“I honestly thought you might enjoy the break.” When she looked back at him, he was grinning. “The king throws the most elaborate balls.”
“Sure.” She huffed, thinking back to all the dances she didn’t go to in New Orleans. Thanks to being home-schooled, she hadn’t had the chance to experience those kinds of mundane things. When she was fourteen, she had been invited by a boy from her neighbourhood, but she’d refused—chickened out, really. Kay had gotten Eliza a dress and everything. But Eliza had been an outsider in that regard.
What’s one ball? she thought, biting her lip. What’s one more night? Surely, she thought, the Elders would deliver maps the following day. What’s one more night of faux freedom when her doom might be upon her in a matter of weeks?
Sighing, Eliza finally nodded. “Alright.” It might be my last one anyway.
~
The gown wasn’t as heavy as Eliza had thought it would be. The black chiffon fell around her legs, covering the extensive bruises and scrapes that spread across her body. The bodice itself was tied tightly around her chest, giving her cleavage an unnecessary boost, shaping her figure into something feminine. A thick black ribbon tied around her waist and knotted at her back, adding a flair of innocence to the look.
A young woman stood behind Eliza with black roses sticking from her mouth, skilfully winding them through Eliza’s hair into an elaborate array of curls that fell down her back. Eliza watched in the mirror as the black roses were artfully pinned to her hair into a crown that wound around her head.
Eliza reached a hand up and touched her hair lightly. Pretty, she thought, lips parting. I actually look pretty. The mask she’d been given fit over her face easily. It was made from the same shimmering black material as her dress.
The young woman bowed her head and left the room. Eliza watched her, unsure of what to do. She’d wanted to thank the woman, but thoughts of Clio, of the winter palace and the fancy dinner, stopped her.
The night grew cold and dark, stars now scattering the clear winter sky, surrounding the moon that lit the city. From her room, Eliza could clearly hear the beginnings of an orchestra as they began testing their instruments, fighting a war against the howling wind that blew off the lake.
She stood from her vanity and grabbed a black cloak; the thin material fell to her feet in a pool of silk, but it gave her the protection she would need against the chilly corridors. Even with only her balcony doors wedged open, she felt the bite of the night seeping into her room, sending goose bumps along her bare flesh. The rest of the palace would surely be warmer, but she didn’t want to take that chance.
“This is one night,” she said to herself, wrapping the cloak around her hunched shoulders. “I just have to deal with one night of pampering and stares and Gods I need to stop whining.” Shaking her head, she stepped into a pair of black boots and tied them at her ankles.
A brisk knock sounded at her door. Thorne. Eliza glanced at the time. He was early.
Sucking in a breath, she rolled her shoulders back, checked her lipstick, and walked to the door.
Brandon Thorne stood tall in a tailored uniform; a black suit rimmed in emerald green and gold; the buttons of his coat polished to reveal pure silver. The coat reminded Eliza of a British general’s uniform from the eighteenth century. Several medallions lined his right-breast pocket, some gold and others silver. Merits of war.
Overall, he looked… handsome. Her lips parted as she looked him over, from the slight tousle of his dark hair, to the storms of his eyes, and the line of his lips. The plain mask he wore highlighted the sharp lines of his features and made his eyes look darker.
“Is something wrong?” Thorne asked, voice low. Pink brushed the bronze of his skin, high on his cheekbones.
Eliza looked up from his lips, cheeks heating, and gave him a smile. “Of course not.”
Thorne offered his elbow and Eliza took it with trembling fingers. “You look…” Thorne shook his head, colour rising in his cheeks.
Eliza was forced to remember what he told her in the tunnels, about his past love. It can never be anything more, she thought. Not with his secrets about the Brotherhood, about his past.
The corridor seemed uncharacteristically quiet despite the gradually building tempo of the orchestra in the ballroom, the music echoing hauntingly throughout the hall. Eliza had expected all kinds of people to be rushing around the corridors, preparing for the unexpected ball, and yet, she and Thorne were the only ones in sight.
