The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1)

by Stephanie Anne

  “What?”

  “They shouldn’t rely on me!” she said, spinning to face him. “Look. I’m just a girl from New Orleans. I was pretty much kicked out of Cadira when I was five and now, I know it has something to do with the king’s twisted idea that I have something to do with his missing son. I’m just a witch with a little extra magic, that’s all.”

  She sucked in a cooling breath as the commander watched her, shoulders hunched. He stood and slowly approached her. Something in his gait reminded her of a man who had all the answers—someone who could reveal truths not even she would understand.

  Eliza knew almost nothing about the commander, other than he was in the king’s army, and that he’d saved a pixie once. But she couldn’t deny how her body responded to him, how her blood seemed to answer a call she didn’t hear.

  Kay, with the stories of the Courts, would have said Eliza and Brandon Thorne had known each other in another life. That was Kay’s forte, her magical ability. Eliza had always nagged Kay about her power, but it remained a mystery to Eliza. But the Courts had their own stories, own beliefs.

  Thorne touched a hand to her cheek, forcing her gaze to his. Heat flared in her cheeks. “You were targeted for a reason, both times. Whether it has something to do with the prince or that little extra magic you have. But that is not your fault. The attacks were not instigated by you. It’s not something you can control.”

  She wrapped her arms around her midsection, releasing a shuddering breath. “Clio is dead because of me.”

  “She saved your life,” he said. “Giving up now would only throw her sacrifice in her face.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped.

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, grinning as his fingers brushed what should have been the curve of her ear. “Your ears have changed.”

  Her breath, previously stuck in her throat, escaped with a laugh. “My ears?”

  “They’re pointed.”

  Eliza’s brows furrowed as she reached for them; she hadn’t even felt the change, not physically or magically. It must have happened overnight, during the time between the dinner party and before the attack. But her ears were now pointed, barely hidden behind her dark hair, a clear marking of the heritage she didn’t understand.

  Heat flushed her cheeks as Thorne grinned at her. “Seems the Fae in you is marking its territory.”

  “You make it sound like my bloodline is a dog!” she said indignantly. But she couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across her face. A weight lifted from her chest in the process, too. He didn’t run away from the ears.

  The marking of Fae-heritage was always something of debate in Cadira. While there were many with slightly pointed ears, or magic stemming back to Fae ancestry, some towns and even regions were less enthused about the strange-natured and immortal beings that once lived across Cadira. Some shrugged, but others—those with a bad history with the beings—were more likely to refuse even looking at people like Eliza. It both disgusted and emboldened her to show off the heritage she had once wanted to hide.

  Shaking her head, Eliza let her hair fall over her ears, cheeks flushed. Thorne still stood close enough for her to feel his warmth. Her heart raced. She’d felt it before, and she could feel it now, that sense of knowing him though they’d never met until the day before. It pressed down on her.

  Eliza stepped away from the commander, gasping for breath, head spinning.

  “Is everything okay, Eliza?” he asked, coming to stand beside her. This time, though, he did not touch her.

  She nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Meeting his stare, she tried to smile reassuringly, though it felt forced and wobbly on her lips. She wished she had Kay with her; Kay, who would know why Eliza was feeling this way towards the commander, who could diffuse the situation and make Eliza think.

  She nodded and walked over to the horses. She pulled her saddle bag from her mare’s back, stroking her neck as she did. Eliza rifled through the contents, finding her notebook and spell book.

  The white leather-bound spell book had been a gift from Kay, enchanted to always have blank pages, though it looked no bigger than a three-hundred page book. Within it, Eliza held all her thoughts and spells, enchantments and charms. What she had learnt from her guardians, she’d written in the book.

  With a sigh—and her head lowered so she didn’t have to look at the commander—Eliza made her way back to the fallen tree.

  She took a seat and flipped open her spell book, turning the pages slowly. If she couldn’t dwell on how her presence at the Winter Palace had caused an attack, then she’d do her best to try and stop it from happening again.

