The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1)

by Stephanie Anne

  “Amazing.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she looked away. “Can we go sit somewhere quiet?” she asked, eyeing the soldiers warily. “I need to tell you what happened, and you can tell me why you arrived with an entire unit of soldiers.”

  Thorne carried her over to a quiet corner and sat her down carefully on a rock-mound caused by the cave-in. He stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the red rock wall.

  “You first,” she said quietly.

  He cleared his throat. “I received Amitel’s letter, telling me that you had already left. I was close to one of the barracks already, but I was afraid I was too late.” His eyes, deep and soulful, bored into hers. “He said something about you being in imminent danger, but he could not give any details as to why. At the end of his messages, he said to bring an army into the tunnels and be at the mountain as quickly as possible.”

  Eliza released a heavy breath and closed her eyes. She ran her hands through her knotted hair, feeling the tangles pull at her scalp. Blood had dried at the ends, and sand coated her sweaty skin.

  Finally, she opened her eyes. “They probably won’t find anything here,” she said. “The Dark Master had an entire army in the caverns below this one, and they disappeared pretty quickly.”

  “You said Dorin and Alicsar were… the same. That Dorin was the prince,” Thorne said carefully, kneeling to match her height.

  Eliza couldn’t meet his stare. She had been the one to trust Dorin fully; she had stupidly cared for him, had let him kiss and touch her, had fallen for it all.

  And he had never felt the same.

  “Dorin—Alicsar, had fallen in with the Dark Master. They were working together to take the throne by force. Or at least Alicsar was. The Dark Master wanted my power,” she said with a bitter laugh, angry tears forming in her eyes.

  How stupid she had been.

  “What do you mean?”

  Eliza looked up at him and met his stare. “I have the power of the Ecix. The Dark Master wanted to use me to create an undead army.”

  Thorne took a step back. She saw it then, in his dark eyes: he’d known. He was aware of the power, of what it meant. She shouldn’t be surprised, but…

  In the blink of an eye Thorne punched the wall beside him.

  “Oh my God!” Eliza jumped up and grabbed his hand, pulling him to her. She forgot about her own wound, focusing on his. She didn’t have enough energy to help the healing process, but she could see the depth of his pain in the cuts and bruises on his knuckles.

  “What was that for?” she asked, wrapping her hands over his. She had no clean cloth, and the medic was busy helping a soldier who had tripped in the rubble.

  The commander shook his head and tried to pull away. Eliza held on though, despite his hiss as her hands tightened over his. He adverted his gaze, jaw clenched, but Eliza forced his eyes to hers.

  “Why?” she asked quietly.

  “I know how… dangerous the power of the Ecix is.” Thorne’s jaw ticked as he looked her over, eyes flashing with despair. “I’ve seen it kill people.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “How long have you known about my magic?”

  “Since the moment I saw you,” he murmured, unable to meet her stare. “I felt it calling to me. There was only one other person…” He shook his head. “I just know that it’s dangerous, Eliza.”

  They stood in silence for several moments, listening to the soldiers as they worked through the rubble. Those final words hung between them in the tense silence, though neither one tried to pull away.

  He was right, but at the same time, there had always been the chance that she would be dragged into this mess. She was a Blood Witch, after all. If anything, that made her just as much of a target.

  “Commander Thorne!” a soldier shouted, dragging Eliza and Thorne out of their own thoughts. “We found a body!”

  Eliza’s eyes widened, and she met Thorne’s confused stare. He let her stand from her perch on the rock, and together they watched as several soldiers carefully lifted a body from the rubble.

  “Amitel?” Eliza whispered as she caught sight of blonde hair, but… something wasn’t right about the way it sat upon his head. She couldn’t see the leather tie that tied his hair together, couldn’t see the full length of it. All she could see was blood mixed into the sand that coated his head. But hope still flared in her chest.

