“Dorin!” she gasped as he swung her into the next dance. His green eyes were bright behind the black of his mask, hair combed back and sprinkled with gold. His full lips pinched up in a smile as he took her in.
“You look beautiful,” he said earnestly, spinning her in a waltz. The music was calm, not like the hypnotic clash she’d danced with Henry to, or the simple passionate waltz she’d shared with Thorne. There was something magical about Dorin as he moved her across the dancefloor, the skirt of her gown sweeping the floor with every dip and spin.
“Thanks.” She looked him over, taking in the black suit jacket over black slacks, the blood-red vest over his white dress-shirt. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“I hope so. This suit cost a small fortune. The king really likes to throw last minute parties, don’t you think?” Though he smiled, Eliza couldn’t help but detect a bitterness beneath his words.
I wonder why.
Then she realised: he was a servant of the court. He wasn’t supposed to be out dancing with the guests, least of all her.
Eliza’s heart fluttered, and she scolded herself.
Heat rushed Eliza’s cheeks as they danced. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Dorin lifted her off her feet in a spin, his hands warm where they rested against her waist. She felt the heat of him through the thick layers of chiffon and satin. His eyes bore through the mask, through her, like he could see directly into her soul.
As he placed Eliza back on her feet, Dorin pulled her close, breath fanning her exposed neck. “Look, Eliza, there’s something I need to tell you,” Dorin said quietly as the music slowed. His eyes roamed the dancefloor before finding hers again. “I’m not exactly who I say I am.”
The blood rushed from her face. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Amitel sent me.”
She wasn’t sure how to feel at that revelation.
A darkness flared in his eyes, sending shivers of distrust down her spine. There was something about the way his gaze went to the dark windows that made her stomach churn.
“I need to go,” he said, voice low.
Eliza’s stomach somersaulted. She tried to pick Thorne from the crowd but couldn’t find her mysterious companion amongst the dancers. He’d disappeared, leaving her with Dorin.
Dorin didn’t give her the chance to respond. Instead, he released her and started for the gardens, his stiff posture only adding to her sudden uncertainty.
What if something happens? she thought. She searched the ballroom for Thorne again. She’d almost lost sight of Dorin, only to find him slipping through the glass doors and into the gardens like a shadow.
Oh, screw it. She had her magic, and she could fight back. There were guards everywhere, too, and she knew—hoped—Thorne would find her if anything happened.
But she couldn’t let Dorin get away. It made no sense for him to drop a bombshell like that only to disappear immediately after.
Eliza slipped unseen through the throng of dancers and followed Dorin outside. Magic sung in her veins, a reminder of what she was capable of.
Hitching her skirt, she stepped carefully down the wide staircase that led into the maze of crystal trees and sweet-smelling roses. The darkness had almost swallowed him whole, but she spotted his figure cutting through the gardens.
Eliza noticed the top of Dorin’s head, golden in the light of the lanterns, moving towards high hedges. She started towards him, fingers tightening as she gripped the skirts of her dress. Gravel crunched beneath the heels of her boots, too loud in her ears. The music sounded like a far-off whisper as she approached a bench hidden amongst foliage, out of sight from the guards and dancers.
Secret.
She shuddered.
The hairs on Eliza’s arms stood on end. Dark, strange magic touched the back of her neck in warning. Eliza reached for her magic as a wave of dark energy knocked her to the ground.
Struggling to her feet, another wave slammed into her. It spread over her skin like she’d fallen into a pit of spiders. She gasped, falling back, head slamming into the bench. Something stood over her, made of shadows and darkness.
She blinked as blackness crawled at the edge of her vision. As the dark magic rose again against her, she thought she heard the familiar caw of the raven somewhere in the distance.
She couldn’t fight back as the darkness took her.
~
“Are you alright?” The voice wavered in Eliza’s ears. She could barely hear it over the pounding of her own heart. Her eyelids flickered, and between her lashes, she thought she could see Thorne. “She’s waking up!”