There was an unnatural chill in the air too, but Eliza tried to ignore it, despite the churning in her stomach.
“Are you still sure this is a good idea?” she asked, voicing her doubts.
Thorne looked down at her, a wisp of dark hair falling into his eyes. She yearned to reach up and brush it aside, but her hands wouldn’t move. “Yes. I know for a fact that someone important is going to be here tonight. We may need their help… if they offer it.”
Eliza swallowed thickly. She wanted to ask if it had anything to do with this ‘Ecix’ he was hiding from her, but the words wouldn’t form on her dry lips. Guilt stopped her from asking.
Eliza returned her gaze to the empty hall.
They descended the opulent staircase that led to the entrance of the palace but turned left towards the music. It floated steadily through the halls, gradually growing louder the longer they walked. Masks and feathers hung from the ceiling, while servants dressed in elaborate costumes lined the walls. They wore masks that covered their faces; some wore the faces of Fae—gold-skinned with silver eyes—while others wore the faces of horned monsters. Each carried a different drink though, and Eliza plucked one from a Faery-faced server. Thorne took one from a monster.
She sipped at the sweet beverage hesitantly. It tasted like a cocktail she’d tried in New Orleans, though she could feel magic on her tongue this time. She lowered the drink.
“The king doesn’t joke around when it comes to parties,” she murmured. Now, the hall was littered with guests who drank continuously from the glasses that lined the walls. Although she doubted they’d repeat anything she’d say—because she doubted they’d remember this night—she couldn’t help but eye the few that did not have drinks in their hands. “Even the servants are dressed up. Gives the dinner a murder mystery vibe.”
Thorne cocked his head so that he was closer to her. “This is all a façade. Remember that.” His body tensed as they finally entered the ballroom.
Streamers of black, gold, and burgundy lined the walls and ceilings, while feathers and dripping candles of the same colour-scheme floated mid-air. Hundreds of people danced to the jaunty music of the orchestra, while others conversed beside a buffet table against one of the far walls. There were tables and chairs scattered about, too, but Eliza couldn’t spot many using them. They were either too entranced with the music or the company of others.
From where she stood, Eliza could clearly see the king, sitting upon his gilded throne. He wore a more extravagant version of Thorne’s uniform. He had twice the number of medallions, and they stood out above all else. The emerald lining of his suit was more prominent, the expensive material exquisite to look at, and silver lined his cuffs and collar.
Sitting upon his dark hair was his golden crown, detailed in emeralds that glimmered. Diamonds glistened like teardrops, while rubies shined like freshly spilt blood, shaped like interwoven vines and flowers to hold the beautiful jewels. On his face, he wore a silver mask.
Eliza touched her black mask. Their masks matched, except in colour.
“It looks fine,” Thorne said, breaking through her thoughts as he touched his own mask. Silver, like the king’s. Anyone with military status wore something similar.
Nodding, she pulled her cloak from her shoulders and handed it to a passing servant, who took it with a bow of their head. When she turned back to Thorne, she noticed—with some surprise—that his eyes travelled up the length of her body. Eliza watched as they roamed her figure until his eyes met hers once again.
Before he could reply, silence cut through the room like a knife. The orchestra died mid-song, and the guests all turned to face King Bastian’s dais at once.
Eliza did the same, heart pounding in her chest.
King Bastian stood before the crowd with his arms raised, resting his eyes on Eliza.
But it wasn’t the king’s stare that caught Eliza’s attention; it was Henry Ivo’s.
The older man stood to the left of the king, hands clasped behind his back and a look of placidness smoothed over his lined face. His silver brows furrowed, but she could see the ghost of a smile tipping his thin lips. A look of concentration flashed in his dark eyes.
“He would appear nicer if he smiled,” a voice whispered in her ear.
Eliza pursed her lips in order to hide her smile, but she couldn’t help it. “Grandpa, what are you doing here?” she asked, voice low. The king started his speech, but she gave up listening.
