The king removed his gaze from Eliza’s and looked up to his captain of the guard. “We will send soldiers back to Mesah.”
Eliza released her breath in a huff, her heart rate slowing only a fraction. “I could go back to the desert,” she offered. Anything to get out of this room. “I can—"
The king shook his head. “No. You are needed here. I have called upon the Blood Witches to aid in unlocking his memories.”
Eliza’s blood ran cold. She could almost hear them now in her head, whispering, warning. She swallowed that fear of not knowing what they would do to her. Would they claim her as their own? Punish her for using their forbidden magic?
Eliza didn’t want to find out.
Captain Jed said, “We’re sending Commander Thorne to Mesah with a battalion to better comb the rubble, those cells, and see if they can come up with anything about the whereabouts of this army you saw.”
Thorne will be gone. He was leaving, going back, and she was what? Remaining at the palace?
A feeling of entrapment settled over her, squeezing at her insides.
She knew then she would find no freedom yet.
38
CREATED
Breathe. Eliza’s heart hammered in her chest as she smoothed down her blouse for the fourth time since entering the council hall. The corridor, illuminated by gaslights and candles, looked too bright to her, too white. The high-arching windows were open, letting in a soft, frigid breeze, the smell of rot and lavender carrying on the wind.
“Relax.” Her grandfather rested a hand on the small of her back, and she tried not to flinch.
“It would have been nice to have Thorne here.” But he had been forced to take a team back to Mesah, to the tunnels. He’d been forced to leave her. Again.
Eliza sucked in a deep breath and released it through her nose, closing her eyes. A headache bloomed behind her eyes, the white light not helping. Only an hour ago, she’d received word that the Blood Witches were on their way.
Were they claiming me? Eliza shuddered at the thought. This had been what she’d wanted, right? Answers to the accumulating questions that muddled her mind? But standing before the door to the king’s court, nausea rose in her stomach. It wasn’t fear; Eliza had more to fear than them, she understood. But it didn’t make it any easier, to be standing there, left bare.
“I know you and Commander Thorne are friends,” Davis said, “but you need to remember that this meeting is about you and learning more about what happened with the prince’s memories.”
The door to the meeting room opened with a flourish as a butler stood with his arm spread as a sign to enter. The man’s moustache twitched as he took her in, but his bright eyes quickly averted.
Swallowing thickly, Eliza entered the room first, with Davis at her heels. The door clicked behind them, and the room was silenced.
Eliza took in the hall in one quick sweep; one entire wall was made of glass, broken up by winding iron to create a magical scene of a garden, a marble floor, a gilded throne perched on a raised dais before the stained-glass.
King Bastian’s throne was empty, the king himself nowhere in sight. Several guards lined the walls, Captain Jed amongst them. Then Eliza’s gaze found them. Women in blood-red robes.
“Eliza!” Celia rushed forward, dropping the hood of her cloak. She pulled Eliza into a hug. Stilted—and confused—Eliza wrapped her arms around the older girl, closing her eyes and sucking in a breath.
Eliza pulled back first; brow creased. “What are you doing here?”
Celia stepped away. It was then that Eliza noticed the blood-red cloaks made of heavy linen draped over their shoulders. Beneath the cloaks, Eliza could see that they wore riding gear: thick trousers and tunics, leather vests and knee-high, laced boots. They all had weapons strapped to their bodies, and belts full of magic potions.
“I am a Blood Witch.” Celia watched her with dark eyes.
Eliza’s heart hammered, and she remembered Alicsar’s words beneath the mountain, and the dream that had seemed so real, yet unbelievable after what had happened. “Like me?”
The Blood Witches behind Celia did not answer.
“Yes.” Celia cleared her throat, chest heaving. “In another life, you were my sister.”
Eliza felt the blood drain from her face. That was their connection? Somehow, it clicked in Eliza’s mind; why Celia wanted her to turn back, why she stuck by Eliza’s side and how she knew Thorne.
