Merciless
Page 39
Mercy stands there, staring at the healer’s body, for a long time. The mug’s handle hangs from her limp fingers, and she doesn’t notice when it slips out of her grasp and shatters on the floor. She doesn’t even notice when Calum begins banging on the door, shouting that she’s out of time.
54
When Mercy and Calum return to the great hall, they are shocked to find it empty and the tall doors open to the outside. As Calum runs to the throne room, Mercy looks down and admires her new clothes, savoring the feeling of the clean fabric on her skin. They are nothing elaborate, just a simple tunic and riding pants retrieved for her by a slave they had encountered in the halls, but the clothes she had worn in the dungeon had become rank after wearing them for nearly six days straight. A wool cloak hangs over her shoulders and her daggers are strapped to her belt, in plain sight.
While Calum is distracted in the throne room, Liselle appears next to Mercy, who jumps. “Stop doing that!”
“What?” Calum calls.
“Nothing!” She lowers her voice and glowers at Liselle. “I don’t know what you are, but I suggest you explain all of this right now.”
“There’s no time. The prince is waiting for you.”
“Then I’d suggest you explain quickly.”
She huffs. “Everything will become clear soon. You must go—”
“—to Cirisor. Yes, I know—”
“You will understand when you arrive. Just know I am here to help you. I have done nothing but aid and protect you since you arrived. If it is in my power, I will continue to do so.”
“You were the one helping me?” Her mind races. The strange whispers in her mind, the dazed guards outside Calum’s room, the pain she had felt in her stomach when she had first tried to kill Tamriel—it had all been her. “And the contract? The drawer just opened—”
“I never liked that kid,” Liselle says, shooting a dark look toward the throne room. “Do not trust him.”
“I won’t make that mistake again,” Mercy says. She can’t help but blurt, “Are you really my sister?”
Liselle smiles but doesn’t respond. Mercy studies her face. Liselle was a bit older than Mercy is now when she was killed, but she’s much more beautiful. It’s no surprise Ghyslain had been taken with her, and even less surprising that he hadn’t realized she and Mercy are related.
Then she blinks and Liselle disappears. Calum’s footsteps tap on the stone tile as he approaches, frowning.
“Tamriel and the king are outside,” Mercy says to his unasked question.
She follows him through the doors and, sure enough, Tamriel, Ghyslain, and many of the guards stand in the middle of the gardens below. One guard holds the reins to three horses, and Tamriel and Ghyslain glance at them when they near.
“Are you ready?” Tamriel asks. His back has been bandaged and he is fully dressed now, clad in shining silver armor. A midnight blue cloak trails behind him and flutters in the slight breeze.
“As I’ll ever be,” Mercy sighs. “Did they find the others?”
He shakes his head. “They’ve disappeared. No one’s seen or heard anything.”
“And Elvira? She was going to look for her husband.”
“I don’t know. They may have escaped in the chaos.”
One of the guards steps forward and hands Calum his crossbow, and he accepts it, smiling gratefully. He strides to his horse and mounts with ease, staring down at Mercy and Tamriel. “Your adventure awaits, Your Highness.”
Tamriel ignores him and turns to his father, who had been watching with an unreadable expression. His eyes shine as if he might cry, and—before Tamriel can protest—he pulls his son into a hug. Tamriel grunts in pain, awkwardly patting his father’s back as he shoots a Help me look to Mercy. She turns away and mounts the horse beside Calum, a tall gray mare.
“You don’t have to do this,” Ghyslain whispers to Tamriel. He pulls away and stares into his son’s eyes, imploring him. “Remain here. You know the price of this choice; you don’t have to pay it.”
Annoyance and sympathy war on Tamriel’s face. “I’ll be careful,” he assures him, “but I meant it when I said I am going to take your throne from you. Our people deserve better than you for a king.”
“You deserve better than I for a father,” Ghyslain responds.
Tamriel looks away, shuffling his feet. He can’t very well deny it, not when he’s repeated the same words to himself every day of his life.
Ghyslain straightens. “Your guards are waiting for you outside the western gate. When you reach Cirisor you should be able to find our outpost easily, but Master Oliver has a map with him, just in case.”
“Thank you, Father.”
The king follows him as he mounts his horse. “You will make a wonderful king someday,” he says. “You will be so much better than I.” Before Tamriel can respond, Ghyslain slaps the horse’s side and it jolts into motion.
Tamriel turns forward and frowns. He rides his horse through the gate and onto the street, Mercy and Calum following close behind.