  Kay told me a story about enchanted tunnels that spread beneath Cadira. She said there were points of entry across the land. Apparently, there’s one at King Bastian’s Spring Manor, protected by a giant maze. How cool is that? I wish I could see it…

  Eliza stiffened. Vaguely, she remembered something her guardian had told her. Kay, who had once belonged to the scholars of the Courts, had learnt of a Cadiran story, long since forgotten by the people. Once, when Eliza had first arrived in New Orleans and had suffered mild insomnia, Kay had told her all kinds of stories she’d collected from her time in the Courts. And Eliza had written them down—actually, she’d scribbled them down in half English, half chicken-scratch, which only she could understand.

  Sitting cross-legged now, leaning back against the fallen tree, Eliza flicked through her spell book, searching for any other mention of the tunnels. It hadn’t been something she had thought to ask about.

  “Hey, commander…” she started, but trailed off. In the sunlight that filtered through the glade, the commander was haloed in glowing, yellow light. He’d stripped down to a white undershirt that hung to his mid-thigh, his weapons belt in the grass and boots off, left to dry in the sun.

  The image dredged up a memory; a boy who looked an awful lot like Thorne, pulling himself out of a clear-blue lake, golden skin pink with heat from the sun. His smile was big, and it had reached his eyes, making him seem younger, innocent. There was a happiness in his gaze that Eliza wasn’t sure she’d seen before.

  The memory disappeared as the commander looked over, brows raised. He’d tucked his shirt back into his pants and tied his weapons belt around his hips once more.

  Eliza cleared her throat and hoped her cheeks had stopped flaming. “What do you know about tunnels running beneath Cadira?”

  “What? Like the ones used beneath the palace for the royal family?” he asked. Thorne picked up his boots and dropped down in front of her.

  “No,” she said, looking back down at her spell book. “Like a system of caverns running all around Cadira, with hidden entrances.” She shook her head and closed the book. “Never mind, it was dumb to ask.”

  “I’ve never heard of them. But that doesn’t mean they’re not real.” Eliza watched from the corner of her eye as he shoved his boots back on and stood, offering his hand. His skin was calloused and warm. “We need to leave for Harrenhal now if we want to make it before nightfall.”

  ~

  Dusk had settled on the horizon when the pair finally found Harrenhal. The roads went from packed earth to cobblestone, while the trees slowly thinned to reveal manors and townhouses, storefronts and inns. Carriages carrying the wealthier populace passed them, along with other lone riders or donkeys pulling carts. A strange mix, Eliza determined as they rode towards the closest inn, but not uncommon for a town working close to the Winter Palace.

  Eliza decided to trust the commander, if only because she doubted that she would have gained an audience with the esteemed Warlock on her own.

  “Excuse me,” an older woman said, stopping Eliza by a worn vegetable cart. “Did you come from the palace?”

  Before Eliza could reply, another woman stepped in, a baby bundled in her arms. “We all saw the smoke. Few survived, apparently.”

 
; The woman with the baby continued, “I just hope my husband returns. He’s one of the palace guards.”

  It’s all my fault. He’s probably dead because of me. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to answer even though her head was spinning. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”

  Eliza didn’t wait for an answer as she rode off in Thorne’s direction, who waited patiently outside the inn. The exterior was simple; wooden beams and grey-stone blocks, cloudy windows and a slightly crooked door. Windows were barred with iron rods, the sign above the door shaking silently in the breeze.

  She sucked in a shaky breath. “They asked me about the palace. And I couldn’t—” Her breath left her in a half-sob, her stomach clenching. She wrapped her arms around herself, unable to look at the commander or anything else.

  Slowly, Eliza forced herself to peer at him. “There was nothing you could have done,” he said. “We’ve already gone over this.”

  “Seriously?” She shook her head, breath hitching. Eliza dismounted on shaky legs, ignoring the bark of pain in her thighs. “I could have done something.”

  “Or,” he said pointedly, fluidly stalking over to her, “you could have gotten yourself killed. Or taken.” He looked between her and the inn before rubbing at his eyes.

