While she imagined fairy-tale libraries to be grand, this one was stuffy; bookcases circled the room, dark wood filled to the brim with books. High windows illuminated the room, though the light was dim. More shelves had been erected around the room, and in the centre four tables were set up.
One of the tables was occupied by six people; Eliza identified the Captain of the Guard easily. The captain wore silver armour over his broad frame, inky-black hair streaked with grey, his face clean shaven. Dark eyes roamed over her and then her grandfather. A scar cut through his top lip, lifting it in a way that made him look as if he were constantly snarling.
“Welcome, Miss Kindall,” he said, nodding in her direction. He turned his gaze to Davis. “Keeper Davis Kindall.”
A robed figure stood and dropped the hood of her ceremonial robes. Tattoos inked their way up the woman’s face, stark-black against the pale glow of her ivory skin. Her white hair was bound atop her head in a tight bun that reminded Eliza of a ballerina.
Eliza assumed the woman beside the pale Keeper was the new Keeper of her grandfather’s temple, though Eliza couldn’t be sure, not when she rarely met others. She smiled warmly at them both but remained seated. The last Keeper was a small man, perhaps shorter than Eliza, but she could feel the power radiating from him. His light hair had been brushed back and fell to his shoulders, curling around his pointed ears.
Two guards sat with them, both with bowed heads as they worked through a series of papers. They wore armour—silver-plated and shining—that stretched over their broad chests and shoulders, though their arms were surprisingly bare, save for the cotton shirt beneath. They were both older than Eliza—perhaps in their late twenties or early thirties.
The first Keeper motioned to two empty seats. Eliza took one silently, while her grandfather quickly clasped hands with those around them before taking his seat beside her.
“We thank you for coming here,” the first Keeper said, voice like a melody. She looked to be half-Faerie, like Eliza, though Eliza’s own Fae-blood was diluted to the point where there were little to no signs of her heritage. The Keeper looked like she’d just stepped out of the Willican Forest. “We understand the burden that has been placed upon you, Daughter of the Wilderness.”
The Fae were known to have strong connections to magic; those with even an ounce of Faerie blood could summon the natural magic of Cadira. Sometimes, there were exceptions; normal humans without an ounce of Fae blood who could wield the magic of Cadira. Most of them trained to become Keepers, like her grandfather.
Then there were the Blood Witches of the Labyrinth Mountains, who descended from the blood of demons and Elves, who did not wield natural magic. They took magic into their veins—into their blood—and they wielded it in a way that could be considered dark, deadly.
But from Eliza’s understanding, the Blood Witches were not evil; they were not a blight on Cadira and its light magic. Her grandfather had explained it to her as if the Witches were part of the natural balance to Cadira—without them, the land would fail.
Eliza swallowed. Daughter of the Wilderness. Unnamed child. She’d been hunted, and for what? Her necromancy? A skill she’d been born with, one that now haunted her every waking and sleeping moment? Never before had her magic been such a burden as it was now.
“I appreciate you going through this with me,” she said, forcing a strength to her voice that she did not feel. Think of the freedom. Think of Kay and Grandpa.
“Where would you like to begin?” the second Keeper asked. The smile hadn’t slipped from her familiar face, but Eliza could see the stiffness in the gesture. It was forced politeness for Eliza’s sake, and nothing more.
“Perhaps names would be a start,” Davis said with amusement. He motioned towards the woman with the ballerina bun and tattoos. “Eliza, this is Keeper Tyr, who holds the Capital’s wards. Keeper Itzel, my partner. And lastly, Keeper Dresden. He holds the Copenhagen wards.”
Eliza’s lips formed a small ‘o’ as she glanced at the man. She wouldn’t have thought him much, not with his stocky build and unusually critical eyes, but she had heard Keeper Dresden mentioned several times throughout her childhood.
“The Copenhagen wards are some of the deadliest wards on Earth,” Eliza said, eyes wide. There, for a reason she didn’t understand, the wards were weak with the darkness that plagued Cadira. If a Demon Master wanted to break through, that’s where they would try.
