She hoped it wasn’t, but…
If she wanted to know more, be sure, then she’d need to brush up on her knowledge of Blood Witches.
Casting a glance over the library, Eliza headed towards a section dedicated to the magic of Cadira. Scholars dressed in grey robes filled the isles of this section, some pulling manuscripts and scrolls from the hard-wood shelves, while others packed them away. There was one section though, that caught Eliza’s attention: Blood Magic.
That part of the library was cordoned off. Glass surrounded the books and scrolls in that area, while two guards stood idly by, hands clasped in front of them, their weapons just in reach.
Eliza stopped a young scholar. “Why are those books under lock and key?”
The scholar hesitated before answering. “Since the prince’s disappearance, the king has had all books regarding that kind of magic stored away for safe keeping.”
“Why not just destroy the books?” This time, Eliza met the stare of the scholar, who shook her head.
“It is not that simple,” she said, frowning. “They are ancient tomes that have been interlaced with their own unique kind of magic. They simply cannot be destroyed.”
Pulling away from Eliza, the scholar girl bowed her head. “Sorry, I cannot be of more use. Only the Masters know the truth behind those books.” She hurried away without another word, leaving Eliza standing alone.
Gods, the restricted section of Hogwarts would have been easier to infiltrate, she thought bitterly, pursing her lips. None of the scholars made any attempt at even looking into the case, almost like casting your eyes on the forbidden magic was grounds for treason.
Something within her recoiled from the case. But something else wanted her to go in and take what she wanted. Magic warmed the tips of her fingers. One simple spell…
“If you want to read what is within, then all you need to do is ask.”
Eliza, startled, turned to face a green-skinned, blue-horned woman. A long burgundy cloak covered her tall body, matching the colour of her piercing eyes. Hands clasped in front of her, the woman eyed Eliza.
Something twisted in Eliza’s stomach. Since arriving in Cadira, Eliza hadn’t seen any of the Faery beings. Like herself, they were the offspring of the Fae and mortals, though rather than having the pointed ears of the Fae, they were touched in other ways.
It still startled Eliza to see them look so human yet so different. Though rare, Eliza couldn’t help but be amazed by the beauty of the scholar.
“Do you want to know what is inside the case?” the woman asked, a smile forming on her face. “Or do you just want to stand there?”
“I, uh…” Eliza trailed off, unsure how to answer. It seemed almost too easy, being able to just get what she wanted.
The horned woman cocked her head. “I can see the uncertainty. It wars within you.”
Eliza bit her lip. “It’s just… why are you letting me into that case?”
“I am under strict instructions from the king to give you whatever information you might need for your mission. If it means allowing you access into the forbidden shelves, then so be it.”
Furrowing her brows, Eliza nodded half-heartedly. “Alright. Well, I need access to all the books on Blood Magic, if that’s alright.”
The woman bowed her head, pulled a key from her cloak, and walked towards the glass case. The guards who stood by watched Eliza closely, and watched the woman too, with an air of distrust. But the guards let them through without a word, giving Eliza enough space to gather old books into her arms, and carry them towards a nearby table.
“If you need any help, then please let me know.”
Alone, Eliza set to work.
~
Hours slipped by without any thought. Eliza sat at her table, transfixed by the Blood Witches’ magic. Ancient spells and curses marked the pages in a language she could barely understand. Not only spells filled the pages… at least three of the books she’d read had folklore and history about the Witches, though it was scarce. Despite being a very well-known and powerful coven, with tribes dispersed throughout the mountains, there was not much written about them. Most of their customs and history—even their exact whereabouts—were unknown.
The High Witch of the Blood Witch tribes has protected the secrets of the Labyrinth Mountains for centuries. There have only ever been three High Witches recorded since the discovery of these Witches. It is unknown if there were more, or for how long these Witches have lived in Cadira.
Some scholars theorise that the Blood Witches belong to the Brithien Elves, a species of Fae now rumoured to be extinct. The Brithien Elves, who are said to be the children of Thrinarv, King of the Gods, were enslaved in the old prison of Mesah before they disappeared. There are few left alive to know what the Brithien Elves looked like, or the kind of magic they wielded.
I am uncertain as to the reason behind the scholars’ theories about the Blood Witches. There is no evidence—written or otherwise—that we have access to in order to make these assumptions. There is even a scholar who believes the Blood Witches descend and worship the Goddess Azula, though there is no evidence.
Other scholars claim that Blood Witches are Changed Ones (a Changed One is a being able to shift into their animal familiar). This magic has, for a long time, been inaccessible to regular magic users. Those who claim to attempt this magic—or curse others with this ability—have said that their magic has been cut off, or they have developed terrible migraines which have stopped them from further attempt…
Eliza stopped reading and sat back, drumming her fingers on the table. The lantern on her table flickered as the library descended into hushed whispers and quiet footsteps. Alone in her little corner, Eliza could almost imagine that she’d stumbled across these documents in a forgotten room.