Her grandfather slipped his hand into hers. “I wanted to check up on you.” He gave it a squeeze before releasing it. “But it seems to me like you are in good hands. Henry is one of my oldest friends and contacted me straight away when he ran into you. He said you looked fine. But I wanted to see for myself.”
Tears sprung to her eyes. Turning her head slightly, Eliza caught a glimpse of her grandfather’s face, and she committed it to memory, like she always did. Like she would always do. His silver hair was combed back, thick and slightly curled with the cold air. The robes he wore were ceremonial; the ones he’d worn the last time she’d seen him.
Not seeing him while being in Cadira… her heart grew heavy in her chest. She blinked, and he wavered slightly, the outlines of his body shimmering like that of an illusion. When she blinked again, however, it was gone, and her grandfather smiled at her broadly.
Perhaps the wine is getting to me, she thought with an inward shake of her head.
Davis indicated to the old Keeper. “Henry is one of the best Warlocks I know, and the most trustworthy. If you need anything, go to him.”
Before she could reply, Davis Kindall disappeared into the crowd.
24
SECRETS HIDDEN IN THE DARK
Despite the room being packed, Eliza attempted to make her way across the dancefloor, heart still pounding. Over and over again, she replayed the moment with her grandfather; his voice, soft in her ear, and his hand holding hers. She wanted so badly to hug him, to go back to her life in New Orleans, but the heavy burden the Cadiran king had placed upon her shoulders weighed her down.
The king sat idly on his throne; his chin propped lazily on his hand. Bored already? she wanted to ask.
Straightening her spine, Eliza approached the king, but was stopped when a hand lightly touched her back, beckoning her away from King Bastian and his posse of Dukes and Lords.
“Elizabeth, might we have a word?” The voice didn’t give her a chance to deny. Before she could react, Henry Ivo swept her back onto the ballroom floor in a single, flourishing movement, and tricked her into dancing in time with the orchestra and the rest of the pressing bodies.
“Elder Ivo,” she said, blinking in surprise. “What can I do for you?”
The older man smiled pleasantly. “I saw old Davis with you on the balcony. He looked well.”
Pain burned in his eyes then, like the mention of her grandfather hurt him.
She smiled. “He was just checking up on me, thanks to you contacting him.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, frowning, “if I got in your way by any chance.”
“No!” Startled, they missed a beat, and hurried to regain their tempo, along with the other dancers beside them. “I just… I just didn’t expect to see him so soon, is all. Thank you for that, I guess.”
The old Keeper gave her a nod. “That is no problem, my dear.”
They remained quiet for several beats and continued to dance steadily across the floor. Henry spun her, and she dipped underneath his arm, her dress flying out around her.
“I did not pull you away just to dance and reminisce,” Henry said, voice low. His face darkened for a moment. “I have those maps you requested. That is also why I am here. However, you will need to have a meeting with King Bastian before they can be handed over to you.” He looked around warily for a moment before spinning her. “You must also be careful when dealing with the Blood Witches.”
Fear uncoiled in her stomach as a chill danced over her skin.
The old Keeper continued. “I am afraid they may be working with the Dark Master. I do not understand how he would be able to control such an army otherwise.”
“What army?” she bit out. But she knew. The demons, the Demon Masters, and the Shadow Soldiers. Was there a chance that Blood Magic was giving him the ability to control his creatures?
Henry cast a look around the crowd. “You can trust only a few, Elizabeth Kindall. And for those you do, it must be with your life. I cannot stress this enough.”
Breath catching in her throat, Eliza directed her stare to Thorne, who stood imposingly at the sidelines, his eyes on her. At his side stood a woman dressed in gold, her mask in one hand and a letter in the other. She stood with her back to the dancefloor, facing the commander, but from what Eliza could see, he wasn’t quite paying attention to the dark-haired girl before him.
Henry spun them away from the commander and back into the middle of the dancefloor. “Do you trust that man with your life?”
