The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1)

by Stephanie Anne

  Bile rose in her throat. “We can’t leave them,” she said, as soldiers rushed into the fray. She hadn’t realised she’d called for her magic, but it danced at her fingertips, an extension of her that never seemed to end. It drew up from the land itself.

  Thorne started pulling her away, back towards the palace. He murmured something beneath his breath, about getting horses and leaving.

  The demons and their Masters were there for her, not anyone else. How many had died at the hands of these creatures? Not just when the prince had been kidnapped, but when they had come for her as a child? Even now?

  Eliza ducked as a demon flew over her head, followed by a flaming arrow that embedded into in its leather hide. The demon howled in angry pain and lashed out at her with bloody claws. Eliza’s magic flared, taking the form of fire. Flames danced across her fingers. She threw her hand out towards the demon as it skittered past, and she watched in fascination when it turned to ash.

  “Miss Eliza.”

  She spun to face Clio; her red hair was bound atop her head, and she wore a night gown stained with blood. Her face, white with shock, seemed to pale even further in the glow of the fire around them. In her hands, she held Eliza’s duffle bag.

  “It’s not safe for you out here,” Eliza said, rushing to the girl’s side.

  Her eyes, shadowed and unblinking, met Eliza’s. “And it is not safe for you, either.”

  Eliza bit her lip. Soldiers were now fighting back against the demons, though there did not seem to be any kidnappers in the demonic ranks. Though, it wasn’t like Eliza could see anything anyway, and she was too anxious to search for any with her magic.

  Where is Thorne? She wondered if he’d already left—maybe he’d realised how screwed up this entire plan was. Her heart thundered, stomach churning. He could already be dead. One of the creatures could have already jumped him and cut him down. She’d seen the commander train, but she didn’t know the extent of his abilities.

  A spindly, oil-black demon sprung towards her. A fireball left from her fingers; the magic crackled eagerly as it exploded on the demons chest, destroying the creature. It whimpered like a wounded dog as it collapsed to the ground, and Eliza finished it off, her magic turning the demon to dust.

  “We need to find the commander,” Eliza said, whirling back to face Clio. She gripped her hands in front of her, fingers pale in the light of the fires, bag on the ground. Eliza looked her over, searching for any sign of a wound, but saw nothing. The blood that covered Clio was not her own, though she didn’t appear to be hurt. “Did you see Commander Thorne?”

  Clio shook her head, lips pursed. Tears tracked down her cheeks, cutting through the soot and blood that covered her skin. She no longer resembled the put-together girl Eliza had first met.

  “There,” Clio whispered, raising her hand. Eliza followed her line of vision and found Thorne galloping through the destruction, another horse by his side. He sat tall and proud atop the saddle, swinging out with his shining blade at approaching demons. The blade gleamed with black ichor.

  Clio shoved her out of the way. Eliza landed on her arm and felt sharp stones and twigs bite into the soft flesh of her wrist. Rolling onto her back, Eliza’s eyes widened in horror as a blade pierced through the girl’s heart.

  Blood bubbled from Clio’s lips, her bright green eyes growing dimmer, meeting Eliza’s own horrified stare. “Find him,” she gasped. The attacker pulled the blade from Clio’s chest; the metal slid through blood and flesh and ground against bone. Clio collapsed, blood blossoming along the white of her night gown, bleeding onto the stone path below her.

  “No!” But the girl was dead, eyes wide and empty, staring at the grey smoke above their heads. There was no fear marring her soft features; her eyes were empty of everything but courage and hope.

  Thorne rode over and cut the attacker down, blade slicing through the man’s neck, cleaving his head from his body. Shock drowned out her own repulsion as the head landed not far from her feet. She crawled away, heart shattering. The commander jumped from his horse and called her name, but she couldn’t hear him over the blood that pounded in her ears.

  Tears stung the back of Eliza’s eyes as Thorne grabbed hold of her arm. “We need to go,” he murmured. “There is nothing else you can do.”