  “Wait here while I take care of the horses,” he said, dropping his bags at her feet, doing the same with her own. He took the two horses down a short alley, where she noticed a trough and a hitching post set up in what looked like a small stable.

  Eliza picked up her bags and threw them over her shoulders; she waited with her arms crossed and hands trembling.

  You could have gotten yourself killed. Taken. At least she could have helped. Instead, she’d ran, and she hated herself for it. Not to mention, her stomach was twisted into knots over her impending meeting with Amitel. She couldn’t help but hide her current idea about the tunnels.

  The Keepers hadn’t mentioned any hidden tunnels—perhaps they, too, had forgotten the old stories. Kay had belonged to the Courts, a pocket of land in the south that ran on creativity. If the king hadn’t sought their help, and they hadn’t offered their knowledge about Cadira’s history, then Eliza couldn’t help but wonder if these tunnels were only that—a story. Telling Thorne had been a shot in the dark, but he hadn’t known anything either.

  A bird cawed overhead, and Eliza stiffened, head snapping up to meet the beady gold eyes of the raven. “Shoo!” The raven merely stared at her, cocking its head. “Go!”

  The raven shifted impatiently, cawing as it bobbed its head.

  Turning around, Eliza spotted something she hadn’t noticed when she had ridden into Harrenhal—an obsidian statue depicting a raven in flight, and in its talons, a dagger, much like the one Eliza had seen paired with the legendary Goddess.

  Eliza snapped her head back to the raven, but it was gone.

  Rubbing her eyes, she didn’t hear Thorne as he approached, and almost jumped when he touched a hand to her shoulder. She blinked slowly, then lowered her head, shaking it. “Sorry,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It has been a long day.”

  The commander looked down at her with furrowed brows, lips twisted up in an almost-smile. Warmth spread through her at the look, and the near-comfortable way in which they stood together.

  Of course, it dissipated just as quickly, and she was reminded of why they were there—why they weren’t at the Winter Palace.

  Eliza turned back to the statue, if only to break the silence that seemed to wedge itself between then. “What does this symbolise?” she asked, pointing towards the statue, biting down on her lip.

  Thorne turned to the statue, brows still furrowed, but recognition flashed in his storm-blue eyes. “This is where they believe the Goddess Azula was last seen.”

  She crossed her arms tightly over her chest to stave off a chill that shuddered through her. “Why the raven though?” Eliza asked. She’d been taught from a young age that coincidences should always be taken into consideration, especially when magic was involved and especially in Cadira. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that she and Thorne had ended up in Harrenhal, and that it was a raven that had pointed out the statue.

  Thorne shrugged, though she could see his shoulders tense. “I don’t know,” he said, stepping back with a taut roll of his muscles. “There are a lot of legends that surround the Goddess and her being. Harrenhal is one of many towns and areas that is believed to be where she was last seen. Some think that her final form was that of a black raven.”

  Frowning, Eliza stared at the raven. Coincidence. It couldn’t be anything more.

  Eliza shook her head. She had one goal, and that was to find the prince, win her freedom, and get the hell out of here. She tried to push the raven out of her mind completely. But it was hard; something nagged at her, nipping at the corner of her thoughts, like a memory long since buried.

  The look on the commander’s face stopped her from asking any more questions, and Eliza quietened quickly. It didn’t stop her from wondering, though, about what he might be hiding. What he might know.

  11

  AMITEL

  Eliza had expected the summons to come immediately, yet they waited two days before they heard anything from the mysterious Warlock. In that time, Eliza had wallowed in self-loathing after the attack. During that time, survivors had flooded the town, and out of the two hundred or so that had been staying within the palace walls, there were so many more that needed to be accounted for.

  But the clear and concise message awaiting them hadn’t left Eliza feeling any better. Anxiety chewed at her as she read the words aloud. “Watermill. One hour. I speak with her alone.”

