The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1)

by Stephanie Anne

  Her hair was washed, and various oils and soaps were used to make her skin glow. During the quick work, Eliza tried to relax; tried to think about anything other than what was to come. She was going to meet the king. Eliza was dreading it, but at the same time, excitement bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

  Eliza lived and breathed New Orleans and the limitless life she’d been living. Being home-schooled, the only authority she’d had to deal with were her guardians. When she worked at the museum, she and her boss were more likely to discuss movies than her lack of ambition. She’d always assumed her future had something to do with the wards, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  When Eliza got out of the tub, Clio wrapped a soft towel around Eliza’s shoulders. She was told to dry herself, and without complaint, she did. All the while, Clio prepared the gown.

  The dress had long sleeves that slipped off the shoulders and an A-line skirt, all in navy blue with silver-detailing around the neckline and bodice. It slipped over her skin like water… like magic.

  Eliza looked herself over with a furrowed brow, twisting to see the back; it dipped, the cut going low, but where she thought she might see skin, she saw silver lace covering her back. Might as well look nice if this is the day I die, she thought with a twist of her lips.

  An inkling of doubt gathered in her gut. Would the king really do all this to kill me? She hoped not.

  Clio braided Eliza’s hair next, letting it fall down her back before weaving it up into a crown. When she tried to do Eliza’s makeup, Eliza had refused, scrunching her face in disgust at the heavy powder and the red lip-paint the maid was about to cake onto Eliza’s face. Not even in New Orleans did she wear makeup, save for the occasional swipe of mascara or cute lip-gloss.

  A knock sounded at the door, startling Eliza away from the mirror—from looking at the paleness of her skin and the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  She was glad that she hadn’t downed all the food that had been brought up to her while she’d been bathing, because if she had, she was sure she’d be feeling absolutely sick.

  The doors opened after a moment, revealing the butler and her grandfather, who looked just as worried as Eliza. He nodded once to her and offered his hand, to which Eliza accepted, thankful for the support.

  “You look beautiful, Elizabeth,” Davis said once out of earshot of Eliza’s maid and their guide. “You clean up nicely.”

  Eliza snorted, her heart rate slowing. She sucked in a breath, the corset of the dress no longer so stifling, but it still pinched at her waist and chest. The presence of her grandfather was enough to calm her, to make her breathe again.

  She tried to crack a smile, but the tightness in her chest stopped her. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, Grandpa.”

  The doorman led them down to the second story, though they did not descend any farther. They took a left towards what Eliza assumed was the king’s private court. But they turned away, the doorman leading them down an additional hall, before stopping.

  Bile rose in her throat; she should be looking at something besides the door before her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere else. The feeling of being trapped was suddenly all consuming.

  “Breathe.” Eliza turned to look at her grandfather then, and could see the worry in his grey, ageless eyes. Worried for her? She hoped not. If he was concerned, then something was wrong.

  The palace butler swept out a hand as he dipped into an elegant bow; the tails of his suit-jacket brushed the back of his knees, swaying in an almost unfeeling breeze. His other hand deftly turned the gold handle to the king’s study. She ignored the off-putting perfection to the way he looked.

  Eliza sucked in a breath, urging her heartbeat to slow. Despite her grandfather’s steadying presence beside her, she could still feel sweat on her upper lip. That fear of not having answers, of being so close and yet so far from what she sought, left her stomach turning. But she couldn’t deny the small seed of curiosity curdling in her heart, a flickering flame in the darkness that dictated her every move.

  Davis guided Eliza into the king’s office, hand warm and steady on her back. She ignored the racing of her heart as she took in the room—wide, floor to ceiling windows took up an entire wall, and heavy grey drapes pushed aside to reveal the grey, cloud-stricken skies beyond. Heat emitting from a fireplace made her sweat more, but she eyed the portrait hanging above the mantle, at the woman depicted in paint; strong, sharp cheekbones, and glaring sea-green eyes. Her ebony hair was wound like a crown atop her head, detailed with jewels and flowers.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Eliza started, turning wide-eyed to the king.

  He watched her from the other side of the room, leaning casually against a wall of shelves. His dark eyes took her in, and suddenly, she felt exposed.

  He looked younger than she expected, though she truly wasn’t sure what she had imagined of the king. Bastian’s dark hair was neatly combed back, his dark brows set in a frown. His equally black eyes were critical in the way he assessed her.

  Swallowing, she looked back to the portrait, taking in the familiar dagger strapped to the woman’s thigh. “Is it the Goddess Azula?”

  The king barked a laugh as his long fingers stroked at his pointed beard. “No.” He walked towards her slowly, and she had the awful feeling that she was being stalked. “A Queen of Cadira, though not by birth. She married into the royal family, but unfortunately bore no heirs.”

  The king turned his back to her, looking out over the grey sky and forest beyond the window. “I am glad that you made it here, Miss Kindall. Please, do take a seat.”

  She sat on one of the plush chairs situated by the fire, dress now sticking to her body. She felt the heat rolling off the flames, but it did not stave off the dread she’d felt moments before.

  “I suppose you noticed the darkness,” he said, back still to her. “How it weaves through the land like a plague.”