Groaning, Eliza sent out feelers of magic and sensed three other presences with her, though none of them had an inch of the malicious power she had felt earlier.
Memories came springing back to her of her grandfather, Henry Ivo, the Blood Witches, and Thorne. And finally, Dorin, who she had followed into the gardens.
There was a lingering uncertainty within her when she thought about the pretty palace boy, but she couldn’t understand why. There was a layer of haziness surrounding her memories of him, of the night.
Mouth dry, Eliza tried to speak, but there was no sound leaving her lips.
“Celia.” Thorne, she thought. That was his deep tenor, unmistakable, even with her spinning head. “Gather whatever supplies you think we need and head to the port. It isn’t safe here anymore. We’ll meet you there.”
Darkness blurred her vision, and a weightlessness washed over her as Thorne held her in his arms.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted the gold gown of the dark-eyed girl she’d seen with him earlier. Something deep inside Eliza cracked as she met the girl’s eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Thorne said quietly, breath fanning over her face. “I’ll protect you.”
25
MAPS OF BLOOD
Eyes closed, she smiled as the rays of the high sun warmed the skin of her chest. The chills of winter broke temporarily to the warmth of spring, blooms of the Goddess breaking through the harsh, frozen soil.
She opened her eyes and turned to where her sister sat amongst the flowers, her dark head bowed.
“Why aren’t you enjoying the sun?”
Her sister looked up, a frown tipping her bow-shaped lips. “Because we came out here to work, remember?”
Isolde heaved a sigh, lying back on the ground. “You came out to work. I came out to enjoy the sun I so missed the past couple of months.” Closing her eyes again, she breathed in the scents of grass and wildflowers. “When I come of age, I will make sure we never have to deal with another winter again.”
Several feet away, her sister sighed. “Then I suppose we’ll be forced to endure several more horrendous winters, won’t we.”
Rolling her eyes, Isolde turned her head so she could take in her sister’s hunched form. The flowers she picked were lavender, but they smelt sweet like powdered sugar, and tasted bitter like citrus when ground into tea. They were a hybrid creation, grown only by the shores of Lake Mab, blessed by her waters.
Isolde made a disgusted face as memories of their mother force-feeding them the petals as children resurfaced. “You want something sweet? Fine,” she’d said. “Have one of these.”
They never tried to steal from the bakery again.
“What?” her sister asked, frowning darkly. “What are you looking at?”
Isolde grinned. “I’m just remembering those precious moments we spent being so afraid of those flowers. Now you drink it like you’ll never see it again.”
Her sister snorted loudly and rose from the patch of Mab flowers. Her smile was faint, but it was there as she moved towards another patch. “It grew on me.”
Isolde rose from the grass. Her gaze fell on the lapping water of the lake, its blue depths endless, harbouring some of the most dangerous beasts Cadira had ever seen. Would never see again.
“Iss,” her sister said, drawing Isolde’s attention to the edge of the lake. “What
do you think is going to happen to us?”
Frowning, Isolde wandered over to the edge of the water and stared down into the murky depths. A flash of silver caught her eye, but it disappeared into the darkness of the lake; into the sweet embrace of Mab, who looked over that part of the valley. What would Mab do, Isolde wondered, if the kings of Cadira angered her like they had centuries before? Would she unleash her dark children on the earth?
“I think,” Isolde said, “in the end it will not matter what happens to us. What matters is the ending.”
“I will do anything to make sure this ends differently,” her sister whispered, voice thick with tears.
Isolde bowed her head. “I know.”
Darkness fell over the valley, coating the legendary lake in shadow. In the distance, the caw of a raven sounded. It turned her blood to ice, sending shivers down her spine.
She turned in a slow circle, brows drawn. Wariness washed over her.
To the end, she thought, closing her eyes. Beside her, her sister took her hand. The end.