The three of them meet the rest of the guards outside the walls of the city, and it doesn’t take long before they are halfway around Lake Myrella, the Howling Mountains growing in front of them with every passing minute. The mountains are enormous, even from this distance, the yawning mouths of the caves formed by the karst dark with shadow. The few explorers who choose to enter the mountains often do not return; most perish after losing their way in the labyrinthine caves formed by the dissolution of the limestone.
That’s where they’re headed.
Master Oliver, riding at the prince’s side, insists they will remain in the outermost caves only, and solely for rest. During the day they will ride, and when they stop, the underground lakes and pools in the mountains will be ideal for watering their horses. The caves will also afford them some shelter on the way to the Cirisor Islands.
All of this has been explained to Tamriel in excruciating detail, but he still can’t deny the feeling of unease which unfurls in his stomach when he looks at the mountains which make up Beltharos’s northern border. Too many people have gone missing within them.
An entire race has gone missing within them.
Three guards ride in front of Tamriel on their armored steeds. In addition to Master Oliver, there is one on either side of Tamriel, and two take up the rear behind Mercy and Calum. The prince glances back. Calum is leaning close to her, flashing her a charming smile while he speaks, and she stares down at her horse’s head, frowning. They’re far enough behind that Tamriel can’t make out their individual words, but whatever he has said seems to have riled her up considerably. She turns and snaps something at him, her eyes flashing angrily. Instead of shrinking back, Calum grins at her and straightens in his saddle.
Mercy doesn’t notice the prince watching her. After all the action of the previous night, he hasn’t had a chance to stop and think everything through until now. How can he possibly trust her? She’s an Assassin.
But she had spared him.
She finally looks up and meets his eyes, her expression softening. To her right, the first rays of sunlight appear over the horizon. The dawn is beautiful, the sky streaked with the same pinks and oranges and purples as in his mother’s cherished watercolors. The lake’s waves lap gently at the slick, pebbled shore, and in the distance, tall-masted ships with large white sails float on the water.
Mercy spurs her horse forward, slowing when she reaches his side. She doesn’t say anything until he turns and looks at her. The hood of her cloak is up, concealing all but a few strands of hair which hang down around her face. In the early morning sunlight, they shine like a halo around her head.
“Happy birthday,” she whispers softly. It startles him. Is it really today?
He lets out a long breath but says nothing. What is there left to say?
He doesn’t have a clue.
She offers him a curt nod, the smile fading from her lips, and tugs on the reins of her horse
until it slows enough for her to fall back to Calum’s side.
Master Oliver shoots him a sympathetic look as Tamriel lets the reins fall out of his grasp. He buries his face in his hands, letting out a long sigh.
All she will ever be to him is an Assassin.
He can’t trust himself enough to let her become anything more.
A note from the author
Normally, this is where I would list all the people who helped make this book a reality—trust me, there are many—but I want to do something different. I want to make this part about you, dear reader.
First of all, thank you so much for letting Mercy and her story into your heart. Creating this world and this cast of characters was so much fun, and I can’t wait to share more with you in book 2, Heartless.
Second, reviews are an author’s lifeblood—independently and traditionally published alike. If you enjoyed Merciless, please leave a review on GoodReads or Amazon. Your feedback is invaluable, as it allows me to continue writing and sharing stories you love.
—Jacqueline
Heartless
Keep reading for a sneak peek of book 2
1
Mercy
The ghosts torment Mercy at night.
In the monotony of the constant riding and the hours which pass like an eternity under the blistering summer sun, the soldiers and Calum find ways to entertain one another. They fill the time trading stories of travel and brawls and gossip. Mercy tries to lose herself in the melody of their voices and the lush, vibrant landscape of the country she has barely seen. At night, though, when the only sounds are the chirping of crickets in the underbrush and the low rumbles of the men snoring, she cannot escape the onslaught of memories which flood back:
The screams of the castle guards as the Daughters had carved them open. Their blood spilling out, staining the floor crimson, steaming on the cold stone. The horror on Tamriel’s face as Mercy had stood before him, the point of his sword quivering between them. The moment of hesitation when Mercy had been forced to choose—Tamriel or the Guild.
Then, the shocked gasp Aelis had made when Mercy had plunged the dagger into her Sister’s stomach.
For seventeen years, Mercy had devoted her life to the Guild. Every night, she had trained in the solitude of her room, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the crooked and cracked shutters. She had spent hours in the infirmary being stitched up for wounds the other apprentices had been all too happy to inflict. She had practiced longer than the other girls, trained harder than the other girls, been more devoted than the other girls. When she had knelt and spoken the sacred vows of the Guild, she had meant every word.
It had taken all of one second to shatter it.
Now, the Daughters will never stop hunting her.