But that doesn’t make any sense, she thought. In another life…
Stepping back, Eliza ran a hand over her face. Her hands shook. She wasn’t sure she could meet Celia’s stare, or anyone’s for that matter. She could feel her grandfather’s presence behind her, warm and protective, but she stepped away from him and Celia.
“I don’t understand.” Eliza shook her head, desperation filling her.
Celia’s jaw clenched. “I know,” she said, voice cracking. “But I will explain, over time…”
“Over time?” Eliza laughed incredulously and shook her head again. “I want to know everything.”
Lips pursed, Celia looked back to the other women. One with golden hair and a hardened smile stepped forward and lowered her hood. Eliza could just make out a scar that slashed over her left eye, blinding her.
“My name is Idgeth. I am your Athir.”
Eliza’s brows furrowed. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she thought she recognised the woman, the word. But she shook her head, the memory disappearing. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Athir,” Celia clarified, “is like a mother, of sorts. You were born into the tribe without a mother.”
“Without a mother?” Eliza met the stare of the woman; no, they would not have been related. They didn’t have the same tanned complexion or green eyes. Idgeth was shorter, thin, while Eliza had curves and was taller. Idgeth only looked twenty-five, at least.
“Ecix’s do not have mothers,” Idgeth said, brows drawn in a line. “They are born of blood and magic.”
Eliza took another step back. Disgust welled deep in her stomach. She swallowed back bile. “So, I was created.”
“In a way.” Celia reached a hand out in an attempt to comfort her, but Eliza stepped back again, shaking her head. “This is why I did not want to tell you all of this at once.”
“I deserved to know,” Eliza snapped. Tears burned behind her eyes, and her mouth dried. “None of this should have been kept from me!”
“The Dark Master attacked our village, searching for you. He has caused the death of the Ecix on more than one occasion.” Idgeth, with her hard eyes and distant demeanour, seemed to sadden at that. “He sent riders for you, and in the fight, he killed many Witches. Including your Athirian sister.”
A dream. She had thought it was nothing more than a dream—a nightmare, about a girl who was taken, who watched on as another girl was killed in the process. Celia was the Athirian sister of Eliza’s past life. The life connected to Thorne. Finally, it was starting to make sense.
“I remember that,” Eliza whispered. She felt the blood rush from her face, and her knees quivered. Too much. This is too much. “She was shot with an arrow.”
Idgeth nodded solemnly, jaw clenched as she looked away.
So many dead… because of me.
“How is an Ecix created? Can it be stopped?”
Standing besides Idgeth, one of the other women hissed. “You cannot just stop a power like that.”
“Why not?” Eliza demanded. She stepped forward and spread her arms wide. “I hate it. I hate having this power and not knowing what to do with it. It causes more trouble than what it’s worth, and if it were destroyed, then maybe we could stop the Dark Master.”
The same woman dropped her hood, revealing ink-black hair and obsidian eyes. She was frightening, but Eliza held her ground. “The power of the Ecix is sacred, it cannot be merely… taken away.”
Eliza choked on a laugh. “Seeing dead people is one thing, but not being able to
help them is another. I can’t do anything but stand there and watch.”
Eliza sucked in a long breath, heart thundering in her chest. Her cheeks felt warm; she could feel the heat radiating from her face.
“The Blood Witches have spent too long protecting—”
“Protecting?” Eliza couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bitter in her ears. “You’ve been using it for your own gains, haven’t you? This power… it doesn’t help anyone. The reason the Dark Master wanted me was because he had an army to build. I was going to be a pawn in some sick and twisted game, and I hate that.”
Celia stepped up to her and cupped her cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet. “Since the death of my Athirian sister, an Ecix, just like you, I vowed to find a way to remove the Dark Master from this world. If you want me to make this same promise to you, to find a way to destroy this power, then I will.”
Her bright eyes bored into Eliza’s, and it was in that moment that Eliza knew she could trust the other girl, with her life and the promise she had just made.
