The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1)

by Stephanie Anne

  Maybe it’s personal, she thought with a twist of her lips. Maybe I should give it to Grandpa.

  Though the thought ran through her mind, she didn’t. Instead, she flipped to the first page and began to read.

  ~

  As the light outside her bedroom window faded—and she was forced to plug in her rusty desk-top lamp—she struggled through the first hundred-or-so pages before stopping at a short entry, handwritten under a poorly sketched image of a woman in a temple:

  The Goddess Azula made herself known through peace and power; when the dark ages came to the land of Cadira, all hope and freedom was thought to have been lost. Azula, Princess of the mountain tribes, widow of Eyria, King of the Mountains, rose through the ash of the Jaedera temple and brought justice to the Old King. She fought with a dagger whose hilt was thought to have been carved from the last of the Vaya people, the blade cut from the Irisia rock thousands of years ago…

  Eliza skimmed through the passage more, searching for something else, something that might indicate why the raven had chosen this book, but the rest had been crossed out, with the following page torn straight from the binding.

  Running her finger over the paper, Eliza wondered what else could have been in there, and why someone would have wanted to destroy it completely.

  She shook her head, perplexed. She shuffled an old playlist of jazz music on her phone, the elegant and soulful tone of the saxophone filling her ears. She flipped through the rest of the book, only to come up with a different image—a tapestry of Azula rising from ruins, a dagger in one hand, and a ball of light in the other. Behind her, spirits—Eliza could only guess that’s what they were based on the strange, cartoon-like style of the figures—rose towards the only light in the black sky.

  But there was no passage, no explanation.

  The page beside it had been torn out.

  Eliza slammed the book shut and threw it across the room. It landed on her bed with a soft thump.

  What the hell is going on?

  She ran her hand over her mouth and sat back in her chair. The clock on her desk flashed eight, and darkness had fully descended on the lively city of New Orleans. From her window, she could make out the sparkling city. The city she loved… and would be leaving in five days.

  Five days. She wanted to hurl.

  Looking back at the book, Eliza gave up, and went to bed.

  ~

  She couldn’t get the ringing in her ears to stop, despite the explosions of battle being long behind them. It echoed in her head alongside the screams of all those she’d slaughtered. She couldn’t get it out of her head, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Perhaps hearing their screams will atone for the wrongs she was forced to commit.

  Forced? She laughed at herself, at her naivety. She wasn’t forced to do anything, and yet she pushed aside her morality on the eve of war. Could she really blame a spoilt monarch for her decision to fight? She bowed before no crown, and yet she fought for one anyway. She did so to ensure that her love and her sisters would be safe.

  But she could not say the same for her soul, for her own life.

  Turning to her love, she held out her hand, watching as he took it and squeezed, letting all his frustration and pain flow into her.

  “I am glad I got to see you,” he murmured, leaning in close to plant a kiss on her forehead. “But I wish you had saved yourself.”

  She shook her head. “I love you, more than I do myself, more than this kingdom and this world. If your passion is to fight for it with the Brotherhood and the Fae, alongside man, then I shall do the same—by your side.” She stood and pulled him away from the campsite where they had been sitting, dragging him towards the tree line. “I wanted, for once, to be there for you, to make sure you were safe. Like you have always done for me.”

  He kissed her then, hungry and passionately. Her lips parted and he slid his tongue into her mouth. They stayed that way, locked in each other’s embrace for several moments before breaking apart, their breaths heavy as they gazed longingly into one another’s eyes. Her heart raced, and when she placed her hand over his, she could feel his pulse beat in time with hers.

  “I wish we could stay like this,” she murmured, before looking up at him, “because I love you more than I thought I would love anyone.”

  He gave her a small smile. “Your people won’t be happy about this.”

  “What can they do?” she asked with a grin. “I am to lead them one day. It is, and always will be, my destiny. Loving you will not change any of that.”

  His dark eyes softened. “No,” he replied, smile widening, “no it won’t.” He pushed her against a tree and his lips found hers again. They stood in each other’s embrace for several long moments before the sounds of their fellow soldiers brought them back to the reality that was war.

  “How much longer must we wait?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck. “How much longer until we can finally be together?”

  He kissed her neck, moving his lips up to her earlobe. “I will do anything I have to, if that means getting to be with you.” He bit down on the soft spot between her neck and ear, and she moaned at the feeling.

  “This is not fair,” she murmured, stifling another moan as his hand slid up her side.

  He chuckled into the soft skin of her neck. “It doesn’t have to be.” His hot breath sent shivers down her spine, and she arched her back at the feeling of his skin touching hers.

  Shouts sounded behind them, loud and clear despite the fog that seemed to cover the pair. Quickly, they sprung apart, both breathing heavily, both ready for any fight that came their way.

  Several soldiers barrelled through the tree line. She stopped one, holding a hand to his chest as his heartbeat raced beneath her fingers.

  “What is going on?” she asked, brows furrowed. The mortal man dragged his eyes over her body, over her ceremonial armour and belt full of weapons.