  She looked up, finding his stare, but her vision blurred. There is nothing else you can do. But there was, she thought. She could fight back. She could use her magic, help everyone.

  “Eliza.” His hand tightened, and then he was lifting her off the ground, pulling her to her feet. Eliza thrashed in his grip, but he was stronger, pulling her away from Clio’s body, from the destruction she had brought.

  If the king hadn’t sent for her, the attack would never have happened. The attack was because of her; she had no naïve thoughts on whether that was true, not with the evidence piling up. There was an army sitting at the king’s feet. He knew what might happen.

  But it was still her fault.

  Through the screeching and clashing of swords, Eliza heard a raven caw, too loud to be possible over the cacophony of sound. Searching, Eliza spotted the gold eyes of the raven perched on a branch, its feathers like ink against the dancing flames. Eliza’s heart skipped a beat as she stared at it. And standing beneath the branch, Eliza caught sight of the ghost-girl.

  The spirit beckoned Eliza with pale, luminescent arms, motioning towards a break in the wall where the gate should have been. Beyond, Eliza only saw darkness. The girl disappeared, wide eyes filled with terror, before reappearing in front of Eliza.

  “You must go, Elizabeth Kindall, before they get you. I’ll show you the way.”

  Before Eliza could respond, the girl disappeared again, reappearing beneath the branch from before, though the raven had already vanished. Her small hand beckoned to them.

  Numb, Eliza allowed the commander to help her onto the back of her dapple-grey mare. The horse nickered and swung its head, dancing warily from side to side as Thorne mounted his own steed. He’d taken hold of Eliza’s reins—she didn’t care, not when she could see Clio’s broken body from the corner of her eye.

  “We can’t just leave her here,” Eliza said, voice cracking. Thorne was already shaking his head in disagreement, forcing Eliza’s mare into a trot.

  His eyes, though, were sad when they met hers. “I know, but we cannot stay.”

  “They’re after me,” she whispered.

  They barely managed to get through the throngs of the attack; Thorne fought off demons and shadow soldiers that pursued their horses, while Eliza managed to use her magic during moments of consciousness when she broke out of her state of shock. The king’s soldiers swarmed Eliza and Thorne, and fought off the bony, leather-hided demons, their swords clashing and sliding through the thin bodies.

  Ahead of her, Thorne hissed. Blood seeped from a wound on his cheek as a demon scuttled up the side of Thorne’s horse. The commander cut the creature down quickly, only to be preyed on by more demons that scuttled over to them from the direction of the king’s army.

  Something cracked inside of Eliza. The sight of Thorne’s blood against his golden skin sent a shock through her.

  No one else needs to get hurt because of me. No one else needs to die.

  Almost like a switch had been flipped, Eliza summoned the power that dwelled deep in her body. Lightning spread across her fingers, and like arrows, shot from her hands and into the bodies of the scattering demons.

  Eliza spurred her mare ahead, pulling Thorne along with her. She couldn’t remember ever riding before, but the motions came naturally, something she didn’t question in that moment.

  The demons parted as flames leapt from her out-stretched hands, screeching back into the darkness that surrounded the palace. They ran for a thicket of brush leaking dark magic, leaping into a chasm in the earth that swallowed them whole.

  Eliza’s magic burned in her veins. She had felt the difference and growth of her magic after stepping through the wards,
but she hadn’t had the time to truly delve into the well of her magic. Now it threatened to overflow without the control she should be able to maintain.

  If she couldn’t control her magic, then she would become a greater threat than the demons and their masters.

  “Eliza.” Thorne stopped her by curling his fingers around her wrist. Her pulse quickened beneath his touch. “Where are you going?”

  She pointed to the dark underbrush. The ghost-girl’s transparent form wavered by a hidden trail. The trees moved around the girl, parting for them, creating a path through the brush.

  Thorne did not release Eliza’s hand. “Are you sure?”

  “The forest wants us to go that way,” she said. She’d wanted to mention the ghost-girl but couldn’t bring herself to bite through the fear. Necromancy was still illegal, still hated. She didn’t know the commander well enough to reveal that side of her; the side she knew she should be ashamed of but couldn’t justify hiding.