She pushed the book away. Mentions of Mesah and the Changed Ones made her stomach roil. She’d suspected that the raven was a Changed One, but the idea that the Blood Witches were too, and that they linked to the Goddess Azula somehow…
Eliza rifled through another text about their history.
The Blood Witches created the Brotherhood, a sector of immortal Knights sworn to these Witches, in order to potentially combat an unseen threat against them. This threat, which has targeted leaders of the coven, cropped up after the Great War, when—
A sharp pain sliced through Eliza’s skull, behind her eyes. She drew in a breath as she dropped the book, stopping her from reading on. Icy fingers wrapped around her throat, and her heart beat frantically in her chest. Fear gripped her stomach, leaving her gasping for breath.
“Miss Elizabeth?” The cold and fear quickly receded, and Eliza sucked in a deep breath.
“Miss Elizabeth, this is for you.” A green hand reached out and placed a folded note onto the book in front her. On the front, scrawled in a neat and legible hand, was her name.
With frozen fingers, Eliza opened the letter and read through its contents quickly.
Miss Elizabeth,
I apologise for the lateness of this letter, but I must see you at once.
I will be awaiting your arrival in the catacombs.
King Bastian
Fear gripped Eliza’s chest once more, but not like before. Instead, she pushed it down and nodded to the scholar. “Thank you,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat, “I don’t think I’ll need these books anymore.”
The woman bowed her head. “Of course.”
Eliza thanked her, and without another word, followed the guards to the royal catacombs.
22
SECRETS OF THE DEAD
The catacombs were as desolate and creepy as Eliza imagined they would be. They stretched onwards into darkness, occasionally broken by flickering candlelight. Down there, the darkness was heavy and overwhelming, stifling. Eliza fumbled to find a torch, almost too afraid to call upon her magic after the episode in the library. She didn’t quite trust herself with that.
Her stiff fingers curled around t
he staff of the torch as she approached the darkness with a straight back. She knew the king was down there somewhere, waiting for her, but now she wished he’d asked to meet back at the palace, despite her growing curiosity at what was down there. It seemed, no matter where she was—New Orleans or Cadira—she was always drawn to graves.
Eliza gave a quick shake of her head and quickened her pace, forcing her breath to come out evenly. She was sure that if she didn’t quash her anxiety, she’d most likely run. Her chest tightened the farther she walked. Something about being underground with the dead monarchs of Cadira didn’t sit well with her. Almost like she didn’t deserve to be down there.
Thankfully, due to some old magic, there were no spirits haunting the underground graveyard. That gave Eliza a chance to release a breath of relief.
Ahead, there was a sharp corner, and beyond that she heard a voice. Deep and commanding, she didn’t have to guess that it belonged to King Bastian.
Rounding the corner, Eliza noticed how the king stood alone, without guards and without any weapons. His dark hair had been slicked back, outlining the sharp structure of his face. He wore a plain red cloak over his broad shoulders, and a pair of black gloves. Standing tall and strong against the flickering torchlight, he looked like a wraith guarding the dead.
“I have been putting off having a statue created for my son. I keep thinking about how he will come home eventually and take my place as king.”
Eliza swallowed the lump in her throat, unsure of how to respond. Was there even a chance that the prince was still alive?
“I have no other heirs,” the king continued, voice soft. “I do not know what I will do if you do not find him.” His gaze remained on the two statues he stood before, and it was then Eliza realised who she was looking at.
The queen, with a small smile on her narrow face, looked almost serene standing beside her daughter. Eliza tried not to think back to the vision the maze showed her, of their gruesome deaths. The blood, the gaping wounds. It almost made her sick.
How would the king memorialise his son? Would the statue be of an infant? Or would they wait until the king was dead, when they could carve Bastian’s statue holding his infant son?
Guilt and uncertainty drummed inside of Eliza’s stomach. She couldn’t help but second-guess her abilities. She knew he was relying on her necromancy, but would that really be enough? Especially against enemies like the Dark Master and the Blood Witches.
Bile rose in Eliza’s throat, panic seizing her, but she asked anyway. “I thought you had another heir?” She recalled the whispers she’d heard from her grandfather and Kay years ago, and the forgotten records she’d found in the library. “Would they not be able to rule after you pass?”
“I do,” he said quietly, as if he weren’t surprised that she’d asked. Eliza suppressed a shudder. “But it is not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked honestly.
A small, amused smile tipped his bearded lips. “There are some secrets, Elizabeth Kindall, that not even you can uncover. I know I have placed a tremendous amount of pressure onto your young shoulders, but I see no other choice.”
“Have you been to see the Fates?” she asked, wringing her hands, hoping for some kind of assurance. Eliza thought of the far-off island where the sisters resided. Kay had told her stories of the Fates, though it was usually kings and queens of great empires who sought out their destinies.
The king’s head dipped. “Indeed. They, too, have placed their beliefs in you.”
Eliza’s stomach rolled. “I don’t understand why you have so much faith in me.” She could no longer look at him, or the statue of his dead wife and daughter. Instead, she averted her gaze, taking in the bust of a hundred-year-old queen, perhaps forgotten by time, only to be memorialised there. Eliza shuddered.