  He blanched. “It’s looking for you.” The mortal pulled himself away from her grip and ran into the trees, followed by the remainder of the human army they had travelled with.

  Raising a brow, she pulled her grimoire from the pack tied to her waist, flipping through the neatly scrawled pages, until she came across the spell she needed.

  “Stand behind me,” she said, as she pulled liquid fire from her belt. She shook the vial three times and whispered a short spell beneath her breath, calling forth the spirits that dwelled within the forest.

  The first to come to her was that of an old man, hobbled even in death. He limped towards her, and she could see the wounds that had killed him. Half his skull was missing, as was an eye, but that didn’t stop him from giving her a calm, sincere smile.

  “Do you know what is out there?” she asked, addressing the old man.

  He looked down. “Darkness personified,” he whispered in his mother tongue. It took her a moment to understand his words, to match them to what she knew.

  Changing dialect, she spoke in the native Valondean tongue. “What is the darkness you speak of?”

  “It is a monster,” the old man said, meeting her stare, “and it is angry with you. You are the one who killed its kin.”

  Clenching her jaw, she turned to her lover and repeated what the old man had said. She kept her voice low, aware of the other spirits coming to join them. Several were their own soldiers who had been caught in the crossfire.

  “If it wants me, then you need to run,” she said, resting a hand on his chest. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, encircling the plain silver chain he had given to her—a present from when he claimed that they would be together forever.

  She knew he was shaking his head, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. “If you die tonight, then I will never forgive myself. Please, go now and take my heart with you,” she pleaded. “I will protect you, and I will find you.”

  He swallowed thickly, voice hoarse as he said, “I will never leave you.” She finally looked up into his eyes, so deep and alluring
, and planted a long kiss on his full lips.

  “Go!” And he did. He stepped away from her, despite his better instincts, and he turned, her bracelet in his hand. He entered the thicket of trees and did not look back.

  Guilt made bile rise in her throat; the magic she’d used on him left a bitter taste in her mouth, felt wrong as it died on her fingertips.

  Releasing a breath, she turned around and faced her now ruined campsite, exiting the tree line so that she was now out in the open. Several bodies lay dead, scattered in various states; some had been undressing, readying to sleep, while others had settled in for guard duty. She saw the human general laying several feet from her, his spirit standing close.

  With a dip of her chin, she raised her arms above her head and sent out a wave of pure magic; it hit the spirits of the fallen soldiers, giving them the strength to take back their bodies.

  She did not have to wait long for the darkness; it crawled over an outcrop of rocks on the other side of the campsite, sticky tendrils of shadow wrapping itself over everything in its path. It had no body, no solid form, other than the faint outline of a man controlling the creature of darkness.

  “You want me?” she called out, raising her chin. She jerked her hands like a puppet master and animated the bodies around her, bringing them to life. Pointing to the darkness, she sent her small, undead army towards it. “You can have me.”

  The soldiers raced towards the figure controlling the darkness, throwing themselves into the line of fire. The tendrils of shadow cut through them, but it did not keep them down for long. Each time they stumbled, the undead rose and continued fighting.

  She reached for the liquid fire once more. She did not shake the vial, but instead threw it in an arc and smiled as it burned brightly in the centre of the camp, where the bonfire had once burnt.

  The fire rose into the night sky until it illuminated everything. The darkness shied away, only to attack with far more vigour than she’d expected. A slimy hand of shadows struck at her fiercely, the blow knocking her to the ground.

  Grunting, she commanded the soldiers to attack the figure again, sending her own power towards the spirits that surrounded her. They rose, her undead army, and surged towards the beast, completely untouchable by the darkness. Although the creature attempted to destroy the spirits, they merely re-appeared a moment later.

  Something struck her, dark magic doused in something else, something ancient. She stumbled back, confusion rushing through her. Breathing heavily, the witch looked down at herself, at the bloody wound that snaked over her chest.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Startled, she looked up and met the eyes of the Fae Knight. The black raven sat perched on his shoulder calmly, looking down at her with its beady gold eyes.

  She looked towards the darkness, now gone. Everything was gone.

  Except her wound.

  Blood continued to bubble from the deadly cut on her chest. “I will die here, won’t I?” she asked, shaking. Blood dripped from her lips. One of her lungs had been punctured.

  The Knight looked down on her as she collapsed, his helmet now in his hands. “You will. But you will be reborn.”

  “What about my destiny?” she asked, tears sliding down her face. “What about my love?”

  The raven cried out then, as if it were in pain. The Knight grunted. “Your destiny awaits you, as will your love. But it is your time.”

  “I cannot leave,” she whispered. “Save me, so that I can fight this darkness.”

  The Fae Knight shook his head and looked away. A shimmering, silver tear slid down his face. Fae rarely cried. “I cannot do that.”

  A shuddering breath left her lips. Suddenly, there were hands cupping hers.

  Above her, her sister sat, tears streaming down her face. “You should not have joined this war, Sister.”

  The witch managed to shake her head. “I had to. It was my duty.”

  “No,” her sister argued, “it was your love that brought you here. And it was love that destroyed you.”