  “Absolutely not,” Thorne said, shaking his head. He dropped his sword onto the bed, crossing his arms.

  She squared her shoulders. “I’m sick of feeling useless. You won’t let me go down and help people because of my safety.” She dropped into a chair. Guilt felt like a rock sinking in her stomach. She wouldn’t let herself forget that the attack had been because of her. “This is my mission and my responsibility.”

  “He wants to be with you… alone.” Thorne shook his head, running a hand through his hair, over and over, before running it over his face.

  “How is that bad?” she asked, furrowing her brows. Thorne didn’t reply. It was a good start, Eliza thought. She would have access to whatever Amitel knew. He could have information the Keepers didn’t have. Eliza could only hope he had more for her—more than what everyone else was giving up.

  Thorne made a sound in the back of his throat but did not reply.

  He didn’t argue either as they left the inn. The sun rose high in the sky and glared down at her despite the crisp wind that scattered leaves over the cobblestones. The shutters of windows waved to her. Where there were people—both injured and healthy—there were spirits; some young, others old. Soldiers, crones, small children with the pox. Eliza saw them all and tried to hide her stare.

  The smoke from the Winter Palace had finally cleared; the king had escaped with his council, some said around Eliza, but many hadn’t been as lucky.

  “Thank the Gods the king survived,” an older woman said, her voice ringing out in Eliza’s ears.

  White flags of mourning had been hung from many windows and Eliza tried to swallow down the bile that rose in her throat.

  Thorne looked at Eliza from beneath the hood of his cloak as they entered the shadows of the forest. “Amitel doesn’t usually ask to be alone with someone he doesn’t know,” he said

  She narrowed her eyes. “Is it really a bad thing? I won’t hurt him; he probably won’t hurt me. I don’t see why you’re so worried.” She pointed her finger at his chest. They were already far enough into the winding forests of Cadira, that she had no problem with speaking her mind. “You’re talking as if you two have met before. Why are you so sure?”

  “Because,” he stated, teeth gritted, “he is the most powerful Warlock in Cadira. Everyone knows him
. He will hurt you if you ask the wrong questions.”

  Eliza bit her lip. “I don’t care,” she said. “I still want to talk to him. I need to. Obviously, he knows something.” She stepped carefully over a root. “If it didn’t matter, then you wouldn’t be here. But it does. So, you will wait for me. If you have a problem with that, take it up with him.”

  Without a second thought, Eliza marched through the forest gilded with red, yellow, and green leaves. Their destination was in sight, and she darted towards the old, crumbling building where the Warlock awaited.

  She heard Thorne sigh, followed by the crunch of his footsteps as he jogged to catch up with her. When she turned her head to look at him, she noticed the stoniness of his face, how his brows furrowed.

  Eliza snorted at Amitel’s choice in meeting place; the old watermill looked to be over fifty years old, and hadn’t been occupied in the last twenty years, Thorne had told her. There was no water running in the stream, and the dry creek bed revealed odd-coloured stones and what looked to be skeletal remains.

  Grimly, she turned back to the commander, arms crossed. “You aren’t my protector,” she stated. He met her stare with a deep frown. “And you aren’t my grandfather. You are my guide. You’re here to help. But don’t think you can just decide what I can and cannot do concerning this mission.”

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “I didn’t. I was merely warning you.”

  Eliza shrugged. “Either way, I’ll make my own decisions about how I conduct this search. Don’t stand in my way about this. I have a feeling.”

  “A feeling?” He barked a scornful laugh and finally met Eliza’s gaze. “Is this feeling going to end up killing us?”

  Eliza ignored how he said ‘us’. She forced it from her mind and refused to let it hurt her—hurt the feelings she was slowly developing for the commander so hell bent on helping her. We’ve known each other for a couple of days, and by the Gods, I want to throttle him half the time.

  “Look,” she said, stopping him. “You don’t have to believe me, but believe this: my freedom—my life—is in the hands of the king, so I have to do as he asks. That means finding the prince by any means possible. I have my magic, so don’t underestimate me.”