
Eliza raised her hand. There is definitely more I can do. The shadow soldiers had formed a line behind Alicsar, but they shook as she pushed her Blood Magic through them, forcing the dark magic from their veins. A ringing started in her ears, a sharp reminder that she wasn’t as strong as she once had been.
But the dark soldiers dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, almost as if they were in prayer.
“What have you done?” the prince asked, watching her. Fear flashed behind those wide, green eyes.
The Blood Witch in her smiled. “I’m giving you what you want. The power of the Ecix.”
Power rushed through her like nothing she had ever felt before; hot and cold, it filled her veins with an energy that robbed her of breath. It felt like lightning coursing through the sky. The power of the Blood Witches—of the Ecix—coursed through her, filling her with an endless magic that could not be stopped.
Eliza opened her eyes and saw the cavern in a new light; she could see every spirit tethered to the land, could feel the tendrils of the sloppy bindings of the soldiers. Her magic roamed the cavern and the mountains of Mesah, reaching and searching for death.
There was no fear in the way she controlled her power; like it had been when they had first entered the underground city, Eliza felt right, in control of the raw power untethered to the natural magic of Cadira.
Soldiers, under the control of Alicsar—under the control of the Dark Master—bent to her will; the brush of her magic was enough for spirits to find flesh, for bodies to be repossessed by their owners and rise to fight.
The magic didn’t stop there; it reached out, extending her line of sight. It not only sought death, it touched life with careful, caressing fingers. She could feel what lived, and what would succumb to death.
The power brushed against Amitel’s dying form. Live, it pleaded, caressing his blood-soaked face. Live and fight.
A growl, and the bite of steel in her arm caused Eliza’s attention to snap back to the cavern, back to Alicsar and the soldiers that fought under her control. Demons dropped from the ceiling to protect their master as he circled her with palmed daggers.
She barely glanced down to the small, insignificant wound.
The prince’s lips twisted up in a sardonic smile as they began their dance of death to the music of screeching and bloodshed.
Magic, raw and dark and engulfing, rushed from her being. The prince, with a shield of stolen magic, dropped to the ground and rolled, but the demons—black and twisted and starving—turned to ash. Where one fell, three appeared to take its place.
But she smiled nonetheless, sending out more feelers, reaching steadily for any that might join her cause.
Eliza slid the knife that had been by Amitel’s dying form towards her. She released a soft breath as Alicsar attacked.
The prince threw a knife at her before swiping with his sword. Metal sang as it arced through the air, towards her neck.
The blade stopped inches from her flesh, giving her a moment to deflect the blow with the knife, and spin out of its reach.
Magic electrified the cavern. Somewhere overhead, she heard the mountain rumble in response. Eliza’s power sang, and the echoes of the dead joined in her song.
Alicsar lunged, dragging her into the motions of a sword fight. She met every swing of his sword with magic, slicing carefully at him. She wanted to take her time, she decided with a slight twist of her lips. She wanted to drag him back to the king herself.
Their blades connected. Eliza smiled, and the prince fell back onto the sand.
Somewhere behind the fallen prince, the shadow soldiersher soldiers—continued to fight, still tethered to the magic she possessed. When she looked a little further, she could feel Amitel, fighting. Demon hordes were falling, unable to protect their master.
Eliza’s gaze fell on the now standing prince. He did not bother brushing himself off; red sand clung to his black pants and white tunic. It coated his skin, turning him somewhat demonic in the harsh light of the cavern. Blood speckled the tunic, crimson and bright.
“I’m growing sick of this.” Alicsar swung again and missed Eliza.
Faster, she thought. She needed to be faster than him. Needed to think ahead. He wasn’t just sick of their fight; he was growing tired. Although they both had enough stamina keep fighting, Alicsar had taken the offensive, constantly challenging Eliza, thinking she’d bend from exhaustion. The prince hadn’t expected her to collect her magic so quickly.
And it worked quite well to her advantage.
“I’m not.” She raised her free hand and threw a ball of fire, hitting him in the chest. It knocked him to the ground, singeing his tunic. Smoke rose from his clothing as he ripped his cloak off.
Eliza heard the cry of the raven before she saw it, perched on the shoulder of a skeleton on the wall. Beady gold eyes watched her carefully, and the way it danced across the skeleton gave away its anxiety. Eliza cast her eye over the hanging bodies—her dream flashed back to her, but she blinked it away.
The Knight was nowhere to be seen. Eliza hoped he wasn’t too far.
Another knife flew at her, but she didn’t duck. Instead, with a wave of her hand, she knocked it off course and back towards the prince.
It sailed into the palm of his hand. He let out a cry as he pulled it from his flesh, blood spraying onto the sand.
“You bitch,” he growled, nostrils flared. He had dropped his sword. Eliza waved her hand and the weapon flew across the room, towards the raven. “You really think that’ll stop me?” he spat.
He flew at her with a renewed vengeance, swinging at her with a sword made of darkness and shadow.