Eliza woke with a pounding headache. Her vision blurred as she tried to blink her eyes open, but she found them pasted shut with sleep. Her memory of the night before was hazy at best, but she remembered the ball, the cold air and the music that whispered like a ghost in the back of her mind.
“How are you feeling?”
She startled and turned her head towards the voice. She recognised it—albeit slowly—as Thorne. She felt her hand tucked into his, felt the warmth of his skin seeping into her cold body. Slowly, she peeled her eyes open and took him in.
Dark circles lined his eyes, the storms of his irises shadowed with worry. His tousled hair looked messier than it usually did; for some reason, Eliza felt the urge to run her fingers through it like she used to.
I’ve never done that before, she thought with a jolt. Maybe I’m still out of it.
With her spare hand, she touched her forehead gingerly, wincing at the sudden pain. It felt like her whole forehead was bruised and sore to the touch.
“I feel,” she said slowly, voice hoarse, “like my whole head has been smashed in.”
Thorne nodded, as if he understood. “It was powerful magic that knocked you out. Do you remember anything?”
“I went out,” she started, fumbling through her memories, “to see Dorin.”
The commander straightened in his seat, a stoniness settling over his features. “Who’s Dorin?”
Oh, right, she thought, wishing she could hit herself. He’s the boy I’ve been hanging out with while you’ve been gone. You know, the one we met when we first arrived? Yeah, him.
She didn’t say that; instead, Eliza reached for the pitcher of water beside her bed, but the commander beat her to it. Pouring her a glass, he handed it to her without meeting her stare.
Eliza swallowed it selfishly, guzzling until the cup was empty. “He works in the palace, and knows Amitel,” she finally said, setting the cup on the nightstand.
Thorne sat back, arms crossing over his chest. Eliza had the sense that he wasn’t pleased with her revelation, and that he wasn’t entirely certain he believed Dorin knew the Warlock. But she had no reason not to believe him, she decided. She wasn’t sure why, but it sent a pang of guilt through her. That deep, unfamiliar need to protect Thorne rose within her.
“Dorin was sent to the palace by Amitel. I met with him a couple of times while you were in the city, and he only mentioned Amitel last night,” she continued.
“I’m not entirely sure if I believe that, though,” Thorne said. “Why were you in the garden last night?”
Eliza hesitated and searched her memory, but she remembered only dancing with Dorin last. She hadn’t had a reason to go into the garden, had she?
Eliza struggled to sit up, groaning as her head thrummed. How hard was I hit?
Thorne leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. “I don’t like this, Eliza,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “Dorin is fine. If there was something wrong with him, then I would know, right?”
Something deep inside told her otherwise, but she shook the feeling aside.
“Anyway,” Eliza said, climbing out of bed. “We need to see the king. And we need to leave, now.”
~
“Majesty,” she said, eyeing the king’s office. The room was all dark mahogany and velvet; old tomes lined the walls and a heavy desk sat in the centre of the room. A fire crackled in the hearth, illuminating the room and casting dancing shadows across the walls.
The king rose from his desk, face impassive. Dark eyes found hers, and she held his stare unflinchingly.
“I take it you have decided to leave,” King Bastian said, moving to stand before the desk. “I am sorry for what happened last night.”
Eliza bobbed her chin, careful to keep her stare respectful. “It’s alright. I feel fine today.”
The king regarded her for a moment with cool eyes. “Elder Ivo and I received those maps you were searching for, Miss Kindall. I must say they are an interesting find.”
Her heart thundered in her chest, relief washing through her. She held her breath as an old, worn map was handed to her. Yellowed with age, the corners were darkened and torn from use.
With steady hands, Eliza unrolled it and held her breath; marked with a raven in flight were the different entrances to the underground cities. One at the Spring Manor, one on the outskirts of Mesah. There were others scattered across the map—three, though there could have been more if the ink wasn’t so faded—but the one she needed…
Eliza lightly ran her finger over the spot. “Thank you, Majesty. I appreciate you getting these.”