“Because,” he said, fully turning to her, reaching a hand out to the statue of his dead wife and daughter, “faith and hope is all I have left in this world. Without it, I’m afraid I would have lost my will to keep fighting long ago. And I would have given in to those who wish to assume power.”
The king continued, “I cannot let just anyone take my throne. It should be my blood. Since what happened, I have been cursed with the inability to bear more children, and I do not trust any bastard child that I have.”
“But you trust me?” she asked, lips thinning. Her heart raced faster in her chest. “I’m a stranger to you. Why?”
King Bastian’s eyes were knowing as he gazed upon her. “I know that you will find my son, Elizabeth Kindall.”
“How are you so sure that he’s even alive?”
At that, the king smiled. “Like I said, I have faith. But I also believe that if he were dead, the Dark Master wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep you away.”
Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, and she watched as the king turned back to his wife, caressing her cheek lovingly.
But Eliza could no longer breathe; not in the catacombs, not with the stench of death and smoke filling her senses.
“Are you alright, Elizabeth?”
She looked up into the worried eyes of the king. Her blood pounded in her ears, and when she tried to speak, her mouth went suddenly dry.
Her heart thundered in her chest as the weight of the king’s expectations finally settled over her.
Eliza took off in a stumbling sprint towards the catacombs entrance, instead finding herself in a completely different section of the old, underground graveyard. Eliza breathed heavily as she took in the grey-block walls that surrounded her, and the yellowed marble of the royal statues that resided in the blocked-off tombs.
Queens with bowed heads, and kings with no heads surrounded her. Ancient and unforgiving, this part of the catacombs sent a chill down her spine.
Her eyes darted over the old statues, and the plaques that gave details of the monarchs.
Queen Kilandra, King Consort Gerome
Their heir resided in the next section.
The light of her torch flickered off the faces, and Eliza stopped at the reflection of herself etched in gold.
King Kamdon.
Ruler during the Valonde Wars, Rode the great Dragon Zevanya.
Eliza looked upon the face of the young king. Beside him, there was no wife. The next ruler was his brother.
Immortalised, Zevanya and King Kamden led Cadira and Laziroth into victory against Valonde. Featured, the Blood Witch responsible for the immortalisation of Zevanya.
Eliza took a step back, and then another. Her blood went cold. She would have missed the bust had she not been reading, would not have thought to look at it.
But there, off to the side, behind the great King Kamdon, was her.
23
MASKS & MAGIC
You are hereby invited to King Bastian’s Masquerade Ball.
Within this package you will find appropriate attire for the ball. You will be expected after sundown.
Eliza shifted to show Thorne the note and watched as his eyes roamed over the words before picking up the box and sliding it open. “It’s nice.”
She cocked a brow. “It’s nice? Thorne, do we really have time for a ball?”
“Do you have those maps yet?”
She huffed. “No.”
“Then I don’t think we have much of a choice. The king is planning something with this ball.”
Eliza looked between him and the dress, brows raised. Sweat had dried along Eliza’s brow after their long workout that morning; running through the gardens had done wonders in clearing her mind of the anxiety she was feeling about waiting. And had made her conveniently forget the catacombs as she’d been too focused on remembering how to breathe. Already, she feared that they’d been in the capital for too long, and the lack of attacks only made her stomach churn.
What is the Dark Master waiting for? She knew she shouldn’t be thinking like that; she should be rejoicing in the lack of deaths in her name. But Eliza couldn’t ignore the pit in her stomach, the
ever-growing chasm of fear that seemed to expand the longer she waited.
Quietly, Eliza asked, “Do we even need the maps? Maybe it would be best if we just… left.”
Thorne met her stare evenly, without judgement. She’d told him about Amitel and the sand, about the cryptic message, and she’d been prepared to talk about the Brotherhood, but had faltered when she’d spotted the box lying on her bed. Part of her had expected something to jump out of it and attack. But nothing had happened, except for a whole lot of tulle to escape the tight confines.
“We can use this ball to our advantage,” he said, eyeing the gown. “We need those maps, Eliza. I don’t think we should take the risk of leaving without them.”
She sighed. “We’ve lost so much time already. And we know he’s there.” Eliza itched to leave, to finish the mission. It wasn’t just her or her guardians’ freedom on the line anymore; the lives of innocents were caught in the crossfire, dying because the king wouldn’t compromise, wouldn’t find another way.
“How much longer can we wait, Thorne? The Dark Master doesn’t care if we have maps or not, he doesn’t care about the tunnels. He cares…”
“Eliza.” She stopped and sucked in a breath. Thorne rested his hands on her shoulders. His touch sent shivers down her spine. “I know I haven’t been here for you the last couple of days, that I’ve been in the city and haven’t told you much.”
She swallowed. Is he going to tell me about the Brotherhood?
“But trust me when I tell you that we have time. We have to wait.”
Eliza nodded sharply and eyed the dress again. She deflated slightly. “I guess I can’t change your mind?”
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 22