Keeper Dresden nodded. “But on Cadira’s side, the wards are heavily fortified in a great castle, hidden by magic. On my side, it’s in a basement of an old townhouse I live in.”
So different to the wards in New Orleans. Eliza would have thought that, in a couple of years, she’d be studying under Keeper Dresden in the art of defending the wards. He had the most practice, and all who sought to be Keepers trained under him.
Eliza, lost in her thoughts, hadn’t realised everyone was watching her with steady, unblinking eyes. Had she said something aloud? Or… She quickly closed her mouth and offered the Keepers around her a smile. “It is nice to meet you all.”
Davis, still beside her, slid her a blank notebook and a pen. The look in his eyes when she took it told her enough—take notes. Ask questions. Do this right. Eliza gave a shallow nod of her head before turning back to the others.
“Were any of you there, the night Prince Alicsar was kidnapped?” Eliza asked first, pen poised.
Keeper Itzel spoke first. “Unfortunately, no. But I was there when the Warlock Amitel arrived.”
“He was the first Warlock to start searching,” Keeper Tyr said, pale hand resting on a file. “He’s several centuries old, mastered immortality young, and is known to dabble in Blood Magic with permission from the Blood Witches.”
Eliza recognised the name, his past. What she knew about him was little—second-hand knowledge—but it painted a rather dark picture of the immortal Warlock. While Keepers were granted with immortality and the Blood Witches drew immortality from their blood, there were some Witches and Warlocks who could ascertain immortality for themselves. It was difficult, and Eliza didn’t know the specifics, but the trials usually lasted weeks and could kill any not strong enough to complete the final spell.
“Was he called immediately?” Eliza asked finally. She gazed between the Keepers, but it was the Captain of the Guard who answered.
“It took several days. The entire guard was slaughtered. It was by chance His Majesty was found by suppliers from the town, and some guards who were taking over shifts.” He shook his head, eyes tired. “I was not there. But it was a bloodbath.”
Something in Eliza’s stomach churned.
“As soon as the king was found, more guards and soldiers were called in. King Bastian himself called for Amitel.”
Keeper Itzel continued, “Then the Keepers were called.”
“Amitel led the search, picking up traces of the young prince and his captors. We followed,” Keeper Dresden said. “I, personally, could only spend a couple of days searching—my wards were failing, and I was needed back at my post.”
Eliza scribbled several notes. If Amitel, the high and mighty powerful Warlock of Cadira was there first, then she would need to speak with him too. It wasn’t enough for her to be receiving information from people who hadn’t really been there.
The rest of the information came to her slowly, and unfortunately, it wasn’t much: the trace first led south, then disappeared. Amitel and others in the search party had gone back to the Spring Manor, where the prince had been taken. When they’d found the trace again, they’d found themselves travelling east into Fae territory before it had disappeared again. They went north, faced off against the formidable desert that covered the northern part of Cadira, with no way to enter or exit. Then, the trace had disappeared, and they’d had to start again.
It was a confusing mess, one Eliza barely managed to wrap her head around.
Like the king had already said—many had searched for the lost prince. Commoner
s, Keepers, Knights, Warlocks. Keeper Itzel mentioned a convoy had been sent to the Blood Witches in the Labyrinth Mountains, but they had declined to help. Elders and the Fates had been called upon, even dragon riders and their hunters. But every trace was exhausted to the point where nothing would get picked up.
That left Eliza exhausted; she felt it not only in her bones, but in her soul. There were so many missing pieces that it made her head want to explode. The only reason why she hadn’t gotten up to pace or leave was her grandfather’s presence. It wasn’t the fault of the people around her that the traces were screwed up. Eliza was already under the impression that the trail’s dead end was on purpose.
When the meeting finally finished, Eliza gathered her notebook and pen and gave her thanks to those who had helped. They each smiled in return before resuming quiet conversation as Davis led Eliza from the library.