  Eliza shuddered, remembering the twist in her gut when she had stepped out of the temple. She’d sensed it, yes, but to hear it from the king’s mouth made her go still.

  “It started the day we were attacked, the darkness. Did you know that?” He didn’t give her the chance to reply; his voice had taken on a softer tone, like he was lost in a memory. “Perhaps it started before that, but we truly felt it then. The death of the queen and the princess, the kidnapping of my son, Alicsar… it had a ripple effect.

  “We thought keeping the search a secret would help the land heal,” he said. “We hoped the people would forget, but it made its mark, and for that reason we could never recover. Keepers and Elders alike thought leaving it alone and moving on might help…” The king finally turned to her, shaking his head ruefully. Red-rimmed, his dark eyes and his cheeks looked hollow, skin pale. “Here we are. Twenty years later with a witch who may or may not have the answers.”

  Eliza swallowed the lump in her throat. She hugged herself tightly, a chill seeping through her gown. Even with a roaring fire, she felt cold. “Why me?”

  The king cocked his head. “You tell me, girl. You were attacked by the same men who took my son and killed my family. Eight years later.”

  She found herself looking towards her grandfather for answers; he must know the reason, she thought, furrowing her brows. If anyone would know, it’s him. But he shook his head, running a hand over white stubble. Disappointment shuddered through her as she turned back to the king.

  “I-I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

  Those dark eyes never strayed from Eliza, not even as he sat across from her, folding his large hands over his lap. “I have a feeling you’ve been chosen for something, something far greater than a small tribe in the wilderness.” His eyes narrowed. “If the bastard who stole Alicsar wanted you, then what do you have that he seeks?”

  While she’d tried to come to terms with her fear in New Orleans, it came flooding back in that moment. With the king watching her and her grandfather standing only a few feet awa
y, she couldn’t stop the racing of her heart.

  Oh, Gods, no. What is he talking about? She thought about her magic, her necromancy, bile rising in her throat. Is he going to kill me? Is that why I was hunted down? Is that why they wanted me?

  Is he going to finish the job?

  Eliza’s hands shook as she tucked them into her lap. “Why am I here, Majesty?”

  He blinked, and looked away, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I’ve taken your… image into consideration, what it could mean if the hunted became the hunter.” He stood; she took in the dark pants and polished boots. “Imagine what would happen if a young girl, who had once been hunted by our enemies, found the crown prince of her kingdom?” He turned to her then, a twisted smile on his face. “What would happen should the people once again find their hope in a young witch determined to save her world?”

  Heart racing, Eliza felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. I can’t… I can’t save Cadira! I’m just a witch from New Orleans. I’m a necromancer. I’ll die.

  “What if I don’t want to?” she asked meekly, folding in on herself as his eyes darkened.

  “Then you run the risk of exile, Eliza Kindall. That world you are so fond of… you will never see it again. You will never see your family again; you will never set foot in this kingdom again.”

  Her heart stopped in her chest, and without breathing, she looked to her grandfather; he’d gone still beside the wall of bookshelves, his back stiff as a board, his weathered skin as white as snow. But she didn’t see an inkling of surprise on his face, nothing to indicate that he hadn’t known what she was getting into.

  “There is a war threatening to take our kingdom.” Her eyes flashed back to the king. He brushed a hand over a mounted map of Cadira, from the desert region of Mesah down to the Court of Light to the south. “We have enemies that we cannot see, bloodshed that cannot be accounted for. There is upheaval in the smallest villages and rebellion in the largest. Entire towns are disappearing and being slaughtered.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” she asked quietly. The king’s eyes snapped to hers, and an unquestionable anger filtered through those dark depths.

  Before the king could reply, a hand—warm and familiar—touched her shoulder. “Elizabeth. Show some respect to your king.”

  Despite the softness of his voice, the scolding of her grandfather’s words shuddered through her. Heat flooded her cheeks as she refused to meet the hardened stare of the monarch. To be trusted with a job by the king and then to be treated like a child… She forced herself to suck in a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

  It must be a mistake, Eliza thought with conviction but deep down she knew that wasn’t true. It can’t be me, I’m nothing.

  Out of all the possible outcomes, she hadn’t thought of this.

  At this rate, she’d rather be shoved into an arranged marriage or claimed by a money-hungry aunt. That was something she could escape—somehow. But this?

  To work for the king, to be his personal hunter… the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  “I must prevent war at any costs, and to do that—according to my council and advisors—I must consider the people. To uphold an image of complete power means sacrificing control.” He took the seat across from her once again, shifting so that he leaned towards her. His voice dropped. “Find my son and stave off a war. Fail, and we all lose.”

  She shook her head. “I’m just a witch from New Orleans.” She barely had any control over her necromancy, not to mention anything in that world. “I grew up there, not here.”

  The king sat back and spared her a tight smile. “Precisely. I’ve had my best search for my son, and I’ve had common people search, too. Each with varying skills, each with an array of powers. None, with abilities like yours.”

  Eliza swallowed the lump in her throat. The fear she’d been suppressing rose in waves. She clutched the arms of her chair, fingers turning white, seeking a moment to escape.