Thoughts of the shadow creature sprung to mind as she danced back. She remembered how it cut through her, slicing open her chest, leaving her to die slowly in that abandoned campsite.
Eliza imagined someone else there, crouching over her. She could feel their tears staining her face, their hands warming hers as the life slowly slipped out of her. She felt someone else’s lips pressed against hers. She could see the darkness as it swept over the land.
“Eliza!”
Brought out of her thoughts, Eliza was thrown back into reality, with enough time to dive out of the way of Alicsar’s sword.
He growled as he missed, his gaze flying towards where Thorne stood, sword clutched in his white hands.
Eliza followed the prince’s stare and winced as she took in the commander; blood stained his shirt and sweat dripped from his face. His dark hair was tousled, and his chest heaved as he took her in.
She wondered, stupidly, what she looked like in his eyes. Did he see the scraped and bruised girl he’d first met? Or was he seeing a witch with power bleeding from her wounds?
The commander didn’t hesitate; still standing at the cavern’s entrance, he raised his sword. Fear and determination flashed across his face.
But it was for Thorne
that she feared most, as the steel of a knife glinted from the corner of her eye.
Eliza screamed, and threw up a shield, just as Alicsar’s blade left his hand.
It sung through the air, racing for Thorne’s unprotected chest. The commander moved, but the blade rebounded off the wall of pure power she had thrown up to protect him.
With that moment of lost control, she dropped her soldiers, their spirits thrown suddenly from their bodies.
Alicsar grinned and snapped his fingers.
Thorne screamed for Eliza to drop the shield, but she couldn’t. She focused on the soldiers, on the blood thrumming in her veins. She focused on seizing their spirits once more.
Whatever power she’d once had, whatever power that had been born out of her blood and the blood on her hands, was gone.
“It’s too late for that,” Alicsar said, voice all too loud in the cavern. “They won’t bow to you again.”
She had lost.
Eliza dove out of the way of the first soldier, rolling on the sand before clambering to her feet before sending a shock of electricity through his body, enough to stop his heart. He dropped to the ground, shuddering to a stop. The next attacker swung at her with his sword. She raised her dagger in time for the metal to sing at their collision, then pulled away with enough time to send a ball of fire into his chest. It knocked him to the next soldier.
Sweat dripped from Eliza’s brow as she fought back. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders as she fought, both physically and magically. She knew that she couldn’t keep fighting, not like she was. The Blood Witches whispered warnings in the back of her mind. But they didn’t tell her to stop.
Thorne continued to shout at her, yelling for her to let him in. Every time she glanced over, all she could see was the blood, the worry in his eyes. Her head told her to let him fight, but her heart yearned to protect him.
Instead, she kept her attention focused only on the soldiers. Three down, six to go.
Eliza closed the part of her that wanted to care. They’re basically dead, she thought, stomach churning. They’re lost to me. There’s nothing I can do to help them.
Two ran straight for her; she sheathed her dagger and reached for the power within her, sending bolts of electricity through the shadow soldiers. Both dropped to the ground, convulsing.
“Come on, Eliza,” Alicsar taunted, standing back. She snarled. “You cannot keep this up.”
Four left.
Breathing heavily, Eliza forced all four soldiers to their knees. With their energies locked between her hands, one twist of her wrist sent their heads to the sides, an audible crack resounding through the cavern.
Dead. All dead. She sucked in a shuddering breath and took in the chaos she had caused. Nine soldiers, dead by her hands. That didn’t include the others she had helped murder.
I should feel more. Instead, she felt nothing. An emptiness yawned within her. The Blood Witches had stopped whispering their warnings.
The world spun. Her head filled with fog as she turned to meet Thorne’s panicked stare.
But her gaze drifted from him and back to the cavern’s opening. Standing in the shadow of the arch, silver-plated armour glinting in the flickering light, the Faery Knight raised his hand and pointed to a spot behind her. The gold eyes of the raven did not meet hers.
Eliza turned, breath caught in her throat, as Alicsar rushed towards her with his sword raised. He was close, almost within range of killing her where she stood.
Casting out a burst of pure energy and magic, Eliza’s hands shot up in defence, and she watched in horror as her magic rebounded off of Alicsar’s shadow sword. It hit the ceiling with a bang.
Alicsar’s smug grin quickly turned into a frown as the cavern shook. Eliza dropped to her hands and knees, turning back to Thorne.
The shield dropped as the first stalactite fell to the ground.
“You won’t get away,” Alicsar whispered in her ear. He pulled her to her feet by her hair. She tried to pull away, flinching as a throwing knife pierced the flesh of her back.
Alicsar stepped away as Eliza collapsed to her knees. Around her, the cave’s ceiling was crashing down, cutting her off from Alicsar behind her, and almost stopping Thorne from getting to her.
“We need to move.” Thorne grabbed her and attempted to pull her with him.