The library door opened before they could leave. “Tonight, dinner will be hosted in the dining room by His Majesty. Be ready by seven,” the butler said, his red eyes unnaturally bright in the dim light. A moment later, he disappeared without another word, leaving Eliza and Davis to find their own way back to their rooms.
“Do you understand what it is you need to do?” Davis asked as they left.
Eliza shrugged. “It’s not like I have much to work with.”
“And yet,” he said, voice a soft echo as they ascended the stairs, “you have witnesses you can ask.” Pausing at the top of the stairs, Davis looked out over the courtyard and the games park, where the soldiers still trained. At some point, the king and what looked to be his council had wandered out to watch.
Her grandfather turned back; his eyes alight. “You can ask the dead.”
~
The room had not been empty when Eliza had returned from her meeting with the Keepers and the guard. Clio had been wandering about, cleaning and arranging clothes, packing saddle bags, and checking things off a list that had quickly been pocketed when Eliza had entered.
Sitting at the vanity, Eliza watched Clio’s reflection as she pulled pins out of Eliza’s hair and brushed out the tangles.
Eliza’s mind went back to the king and their meeting. Every thought, theory, and fact filled her head, leaving her with a migraine.
She barely noticed when Clio left, and the door had clicked shut. She flung herself down on the bed, thoughts going back to the meeting.
The king and his assumptions, or rather his knowledge of her power and his promises of freedom, rang loudly in her head. Though, just below the shouts of desire, she heard the name Amitel, like a whisper of someone she ought to already know.
The king had revealed very little of her past, but that didn’t mean it was completely off limits. Eliza already felt a sense of recognition for the immortal Warlock. Like she should know him already. Maybe, she thought, he’d been there when she’d been found. Amitel had been the first called when Prince Alicsar had disappeared, and so he could have been first called when she was found too.
And then there was what her grandfather had said: “You can ask the dead.” It should have been obvious, what with the revelation that the king knew what she was. She had necromancy magic, after all. The king had explicitly told her that her power would be useful.
But it didn’t stop the hesitancy or the fear. Because while the king didn’t seem to care, others might, and they could very well harm her in order to remove her power.
Think about Kay. Think about Grandpa. Think about freedom.
A knock sounded at the door. “Come in!” she shouted, rolling off the bed. Her grandfather appeared, smiling sadly. A knot formed in Eliza’s stomach as she took him in. He was wearing his pointed leather shoes and slacks again.
Like he was leaving.
He paused at the door, his hand on the knob. “I’m afraid I must leave you now, dear.”
Eliza’s heart sank; she fell back onto the bed and sucked in a breath. “I can’t do this without you.”
“Yes,” he replied, moving to sit beside her, “you can. You can and will be able to do this.”
“Why do you have to go? Why now?” she asked, closing her eyes. Screw making him proud, she thought bitterly. Couldn’t she just have a bit more time with him? The king hadn’t given her a time limit in finding his son.
Eliza climbed off the bed, running her hands through her hair.
Davis sighed and stood, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She breathed in his scent and memorised the familiarity of it. But he pulled away too soon, leaving her alone. “I need to go back to the wards, back to New Orleans to protect both worlds. You know that.”
Eliza shrugged, hugging herself. “I thought you’d help me with this.”
“You don’t need my help, dear. You just need to trust that you can do it.” Davis walked to the door, and Eliza sadly watched him go, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Don’t fret, Elizabeth. I love you, and I trust that when the time is right, you will find your way back to me… back home.”
Eliza didn’t get the chance to reply before he left, gently closing the door behind him. “Love you too, Grandpa,” she murmured to the empty room, biting down on her lip. She’d seen the pain flash in his eyes, too, before he disappeared down the hall.
She couldn’t help it; she buried her face in the pillows. But she could not cry over her grandfather leaving her in a world she no longer knew.
She was alone.