  Eliza took several steps forward as the medic met with the soldiers. She stopped short as she took in Alicsar’s body; blood splattered across his tunic, now stained red by the sand; his hair had taken on a red colour due to the sand and his blood, and his skin had taken on a sickly pallor. But his eyes fluttered, and the medic flashed a small smile when he checked Alicsar’s pulse.

  The commander in charge of the soldiers walked up to Eliza, eyes trained on Alicsar’s unmoving body. “Who is this young man?” he asked, voice rough and wary. A look of recognition passed over his face as he took in Alicsar’s body again.

  Before Eliza could get a word in, the medic said, “My… is that?” He turned to Eliza for conformation. The look on her face must have said everything. “The Prince! The Prince has been found!”

  37

  MEMORIES BEST LEFT BURRIED

  Sweat coated Eliza’s body as she twisted and turned in her cot. The room she’d been given on the ship seemed to grow warmer. The blanket that had covered her now twisted about her ankles, tying her down as she was forced to relive her worst memories.

  The cavern, being trapped with Alicsar as he waved his knowledge about like he had already won; the shadow soldiers, tied to her before being slaughtered; the raven and the cave-in; suffocating, her blood coating her…

  A sob escaped her cracked lips as she pushed herself off the cot. Planting her feet on the wooden floor, she sucked in several deep breaths, forcing her heartbeat to slow to a calming pace. But all the blood, betrayal, and lies came back to her, assaulting her senses. She could still smell the copper of her blood. In the corner of her eyes she swore she could still see the sand of the desert, and the swaying skeletons that had watched her from above. The whispers of the spirits trapped in the mountain came to her so often she thought she was still there, trapped in a cell with her arms over her head.

  Releasing a breath, Eliza shoved her feet into her boots. The minute they had made it to the barracks, and she had been handed clean clothes, she’d stripped down to nothing and had burnt her filthy clothing. She wanted nothing that reminded her of her time with Alicsar. Everything she had worn was covered in blood anyway or torn from the fight. There was nothing salvageable—not even her boots.

  But the prince had been saved, pulled from the rubble like a messiah. She could still see the soldiers in her mind swarming him, begging him for answers, the medic’s eyes on her as she confirmed that the man in the sand was—to her understanding—the lost prince of Cadira.

  Prince Alicsar of Cadira had no memory of who he was, or who he had been.

  It had taken them a couple of long hours to get to the soldier’s outpost; the prince hadn’t been able to move quickly, and the commander overseeing the soldiers had been too afraid of losing the newly found prince to make haste. But Eliza hadn’t been able to bring herself to care, too numb to focus. She hadn’t been able to sleep, and Thorne refused to answer any of her questions regarding Celia.

  From the outpost, it was three days to Port Beewold. Waiting for them with a ship had been Captain Jed of the King’s Guard, and Keeper Tyr, the white-haired portal keeper Eliza had met at the Winter Palace.

  Both had seemed surprised to see Eliza, silent when the healers had carried Alicsar aboard, still unconscious despite their best efforts.

  Eliza tried not to care.

  Keeper Tyr had pulled Eliza aside to talk about the mission, about going back to the king.

  But Eliza hadn’t been able to answer and had merely walked away.

  The thin, long-sleeved tunic she’d been wearing w
as slick with sweat. Pulling it over her head, she picked up a clean shirt and put it on, sighing as the cool material brushed against her hot skin.

  She touched her cheeks, hot with the remnants of her nightmares. No longer did she dream about the swaying bodies above her head or the shadow creature slaying her in the abandoned camp. Instead, her dreams and thoughts were plagued with Alicsar.

  The door to her cabin creaked, and the floorboards groaned as she stepped out. The only sounds were the snores of several guards, and the roaring of the ocean. She rocked back and forth on her feet for a moment as she gathered the courage to leave the small corridor. Across from her was Thorne’s room, and to her right, in the medical bay, was Alicsar. Both rooms were unnaturally silent.

  Shaking her head, Eliza walked out onto the deck of the ship. One man watched the waves from the crows-nest; he looked down at her when she stepped out but directed his stare elsewhere just as quickly.