Drowning out the protests from the other Blood Witches, Eliza nodded.
“Good,” Celia said, smiling. She took a step back and straightened. “Then I will help you, sister, because I would do anything to know that you will not die before your time.”
Even though Celia wasn’t her blood sister—or the sister she’d been raised with—there was still an undeniable bond between them, that linked them through time. Eliza couldn’t forget the way she’d felt when she’d first met Celia, or the dreams that had followed. Memories of the life they’d shared. Eliza couldn’t deny that Celia still saw her own sister in Eliza, but Eliza needed a friend, someone to help her with the Dark Master and the festering nightmares that continued to plague her.
She couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips. “I’m not worried about dying because of it. I’m worried about others dying. It brings more harm than good.”
“That depends,” the last woman said, “on who wields it. Several centuries ago, a woman with the power of the Ecix used its magic to bring forth an army of the dead to destroy the land. She succeeded in bringing plague and famine and destruction to Cadira.”
Eliza swallowed thickly.
The woman continued, “But the one who inherited the power after her, a saviour in her own right, rebuilt this kingdom—this world—with that same power.”
Eliza went numb with the overwhelming dread that shuddered through her. “How much power do I have?”
“That is something we need to find out,” Celia replied, lips thin. “It is not something to worry about at this time.”
The great doors opened and the butler stood aside so the king and several guards could enter. Behind the party, Prince Alicsar walked slower, his gait heavy with wariness.
“I do believe we must try and find out if my son is a true amnesiac or not,” Bastian said, settling onto his throne. “I want to know what he remembers. This lack of cohesive memory worries me.”
Eliza pursed her lips. Without Thorne there to back her up, she wasn’t sure what she should say in the event that the Blood Witches found his memories, revealing that he was working with the Dark Master instead of against him. Eliza still couldn’t even look Alicsar in the eye, let alone stand with him. Seeing him… it brought back every memory of under the mountain, of the tunnels and the soldiers she had to kill in order to find him.
It brought back other memories too, but Eliza locked them away.
A guard moved a single chair into the middle of the room. Everyone watched with bated breath as the prince slowly approached it, his eyes on the king, who looked as if he was mildly put-out by what was about to happen.
Eliza had managed to avoid Alicsar after their meeting the night before, but now, as he entered the room looking almost like the boy she’d fallen for, those memories and feelings she had locked away came flooding back in.
“Your Highness,” Idgeth said, bowing her head. Celia and the other Blood Witches did the same. “We will be looking for any sign of your lost memories, and we will be bringing them to the surface.”
Eyeing Alicsar, Eliza noticed how… unaffected he looked about having someone delve into his mind. He nodded wordlessly to Idgeth, giving his consent. His eyes conveyed absolutely nothing—no fear, no guilt, no worry.
“Eliza and I will be the ones to delve into your mind and find your memories,” Celia said, continuing from Idgeth.
Eliza sent Celia a confused look, ready to shake her head and hand the job over to one of the other Witches. There were others who should have done it. Why her? Hadn’t she done enough?
“Trust me,” Celia murmured, offering Eliza an encouraging smile. “You need to know.”
Finally, Eliza nodded stiffly, and followed Celia to the chair.
Alicsar took a seat, hands in his lap. From behind, Eliza could see his knuckles; tight from holding his hands together. Someone had clearly attempted to brush his sun-streaked hair back and out of his face, but it looked as if he’d ran his hands through his hair a dozen times since then.
The room fell into a tense silence as Celia and Eliza moved to stand behind the prince. They each placed a hand on his shoulders; Eliza hesitated slightly before settling her left hand warily on his shoulder. She raised the other hand and closed her eyes, just as Celia did the same.
Eliza had never done a spell like this before; the intensity of it stumped her, and she knew that one wrong move would turn Alicsar into a living vegetable. She wasn’t even sure why Celia had dragged her over to help, but curiosity got the better of her, and it won out over the fear she’d felt when he had walked into the room.