7
KNIGHT OF NOTHING
I need to clear my head. Eliza slipped out of her pretty dress and changed into her clothes from home. Though she found comfort in the familiar smell of washing detergent, something felt strange about donning her own clothes. She tried to shrug the feeling away, but it followed her as she left her room and descended the stairs.
Eliza found no trouble when she slipped out the front doors; either no one was watching her, or no one expected her to go far. She wasn’t sure what she was doing now. Sucking in a breath, she closed her eyes. Her thoughts wandered back to the king, to the enormous task he had bestowed upon her. As she released a breath, Eliza turned towards the old games park, where the soldiers sparred.
Misty rain fell, more annoying than drenching, though it cooled her burning skin. The sky above her was stricken, dark, not like the world she’d imagined.
The soldiers were young—closer to her age, seventeen, and older—pushing themselves not only for the commander present, but for the king and his council that were locked away indoors. She couldn’t help but stop and watch, enamoured by the lengths in which they’d go to impress their king, to follow his orders. How far would she go? Eliza wondered what she would do in order to attain her freedom and the freedom for those she loved.
Her gaze strayed to the man barking orders. From what she could tell, he was young—older than her, but younger than the men whom she’d been meeting with earlier. He held himself almost arrogantly amongst his men, though he’d taken his shirt off and was sweating with them in the rain. When he turned to block a swipe from an oncoming soldier, she could see his young face focused so intently on what he was doing, that the expression looked familiar to her.
Eliza caught the eye of a soldier, who whistled. Actually whistled. She felt somewhat flabbergasted as she stood there, arms crossed over her chest. People do that here, too?
She sent a harmless wave of frigid wind snaking towards the soldier in question. She watched, pleased, as the air knocked him on his backside. When he looked back at her with wide eyes, she gave him a vulgar gesture before stalking off in the direction of the gates.
A clear head. She wasn’t even mad over the whistle; her frustration was towards the king and her grandfather leaving, not some silly soldiers.
But she hadn’t just caught the attention of a few soldiers; the man who had been barking the orders earlier was now watching her with narrowed eyes.
As the front gates opened, she headed straight for them and away from the palace. She was somewhat surprised to see how busy
it was; a steady stream of people entered and left the premises, trailing carts, horses, and donkeys with them. She slipped between a couple of servants and joined a rather interesting party of—circus folk? They wore so many different colours it made her eyes hurt.
“Hey!”
Eliza stopped and turned, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. In retrospect, she realised just how poorly she’d handled the situation, but… Eliza plastered a smile across her face and looked up into the unreadable expression of the soldier before her. They stood against the tree line, only feet away from the palace gates.
“Hello to you, too.”
He looked down at her, unamused. Eliza noticed—a little sadly—that he was now wearing a shirt, and a sword was strapped to his hips. His dark hair was plastered against his skin, wet with sweat and rain.
The way he moved and watched her reminded Eliza of her dream, of the strange war and the threatening darkness, the man with the piercing eyes who said he’d loved her… Eliza shook her head, expelling the memory. It had just been a bad dream, nothing more. But that didn’t stop her from questioning the man before her, questioning the familiarity. The arch of his lips, the whisper of his fingers, it called to something in her blood. It was impossible, the feelings that rushed through her. So, she tried to shoved them aside.
And yet, curiosity rose within her, painstakingly familiar. She couldn’t help but wonder why she recognised him, why she’d seen him in the dream.
Unfortunately, Eliza thought it made him look rather… cute. Cuter than some of the boys she’d encountered in New Orleans. His storm-blue-grey eyes were almost swoon worthy, a detail she could imagine she’d have read about in a romance book. He had that heroic look about him, from the broadness of his shoulders down to the broody slant of his brows.
Almost. Eliza checked herself quickly. Gods, she’d just said goodbye to her freedom, independence, and family, and now she was checking out a soldier who probably had high standards. That, and he was probably going to berate her for her actions in the games park.
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 8