Eliza hesitated for a moment but she didn’t get the chance to reply. Henry Ivo was gone, leaving only a gold feather in his wake.
~
Head spinning, Eliza managed to stumble towards a refreshments table and collect herself enough to grab a glass of champagne. The dry, bubbly liquid filled her mouth, and she swallowed with some difficulty.
“What did Ivo want?” Thorne asked, coming to stand beside her.
Eliza shrugged. “He was giving me a warning concerning the Dark Master.” She fiddled with the glass in her hands. She put it back down on the table, half empty, and instead ran her hands over her dress to smooth out the skirt.
When she looked up, Thorne had moved closer; his body half shielded her own, and he carefully put a hand on her waist. His lips, so close, moved to brush her cheek, breath caressing her face.
Warmth shot through her, and gasped softly. “What?”
“We’re being watched.”
“And you think whatever this is will help?” Eliza’s heart hammered in her chest. Electricity fired through her veins. Was it the alcohol, or his nearness, that was making her dizzy? She hesitantly lifted her hand to rest on his shoulder.
He uttered a low chuckle in her ear. “Everyone is too drunk to recognise you. But there are a few…” he trailed off. Of course, there were. The king had eyes and ears everywhere.
Pursing her lips, Eliza subconsciously leaned into Thorne’s body, relishing in the heat he radiated. Suddenly, she was just tired. Tired of the ball, tired of her dress, tired of her entire mission. She just wanted to go home.
“What now?”
Thorne didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled Eliza towards the dancefloor and wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her close.
She could smell his aftershave and the woodsy scent of being out in the gardens and in the barracks. She could feel the crispness of his uniform beneath her calloused fingers, felt his strength beneath the jacket.
With Thorne, Eliza was safe; the minute they began dancing, her doubts and worries seemed to slip away from her. A sense of security washed over her. And the way they danced… they met the tempo step by step, enraptured by the songs’ quickening beat. But they managed to stay together without fault.
Despite the safety she felt while in the arms of Thorne, she couldn’t quite remove Henry Ivo, or his warning, from her mind. Those doubts and worries that had slipped away came tumbling back into the forefront of her thoughts, and they pounded her with ques
tions that she didn’t have time to answer.
“Ivo thinks the Blood Witches are working with the Dark Master.” They missed a beat. Thorne’s eyes widened. “That the Dark Master is using Blood Magic to control his armies. Thorne… it isn’t a long shot. It would explain their refusal of helping the king find his son. What if they were the ones who instigated the kidnapping?”
Thorne shook his head, lips pursed. “They wouldn’t. They have too much to lose.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, heart thundering in her chest once more. But she remembered the Brotherhood and their connection to the Witches. Eliza’s mouth went dry.
“Because,” he said, enunciating each syllable pointedly, “they do have a stake in whether or not the prince is found.”
Eliza shook her head incredulously. “Now you’re just being vague. What stake? How do I know I can trust them?”
“You can trust me,” he said.
It was those four words that almost stopped her on the dancefloor. But the music hit its crescendo, and the orchestra paused for effect. Thorne held Eliza close then, eyes pleading with her as the music reached its finale. As Thorne spun her, the world around her slowed.
Who could she trust? Thorne was the obvious choice; so far, he had done all he could to protect and help her on her mission. Together, they had fought side by side, but they’d fought each other, too. Eliza couldn’t deny how she felt for the commander, her friend. They had their secrets, but beyond that, they were a team.
But then there was her grandfather, who had implored that she trust in Henry Ivo. Could she trust a man who she didn’t know? Davis hadn’t once mentioned Henry to her. She’d never heard the name, not until she met him at the Spring Manor. That was what scared her.
Mind spinning, she hadn’t even noticed the song end, or the fact that she now faced Thorne, not touching. They bowed to one another, and before she could escape the throng of dancers, she was thrown into another dance as the orchestra started again, though this time, Thorne was not her partner.
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 23