Celia began a low, whispered chant; Eliza remained quiet and waited. Almost like instinct took over, Eliza was moving, turning so that she now stood beside the prince, across from Celia.
Warmth spread through her, the naturalness of the spell unfolding within her. Almost like another person had taken control of her, Eliza felt at ease with what she was doing.
Their hands reached over the top of him, and clasped.
Light flared behind Eliza’s eyes as she was thrown into Alicsar’s mind.
Flashes of memory sped past Eliza, but she could barely make anything out; blond hair curled around a baby’s fist, a crown atop a man’s dark hair, a splash of crimson, then… fog.
Everything from then on was covered in a mist, caved in and indistinguishable. However hard she tried, she couldn’t see anything.
Maybe his memories really were gone.
She caught a glimpse of one thing; a figure covered in their own blood. She could feel the remorse from him, felt his desperation. He did not want to hurt this person, and yet he was.
Light flared again, and she was gone.
Opening her eyes, it took Eliza a moment to orientate herself.
She wasn’t in Alicsar’s mind, but rather a room with people she knew.
Eliza sucked in a breath and released it slowly, before stepping away from Celia and he prince.
“What did you see?” the king asked impatiently.
Celia cleared her throat. “The prince’s memories truly are gone, Your Majesty. He remembers nothing of his time with the Dark Master.”
39
LONG LIVE THE PRINCE
The room Eliza was in wasn’t hers, but it was supposed to be. It didn’t have her movie posters, or wall-hanging plants, or the polaroid mural of her life. The room wasn’t bare brick with a splash of paint. Odin wasn’t sleeping on his chair in the corner of the room, and the Cadiran constellations did not shine bright on the ceiling.
It was hers, but it wasn’t.
Much bigger than the last room she had while in the palace, Eliza had been given an upper-floor chamber, with its own private balcony, a sitting room with a fireplace, a bathing room and walk-in wardrobe that rivalled the size of her bedroom in New Orleans.
The bedroom itself was large, with the bed taking up a third of the space. Gold and blood-red pillows scattered the thic
k duvet, and there were at least three different throw blankets carefully folded at the end of the bed. A four-poster with a canopy above, it seemed fit for a real princess, not herself. But she couldn’t help but admire the red gauze-like material that had been woven along the beams of the bed; that same material fell so that it gave the bed some privacy, though the curtains were pushed back, giving Eliza a full view of it.
She released a heavy sigh.
“You don’t like it?” her grandfather asked, following her into the bedroom. He prodded at the mattress before smiling. “I like it. It is very… you.”
Eliza shook her head. “It’s nice, but it isn’t home.”
Davis’ eyes softened. “Of course not. But you can make it your home.”
I have to stay. Eliza had little choice in the matter; not only did King Bastian want her to stay at the palace, but so did the Blood Witches. To keep an eye on her, though they would never admit it. She was a flight risk, a threat.
“I don’t have much of a choice now,” she murmured, dropping her bag onto the bed. She eyed the ottoman at the end, where a large box sat. She nodded towards it. “What’s in there?”
“Oh.” Davis stepped away from it with a smile. “I brought it with me. I received a message from the king almost immediately after you found the prince, to come back here, and knowing you would be staying, I brought this with me.”
Eliza swallowed thickly. Since finding the prince, a heavy feeling of foreboding had settled within her. It tore at her thoughts and filled her mind with doubts and uneasy questions.
“Open it,” Davis said, placing a hand on her shoulder and guiding her to the box.
The cardboard flaps pulled open easily, and revealed, first and foremost, a pillow. Eliza laughed, and tears pricked at her eyes. The knitted cover, made by an old neighbour of theirs in New Orleans, had been given to her when she’d first arrived in the foreign city. She’d been young, but she would never forget the older woman hobbling up to them, weathered face pulled into a smile. The pillow had been Eliza’s first gift in New Orleans, and she couldn’t imagine facing Cadira without it.
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 36