  Eliza met the unyielding stare of the commander. Was he trying to untangle the web of lies she’d spun to protect herself? Or was there something else hidden in his gaze?

  Eliza’s hands shook until he finally bowed his head in understanding. A flicker of recognition darkened his eyes, and when he released her hand, she went cold at the loss of his touch.

  Somewhere behind them, a horn sounded. “Retreat,” Thorne muttered, spurring his horse into action. The commander took the path first, sword angled in front of him.

  As Eliza lifted her hand to summon light, the commander shook his head. “Light could mean attracting attention.”

  Eliza dropped her hand and spurred her horse. The mare snorted and walked on, treading carefully behind the commander. “We can’t see though.”

  “Like you said,” he murmured, eyeing the evolving path, “the forest will guide us.”

  10

  RAVENS IN FLIGHT

  Eliza gripped her wrist, which had been sprained from Clio pushing her. She dug her nails into the soft flesh until all she felt was pain. Her thoughts were still stuck on the attack; she hadn’t seen the ghost-girl since finding the path and dreaded seeing her transparent form once again.

  It was different from seeing Miranda, her ghostly friend from New Orleans. Different to when Eliza traipsed the cemetery in the dark with the spirit by her side. Even with Davis or Kay, Eliza could let herself go with the two-hundred-year-old spirit, but with Thorne…

  Eliza swallowed and averted her eyes from his tense back. They’d managed to escape the demons and their Masters. As Eliza and Thorne had ridden through the forest, the path had opened before them, closing quickly after they’d ridden through. And not for the first time, Eliza had been left speechless by the beauty of Cadira; the moss-covered tree trunks alight with glowing mushrooms, trapping darting pixies in their light. Overhead, shimmering spiderwebs created a net, carrying small, elf-like creatures to and from different trees. Several times, those creatures—with long, pointed ears and white hair, black eyes and no clothing—dropped into Eliza’s waiting hands, leaving her berries, stones, or crystals as they went.

  The beauty she witnessed was almost enough for her to forget the creeping darkness. She didn’t see it in this part of the forest; it hadn’t spread so deep, but it was still weaving its way through the land.

  Thorne had been right; the forest had guided them back towards a road. Dawn slowly approached, breaking through the bank of clouds that constantly threatened rain.

  “We’ll take a couple of hours before leaving for Harrenhal,” Thorne said, leading his steed off the main road. Branching off the side was a beaten path, perhaps forgotten over time.

  It sent a wave of nostalgia through Eliza as she followed the commander, careful to avoid the reaching limbs. Twigs snapped as they made their way through the green undergrowth. It reminded her of home, of the New Orleans bayou and the hidden beauty of the city. If she concentrated on that, she might be able to allow herself some kind of peace, but anger quickly shot through her, followed by guilt-ridden wretchedness.

  Nothing compared to the remorse that rushed through her over the attack on the Winter Palace; on the death that she had wrought. The king had thought they would be safe hiding with an army of soldiers camping within the palace grounds, but he had been wrong. Whoever or whatever wanted Eliza didn’t seem to care or fear the forces of King Bastian. They had come regardless.

  Eliza blocked out the memories of the Winter Palace as bile rose in her throat. Clio died for me, she died so I could get out… oh, Gods, what have I done?

  Eliza had already vomited three times since leaving the smouldering remains of the once whimsical palace gardens. She couldn’t escape the guilt and fear that was building inside her. Not even the murky rain could cool her as heat—fed by her fear and apprehension—seemed to take hold of her body, leaving her trembling.

  The Demon Masters had been after her. The king told me they wanted me. And she’d been there, ripe for the picking. It made her sick.

  And Clio… Eliza clenched her fist, biting back the sting of tears.