  “Love did not kill me.” She coughed, and more blood dribbled down her lips. Despite all her powers, all her magic, she could not bring herself back to life. It was not her destiny. “That creature did this. Promise me you will find a way to destroy it, Sister. Find a way for it to die, so that when I do come back to this life, I will be able to fight back.”

  Her sister nodded sadly as the witch’s eyes closed, and her heart beat for the last time.

  “When will she return?”

  The Knight was silent for a moment as the raven cried out again. “I do not know. But you will know when she does. You will feel it in your bones.”

  When the sister looked up, the Knight and his raven were gone.

  “I will find this weapon,” she promised, hugging her sister to her. “No matter what. I promise that to you.”

  ~

  Fear kept Eliza awake over the following nights; terrifying thoughts wrapped themselves around her every time she closed her eyes. She was caught between curiosity and fear, unable to distinguish either. Her thundering heart and visions of shadow creatures and wars told her to be afraid, but dreams of forgotten lands and a flicker of hope told her to wait before she judged.

  It was curiosity and flickering hope that had kept her awake the night before her departure.

  As she agonised over what she was supposed to pack into her old, dusty duffle, she thought once more about the dream that now seemed to occur every night. Who were the people—the man and the woman? But there was a flicker of recognition that flared within her when she recounted the dream to herself.

  It was just a bad dream. She stared at her pale, trembling fingers before closing her hand into a fist. A dream and nothing more. The raven and the Knight had been there, too. That was enough for her to shove her fear aside.

  Fear of Cadira. How long would she have to stay? Eliza looked down at her pitiful bag and released a sigh. She had no real memories of Cadira; only flashes of a life her grandfather had once told her about, years ago. Did that count? If she did have any memories, they were overshadowed by her anxiety brought on by the dream.

  Dressing slowly, Eliza chose all black; black jeans, a black sweater, even her black docs, almost like she was dressing for any normal day in New Orleans, filled with lessons on magic and afternoons being drilled on both mortal history and the history of Cadira.

  Sunrise slowly dawned on the horizon, drawing Eliza’s stare to the clock on her desk and the blaring numbers on its surface. 5am. She had less than an hour left before her grandfather would appear to bundle her up and smuggle her to another world. So, Eliza shoved in whatever clothes she could manage, filling her duffle within moments.

  Eliza heard Kay call from downstairs for breakfast. Could she really eat before such a monumental day?

  A caw brought her attention to the window, to where the golden-eyed raven sat perched on her windowsill. Eliza sucked in a breath. Standing, hidden by shadows across the street, the Faery Knight waited.

  Eliza turned away momentarily and steadied her racing heart.

  The raven cawed again, and when Eliza turned back to the window, the bird flew away. Eliza searched for the Knight, but he was gone too.

  She left the comfort of her bedroom. There was an unusual silence that settled over the house as she descended into the courtyard. Waiting at the wrought iron table, Kay poured herself a cup of tea while her grandfather sipped casually from a take-out cup of coffee. Eliza’s place across from Kay had been set for her, with an unfilled porcelain cup, her favourite travel mug—filled with black coffee, she hoped—and what looked like a double-choc-chip muffin.

  They’re buttering me up now. All her favourite things laid out before her, like they were preparing her to never see them again.

  Eliza looked down at the muffin. She could smell the bitter aroma of her coffee. Despite not feeling hungry before, she was suddenly certain she could scoff down the food in front of her without hesitat
ion, nerves and fear be damned. There’s no way I’ll be getting food like this in Cadira.

  It was that thought that sobered her.

  Kay looked her over with a raised brow, face whitening at the duffel bag and satchel, already packed.

  “You never really explained if I’d be staying overnight,” Eliza said, lips tightening into a frown, “so I packed just in case.” When there was no response, Eliza dropped the bags and sat down. She stabbed her fork into the muffin. “What are you going to say to people?”

  People like Ambrose, who ran the museum, or Miss Constance next door, who Eliza helped every Thursday with her groceries. What would Eliza’s guardians tell her Maths tutor, who already found it strange that Eliza didn’t go to regular school?

  “We’ll figure that out,” Davis said quietly, stiffly. Eliza looked up to meet his eye, but he was already looking down at the newspaper spread across his lap. As if finally sensing her stare, her grandfather looked up. He must have seen the nerves—the despair that filled her eyes—because he sighed and closed the paper. “You always have a choice. But I do suggest meeting with King Bastian and hearing what he has to say. It might help you understand.”

  Eliza sat back, grinding her teeth together. Her nose and eyes stung, like she was going to cry, and it pissed her off. “Understand what? That there are secrets you won’t tell me?” She shook her head, exasperated.

  Kay and Davis shared a quiet, unrelenting look that made Eliza groan. “I can’t do this with you. I just want to get this over with, okay?” She stood, grabbing her bags and throwing them over her shoulders. She raised a brow at her grandfather. “We have to go, don’t we?”

  Once again, the two adults before her shared a look, and it was then that Eliza spotted the tears that brimmed in Kay’s violet eyes. The older woman’s thin lips wobbled ever so slightly, and when she breathed in Eliza could see her body shake.