She cried out. “I can’t,” she sobbed, breath catching in her throat. “You have to go.” Reaching behind her, she struggled for the knife, crying out as she slid it from her back. Eliza tossed it into the growing rubble. The earth shook beneath her as the ceiling caved in.
Thorne dropped to his knees beside her and took her in her arms. “You have never been the type for self-sacrifice, Elizabeth Kindall.”
Eliza searched his eyes. Fear pounded in her chest, that phantom voice urging her to protect the commander. With whatever power she had left, Eliza threw up a barrier to protect them as the cavern finally collapsed around them.
36
PRINCE OF LIES
The mountain shuddered around them; rocks tumbled to the ground, skeletons and stalactites dropping from the ceiling. “I can’t stop it.” Blood dripped from her lips, salty on her tongue. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Thorne bowed his head, until all she could see was him: not the crumbling cavern, or the ruins of the Dark Master’s demonic army. “It’s okay. Just breathe. You don’t have anything to be sorry about… I’ve got you.” His body covered hers as more rubble fell.
Beneath the rocks and sand, Alicsar was buried. The prince she had been sent to find, gone, like he’d never been there. Would she have to dig him up? What would she say to the king?
“I should have waited,” she murmured. Now, she could feel the pain in her back, where Alicsar had stabbed her. It throbbed, slicing through her in agonising waves.
Thorne’s hand was there, though, covering the wound. He was there, protecting her. Like he always had. Like he always will, a voice in her mind whispered.
“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he replied, voice strained. “I should have put you first.”
Eliza tried to shake her head, but the movement sent her spiralling towards the darkness that ebbed at the edges of her vision.
“Don’t say that.” She swallowed, still tasting blood. “Celia would have died.”
He shook his head, but Eliza raised a hand and covered his mouth. “Don’t.” Pain shuddered through her. His eyes, glassy, watched her warily. “I’ll heal. It’ll be okay.”
A laugh shuddered through him as he shook his head again. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”
Voices sounded from far away, near the entrance to the mountain. Shouts followed, and she could hear rubble being pushed to the side.
“Dorin betrayed us.” She shifted, pain running up the length of her spine. “He was working with the Dark Master this entire time.” She knew she needed to tell him first before anyone else. “He was the prince. I stupidly let myself get close to him and he betrayed us. Amitel betrayed us too, but not in the end.”
Thorne clenched his jaw, eyes like a storm in darkness. He looked up towards the pile of debris from the cave-in. Eliza saw his throat bob as he swallowed.
“Amitel warned me. He wanted me to wait for you.” Eliza felt the skin at her back tingle as the blood stopped flowing and began to stitch back together. “In the end, he was with us, and against Alicsar.”
The voices steadily grew louder the farther in they climbed and the protective barrier Eliza had placed up around herself and Thorne slowly fell away as soldiers pulled at the rocks that covered them. Where there had been darkness, light slowly started to filter in.
We survived, she thought, smiling faintly as crumbling rock echoed in her ears. I’m alive.
But what about Alicsar? The dark thought popped into her head before she could push it away. What about Amitel? Her stomach twisted into knots.
She tried to send out feelers, to sense whether either of them had s
urvived, but her magic recoiled. She was too weak physically for Blood Magic, not while she healed herself, and reaching for a connection to the land drained her.
“We’re in here!” Thorne called out, voice stronger than before, resolute. His eyes lingered on Eliza for a moment, on her face, on the blood that covered her skin.
Light pierced through their small cave; soldiers stood around as Eliza’s barrier finally fell away, revealing her and Thorne and the blood that covered their clothing. Grime and sand coated sun-tanned faces as she squinted up at them.
Eliza grunted as Thorne picked her up, holding her close before handing her off to one of the closest soldiers. The man carried her without fumbling, holding on as Thorne climbed out of the debris and took her back.
“You know I can stand, right?” she asked, wincing as the commander started climbing over the rocks. She tried not to think about Alicsar’s taunting words.
At the mouth of the tunnel, several soldiers waited for them with a medic on hand.
A quick search of the collapsed cavern revealed nothing about the whereabouts of either Alicsar or Amitel. Eliza couldn’t see their spirits either. Her magic still hid itself from her—Blood Magic and natural magic. She could only heal herself now. The raven and the Knight must have escaped before the cave-in and before the soldiers got to the mountain, Eliza realised, as she couldn’t find them either.
Thorne stepped down from the rubble, jolting her as he did. She hissed, but she could feel the wound healing; torn muscle and scraped bone repairing effortlessly. She felt her skin knitting together as Thorne held her tightly to his body.
“You need to see a medic,” Thorne said, voice soft as his arms tightened around her.
Eliza shook her head and waved off the oncoming medic. “I don’t need to. I’ve pretty much healed on my own.”
Brows furrowed, Thorne looked down at her in confusion. His fingers—calloused but soft—brushed the bloody skin of her back, sliding beneath her torn shirt. She winced involuntarily as his fingers brushed the healing wound but stopped when his hand rested atop it fully.
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 34