  Two more people wandered the ship aimlessly, keeping watch in case of a threat.

  Eliza stopped; breath stuck in her throat.

  Standing by the railings, dressed only in a thin, cotton undershirt and rolled up pants, Alicsar gazed out over rolling ocean.

  A floorboard groaned under her weight as she stepped back, intent on returning to her room. Alicsar’s face flashed in the back of her mind; a ferocious smile and a sword made of shadows. Her blood coating his hands.

  Eliza spun around but stopped at the sound of his voice. “Wait.” He didn’t sound the same. There was a softness, an innocence in his voice that she could only associate with a child. Uncertainty lingered beneath the single word, causing her to look back. He almost sounded like the boy she had met in the capital, who had found her wandering the corridors and had gazed up at the stars with her.

  She couldn’t bring herself to focus on his face, though. In the last couple of days, he had grown the shadow of a beard that changed his face drastically; it aged him but contradicted the youth shimmering in his eyes.

  “I knew you, didn’t I?” The question came out almost hopeful.

  Eliza turned around fully and crossed her arms over her chest. Sweat still clung to her, and she hated it. She hated how nice it felt to be outside because it was cooling her off. She hated how she enjoyed the night air, despite Alicsar being only a few feet away.

  She gave a simple nod, untrusting of her words. She was sure if she spoke, her voice would crack and she’d scream. She’d beg for the time before his betrayal, before the entire mission.

  “I hurt you.” It wasn’t a question. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the fact that she kept scratching at her sides with blunt nails. But those three, simple words, resonated within her. Because he hadn’t—not the man in front of her. She didn’t know him, didn’t recognise him. It was the man he was before that hurt her.

  Eliza pursed her lips, unsure of how to answer. Suspicion rose in the pit of her stomach, but she wasn’t sure what to make of him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, voice carrying. She could hear the sincerity in his words, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept his apology. How could she when he’d attempted to kill her on more than one occasion?

  With a nod in his direction, Eliza hugged her arms to herself, and walked back to her cabin.

  ~

  Alicsar hadn’t made an attempt to speak with Eliza again before they docked. But she hadn’t made any attempt to go anywhere near him either.

  Her nightmares grew worse the longer they travelled. From the port, she knew they had only a day’s ride before reaching the capital and the king, and the closer they got, the more she dreaded it.

  Her future was in the king’s hands, whether she liked it or not. Was it too late to run away? she wondered, taking in their escort as they began their journey back. There had been no word from the king since the barracks—he hadn’t sent a message or a letter asking about their progress, though she doubted she’d hear anything about it if he did; the leader of their escort took care of everything. She welcomed the ignorant bliss she could live in, even if just for a day.

  The escort used the cover of night to smuggle the prince into the palace; Eliza had watched his face carefully for any sign of recognition or change in his demeanour. But when he saw the towers and spires that jutted into the clouds above them, a look of wonder and fascination had danced across his face. His eyes danced over the turrets and the gargoyles, the stone balconies with their detailed-railings, and the walls of vines that gave the palace its ancient feeling.

  Their party didn’t use the main entrance, but rather circled the wall of the palace and entered through a private tunnel that took them directly to the guards’ barracks.

  Eliza dismounted quickly. She grabbed her bag and landed off her horse before rushing into the gardens.

  Despite the cool, night air, she still felt like she was suffocating, like she was still in the cavern, sticky with blood and coated in sand, being buried alive by rubble and ancient skeletons.

  “You took off,” Thorne said, catching up to her by the hedges. He touched her shoulder lightly, but she brushed him off. “Are you okay?”

  She released a shuddering breath. “I just can’t stand it. I can’t stand the silence or any of this.”

  He cocked his head, eyes softening. “You should not be going through this alone.”

  “But I am,” she said, sucking in a breath. “I have to, because now Bastian has my life in his hands.” Eliza wrapped her arms around herself, shaking. She looked at him then, voice breaking. “I don’t want any of this.”