  Icy fingers brushed gently against her neck, and her frantic gaze met her grandfather’s. He shook his head in warning.

  She looked back to the king, to his calm posture and blank eyes, and whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, accentuated by her thrumming fear and almost drowned out by the thundering of her heart.

  “I know of your powers. That you can hear and see things others cannot.”

  Eliza turned back to her grandfather, betrayal flashing in her heart. She slid farther into her seat, farther into herself. How could he do this to me? She’d seen the words, read them, heard them from Kay’s lips: necromancers were hunted to near extinction.

  Suddenly, she was at the king’s mercy, her life now in his hands. She felt her freedom slip from her hands and bundle in his own. If she failed, she’d face death—perhaps her family would, too, for protecting her.

  King Bastian continued, as if unaware of Eliza’s fear, her thoughts. “Your abilities are almost unheard of in our kingdom.”

  Yeah, she thought, clenching her fists. Because rulers like you killed them off.

  “You see, necromancy is fickle, but it came to my attention twelve years ago that you—a little witch, attacked by Demon Masters, hunted down until all you could do was disappear—had that forbidden kernel of magic.” He cocked his head, fascination glinting in his eyes. She couldn’t help but narrow her own and glare. “My council and I had to wonder if perhaps you were vital in finding my son; what made an unnamed witch so special in the eyes of my son’s kidnapper? What could a five-year-old girl do that hundreds before her could not?”

  Fear quickly turned to anger. Unnamed witch. She’d been a child, as much a victim as he. She thought about the lack of memories, the half-truths, the unanswered questions that had plagued her growing up. “It’s nothing you have to worry about,” her grandfather had said.

  But she’d been taken from Cadira, because she’d been a target. She’d escaped, while the king’s family couldn’t.

  She understood his feelings; the resentment that flickered in his eyes whenever he looked at her. She felt the same way whenever she thought about the world she’d been forced to leave behind. Sitting before him was a girl who had escaped a fate his daughter, wife, and son, did not.

  “Where is your sense of adventure,” Kay had asked her only a week ago. When had Eliza lost that spark of excitement to see what the world had to offer?

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly, voice unwavering.

  The king smiled. “I want you to use your abilities—discretely—to find my son. Bring him home alive, and should you do so, I will give you everything you could ever desire.”

  Her heart thundered. Freedom. Freedom to not check over her shoulder in fear, to not have to worry if what she was doing was bad, to finally have a choice, and maybe even the answers to all her pent-up questions.

  Doubt cut through her like a double-edged sword, though. What would happen if she couldn’t bring the prince home alive? Eliza didn’t have to ask the question—it flashed in the king’s eyes. Fail, and she wouldn’t have a life to go back to. Her family would suffer the consequences of her actions, too.

  “You will have all the resources one would need for this kind of expedition,” the king said. “Horses, gold, clothing, anything you need. I ask that you keep quiet about what I am having you do, because of your abilities. You never know when a spy might be in our midst, and I would like to keep your arrival and departure secret.”

  She nodded, keeping her mouth shut. She felt the soft touch of her grandfather’s hands on her shoulders as he stepped up behind her.

  King Bastian continued, “I have already set up a meeting for you with my Captain of the Guard and Keepers like your guardian. They will tell you everything you need to know about that night.” Sadness flashed in his hollow eyes, and she watched the façade he’d thrown up stumble ever so slightly. “I will not be present in this meeting, as I have councilmen to entertai
n. But I’m sure you understand.”

  Eliza didn’t, but she nodded anyway. It wouldn’t do her any good, she thought, to piss off the king.

  A knock interrupted them, and the palace butler stuck his head in. Those red eyes met hers before looking away. “Captain Jed and Keepers Itzel, Dresden, and Tyr, are waiting in the library for Miss Elizabeth.”

  The king nodded, and Eliza looked between the two, biting her lip. There were questions she wanted to ask him, though she already knew they wouldn’t be given until she’d found the prince.

  Curtsying, Eliza left the king in his study, and followed her grandfather and the butler to the next meeting.

  6

  KEEPERS OF FATE

  “Did you know about all this?” Eliza asked. They passed an open window revealing the front gardens; soldiers trained in the game-park below, wet with the misty rain. Their bodies moved deftly, like pieces of a larger machine. “Did you know the king was planning that?”

  Davis remained quiet as they followed the bustling palace butler down a series of corridors and onto the first floor. Her grandfather spoke quietly as he said, “I knew, when I took you in, that the king had a plan for you. I did not know what though.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. “You know,” she said softly, stopping, “it’s hard to believe that.”

  “I know,” he replied, taking her hand. His skin was soft, familiar, and he wrapped both his hands around hers before bringing her knuckles to his lips, kissing them softly. “But I have faith in you, Eliza. I always have.”

  Tears stung the back of her eyes; the butler had stopped to wait for them, his red eyes impatient. They seemed to glow in the dim light of the corridor.

  Davis pulled her along, and she let him; there was still a part of her that wanted to fight, to dig in her heels and say no. The same fear that wanted her to stop was what made her keep walking, to enter the small library off to the side of the palace.