  They arrived in a small clearing, overgrown with moss-covered tree trunks and emerald grass that looked like gems even in the grey dimness of the day. Autumn leaves of brown and gold did not touch the clearing, almost like…

  “A pixie circle.” Eliza dismounted and stepped into the plush grass, surprised to find it dry and crisp unlike the rest of the forest. She saw the crystallised mushrooms circling the clearing then, creating a ring of protection around the space. “How did you…?”

  Thorne dismounted and led his horse farther in to a trickling stream cutting through the other side of the glade. “I have a knack for finding the little creatures. You help one, plenty will help you in return.”

  She eyed him warily, the reins of her mare clutched tightly in her hands. “I’ve only ever read about these things in books. My guardian used to tell me stories about the creatures who roam these lands.” Eliza took a hesitant step in, heart racing as she thought about the fabled creatures that danced there when the moon was full, or when the sun had set. She couldn’t help but wonder if the immortal Fae ever walked through this land.

  The commander motioned for the reins, and with trembling fingers she handed them over. Their skin brushed, and she quickly pulled away, clearing her throat. “When did you save a pixie?” she asked.

  Eliza took a seat on an overturned tree, buried half beneath the ground. She stretched her legs out before her, wriggling her toes in her boots. The commander watched her from the creek, eyes hooded with weariness.

  “You know, we should probably get to know each other,” she said, though she did it only for her own benefit. A part of her didn’t care if she knew him, not with the white noise that filled her ears or the shock of the night’s events that had her trembling. Every time she closed her eyes, she’d see Clio’s lifeless body decorated with blood that had yet to dry.

  He rolled his eyes, dropping the reins of the horses. She cocked a questioning brow. “They won’t run, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. Story. Now.” She needed the distraction, to keep herself from retching.

  “I was a cadet in the royal army. Some idiots from the capital, who had barely been exposed to the magic that roams the lands, caught a pixie. Tried to shake the thing to death. I caught them with her, got the poor creature out of their grasps and reported them to the on-duty commander.”

  Eliza rolled her eyes. “Oh, how heroic, you snitch.”

  Thorne shot her a withering glance, but a smile twitched at his lips, nonetheless. “You’re the one who asked.”

  Silence passed between them; Eliza’s stomach churned as her thoughts strayed back to the attack, to the pluming fire and the ash raining from the sky. The beady eyes of the demons flashed in her mind. The blood rushed from her face and she slumped forward, resting her head in her hands. “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “We go to Harrenhal,” he said, c
utting her a glance. His eyes softened as he took a seat beside her. “We see Amitel, and then I take you to the Spring Manor.”

  She swallowed. “What if they attack again?”

  “Then we’ll be ready.”

  The sky turned pink, washing away the hazy grey of the hours before. “I’ve been here all of, what, a day?” She looked over to the commander, noticed his eyes on his clenched fists. “What happened?”

  The commander released a breath. “It wasn’t always like this.”

  “Really? Does it have anything to do with the attack on the king?”

  He shook his head, running a hand through his dark, tousled hair. “It… changed everything. Cadira turned into something I don’t even recognise anymore.” She waited for him to continue; fingers cold as she balled her fists. “You know the other kingdoms call us the Shadowland now?”

  “I thought…” It had always been a nickname of sorts, the name Shadowland, as it had always harboured the most magic and was the only direct route into Eliza’s world. She’d heard it once or twice from the mouths of other exiles like Kay but she had never thought they meant it literally… until now.

  “I know.” He looked to her then, eyes searching hers. “Everyone can feel it—the darkness. Even those without magic can sense it running through the land. I can feel it sometimes, can even see it seeping through the forests.”

  “The king thinks I can stop it,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “He thinks if I find the prince, he can spin the whole thing into some fantastic story and drive the darkness away. He thinks I can bring hope back to the land.”

  Thorne touched her hand, wrapping his fingers around her arm. Her heart rate accelerated as his thumb rubbed circles around the inside of her wrist. Her mind flashed to the dream. “I think the king has a point.”

  Does he? Because I certainly don’t think so. Eliza pulled away, standing. Her legs ached, but she had to move, had to stop thinking. “People shouldn’t rely on me.”