When she looked up, she found the king staring at her with an openness that left her feeling uncomfortable. Hope. Unburdened and unrestrained. “I’m sure you do,” he said, crossing his arms, shutting the hope away. “Is there anything else you require for your journey?”
Eliza bit her lip, looking down at the map again. “There is one thing, actually, that might help me.”
“And what might that be?”
She looked up and met his stare. “Your blood.”
~
Eliza stepped back as Thorne checked the saddles of the horses. The two dark, chestnut mares nickered as he rubbed their silky necks. A softness entered his gaze as he worked through the motions of checking their supplies, though Eliza could tell his mind was elsewhere.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the attack at the masquerade. Where there should have been a trace of magic, there was nothing. But she’d felt the slam of darkness, the formidable magic that had swept her off her feet. It had been enough to knock her out entirely, but not kill her.
Why? What was the Dark Master playing at? Why didn’t he kill her?
“What are you thinking about, Eliza?”
Those thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind as she took the commander in. He still looked tired, eyes deeply shadowed, and his usually bronze skin was pale.
She gave a stiff shake of her head and sighed. “I just can’t believe we’re finally leaving and that we might know where the prince is.” Handing her satchel over to be packed into her saddle bag, Eliza paced the courtyard. “Do you think we have a chance of getting him back?”
Mid-morning light brightened the dreary day, though Eliza was happy that it wasn’t raining on them. Yet. But a bank of clouds hesitated on the horizon, and even with the mostly clear sky, there were few who braved the cold air and icy wind.
“I think it’s a possibility,” Thorne said. “I think that attack on you was a last resort to stop you from getting any closer. The Dark Master might be afraid of you finding Prince Alicsar.”
The wind swept Eliza’s hair off her shoulders. It reached below her shoulder-blades now, dried out from the cold air. Irritated, she pulled it back. “I just don’t get it. Why now? What’s so special about it? And don’t get me started on the idea of keeping the prince alive. None of this makes any sense, Thorne.”
The commander sighed, stepping away from the horses as the captain of the guard approached, his inky hair swept aside by the wind.
Thorne touched her arm before pulling away. “I know. Let us find him first. Asking these questions now won’t help.”
“There are three weeks’ worth of rations and enough gold to help you on your journey,” the captain said, voice gruff. The scar that cut through his upper lip made him look like he was forever sneering, though Eliza doubted he minded. It made him look scarier.
Eliza smiled as his gaze found hers. “Thank you, Captain Jed.”
He nodded; dark eyes hard. “Bring him back, girl.”
The captain walked off stiffly without another word, armour clinking with every step. When he disappeared behind the hedges, Eliza released a breath.
“Sure. Because it’s that easy,” she muttered, stomach churning.
Thorne stepped up to her side. “Eliza, we’ll find him.”
Their eyes met, and her worries washed away with the sincerity of his gaze. Just like the king, Thorne believed in her. Had hope that she’d find the prince.
Eliza pulled her gaze from his and walked over to her horse. The mare nudged her stomach, as if understanding her doubt.
How is one girl supposed to defeat a bad guy, save the prince, and bring hope to an entire land?
Without meaning to, Eliza snorted, realising she’d just found herself in the middle of the Young Adult section of the bookstore. Katniss Everdeen who?
“Hello you two. Thank the Goddess I caught you before you left.”
Eliza jumped and spun around. “Amitel? What are you doing here?”
The Warlock grinned. Dressed in all black, he truly looked like a dark God with his golden hair and red-gold eyes. He stood tall and straight, somehow bright against the grey skies. “Good to see you’re doing well, Eliza.”
She stiffened, remembering the hedges and his words. The sands lie. “I’m fine now. But I doubt you’re here because of what happened last night,” she said, curling her hands into fists.
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 24