  Jed, called over to them, beckoning the two to join the group as they headed towards the palace. His crooked fingers hooked around the pommel of his sword, and his inky-black hair shone in the dim gaslight outside of the barracks. A look of impatience crossed his features, but Eliza wasn’t in any hurry.

  Thorne placed a hand on her back. “You can talk to me, whenever you are ready.”

  Eliza remained silent as they met with the group. The moon sat still in the sky, occasionally obscured by clouds. Nearing midnight, barely a soul littered the gardens, save for the spirits only Eliza could see. Guards who patrolled the grounds were as quiet as death.

  “Elizabeth.”

  Her head shot up, heart racing. Standing in a flood of golden light, dressed in black-slacks, leather shoes, and a simple grey, button-down dress-shirt, her grandfather smiled warmly down at her.

  Eliza pushed through the party and ran towards Davis, throwing herself in his arms. He smelt like exhaust fumes and powdered sugar and home.

  “I missed you,” she murmured, hugging him close. “Gods, I missed you.”

  She could feel his laughter as his chest vibrated and his arms closed around her. “I missed you too, my little witch.”

  ~

  In twenty minutes, you’ll meet with the king.

  It wasn’t enough time for her to properly prepare, but her grandfather had guided her to his bedroom, handed her a set of clean, fresh clothing, and told her to get ready.

  Exactly twenty minutes later, she paced outside the king’s office dressed in a simple white blouse and a pair of her favourite jeans from New Orleans. Her breath sounded ragged in her ears, and it took all her will not to just turn around and walk away.

  The door to the study opened, and Eliza was beckoned inside.

  Sitting behind a dark-oak desk, the king watched her critically as she took a seat before him. At Bastian’s side was Jed, ink-black hair swept back, and sitting beside Eliza was Alicsar, looking just as grim as she felt.

  Eliza’s heart plummeted, stomach churning. She tried not to flinch.

  “I am glad to see you both in one piece.” His dark eyes roamed her face; she noticed how he refused to look towards where his son sat. Shouldn’t they be celebrating?

  Something in her gut twisted. Had Alicsar’s memories come back? Had he mentioned… no. If he had said something, he—or she—would likely be in chains.

  Eliza shifted in h
er seat warily, aware of the king’s eyes on her. She lifted her gaze to meet his.

  “I would like to know why my son has no memory.”

  The bluntness of his question startled her, but did it surprise her? Of course he wanted to know why his son had no memory of his capture and sudden rescue. Eliza wanted to chide herself but refrained from making any movement.

  But she could feel the prince’s eyes on her, like a weight that could not be lifted. She could imagine the question in them:

  What did this strange girl know?

  Eliza swallowed. “All I know is that upon the cave-in, Prince Alicsar lost all his memories.”

  King Bastian sat back in his chair, dark brows rising. “You must understand, Elizabeth, that I find it hard to believe that he lost his memories upon being rescued. What happened?”

  Eliza clenched her jaw, her gaze finding Alicsar’s. Mouth going dry, Eliza wasn’t sure what to say to him; hope flashed in his bright eyes, taking her by surprise. It coiled around her heart, stopping her breath in her throat. It was her chance, she realised, to tell the truth, to reveal to King Bastian that his son had been working with the Dark Master.

  Then what was stopping her?

  “Elizabeth?” the king prompted, sitting forward.

  Shaking her head, Eliza swallowed back the words that would guarantee her as a traitor. Why wouldn’t it? The king wanted a beacon of hope, and if Eliza threatened that, then not only would she be arrested—then likely executed on the grounds of having necromancy—but her whole family would be in danger too.

  Not just her grandfather or Kay, but Thorne and Celia too.

  “I made it to the mountain alone,” she said, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. “When I arrived, I was taken by the Dark Master’s soldiers and thrown into a cell. After a while, they came back for me and took me to the main chamber. That’s where I found your son, but no Dark Master. There was a fight; the prince was knocked out, and I used my… magic to free us. That’s when Commander Thorne found us and the cave-in happened. I was too far from the prince to help him, and I was injured.”