Shaking off her thoughts, Mercy rises from her bedroll and tugs her heavy woolen cloak around herself, glancing at her slumbering companions. All but one sleep; Tamriel is seated with his back against a tree trunk in the sparse patch of woods where they have camped for the night, staring out at the darkness as he keeps watch. She stalks silently over the soft grass in the opposite direction, being careful not to alert him to her movement, and continues until the light from the dying embers of their campfire fades behind her.
After a few minutes, the hairs on her arms stand on end. Mercy looks to her right and frowns at the woman who walks beside her. This ghost is a much more immediate problem.
“So now you return. Days after we leave the capital. Are you planning to explain all this anytime soon?” she asks Liselle, gesturing to the woods around them, the camp behind them, the wide dirt road which is barely visible through the trees. They had left Sandori two days ago and have done nothing but ride and camp along this road, counting down the hours until they will arrive in Cyrna, their first stop on the way to the Cirisor Islands. “Why are you here? What do you want from me? Why did you call me your sister?”
“I called you my sister because that’s who you are. You were only a few days old when the nobles killed me, but I still remember you. I recognized you the first time I saw you in the castle.” Liselle smiles, but it’s fleeting. She stares down at her smoke-colored feet as they walk. Only Mercy’s footsteps make noise. “As for why I’m here . . . I have no idea. Something pulled me from the Beyond about a month ago, I think—it’s hard to keep track of time when it does not affect you.” Her brows furrow in thought. “The priestess in the infirmary could sense my presence, but there was something else there, too. Something kept pushing me back whenever I tried to help you. It took all of my energy to appear to you the night you and Tamriel fled. I haven’t had the strength to manifest until now.”
“So you had been wandering aimlessly around the castle until you recognized me? And now you’re telling me—after you’ve been whispering to me for weeks, you ruined my contract, and sent us on a wild goose chase for a cure which may or may not exist—that you’re not sure why?”
Liselle huffs in frustration. “Something or someone pulled me back from the Beyond. I may not be the only one. What’s special about me?” she asks. “When I saw you in the castle, I knew you were my baby sister. After I followed you and realized what had happened to you after my death—that you had been sent to live in that terrible place—I figured the Creator had brought me back to protect you. That’s what I’ve been trying to do all this time, so you wouldn’t end up like our siblings—”
“Siblings?” Mercy stops midstep. “What are you talking about?”
Surprise flickers across Liselle’s face. “The Guild didn’t tell you anything about our family?”
Mercy shoots her an annoyed look. “What do you think?”
“Our parents had five children: me, Ino, Cassia, Matthias, and you. I was killed, you were given to the Guild, and all of our siblings were sold into slavery.”
“Oh,” is all Mercy can say. After being alone for so many years, the thought of having siblings—living ones—is too much to comprehend. She shakes her head. Not important. “Liselle, listen. You know the truth about the contract on Tamriel, don’t you? How it was Calum who—”
“Yes, I know.”
“He hasn’t seen you, has he?”
“No, I’ve been careful. The only people who know I’m here are you and the prince.”
“Good. You must promise me you will not say a word about the contract to Tamriel. Leave it to me.”
“But—”
“No. I don’t care that Calum supposedly changed his mind about the contract back in Sandori. I don’t trust him, and I value Tamriel’s safety too much to put him at risk. I don’t know what Calum will do if Tamriel learns the truth, but he certainly won’t allow the nobles in the capital to find out about his treachery.”
“The prince must be told at some point, though. You can’t protect him forever.”
“I know. Calum will pay for what he has done, but not until we’re safely back at the castle with the cure. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Somewhere in the distance, a twig snaps. Liselle gasps and disappears. Mercy whirls around, raising her fists, expecting to find a guard coming after her. Master Oliver had confiscated her daggers the second they left Sandori, and she hasn’t become accustomed to the feeling of vulnerability which accompanies being unarmed. Even so, knowing she’s more dangerous with her fists than most people are with a knife bolsters her confidence.
Tamriel steps into the clearing, scowling. Mercy sighs and lowers her fists, but her body remains tense as the prince strides up to her.
“What did she tell you?”
“Who?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. Liselle. What did she say?”
“Nothing important.”
Tamriel sighs, his face pinched with suspicion. They have hardly spoken since leaving the castle, exchanging nothing more than snapped orders and the occasional clipped conversation. She can feel Tamriel drawing further away from her each day. The betrayal in his eyes burns her like a
brand, his hurt weighing on her like a stone in the pit of her stomach.
“You shouldn’t sneak away from camp.”
“I wasn’t sneaking—”
“That’s exactly what you were doing.”
She crosses her arms. “I wasn’t running away. You think I’d leave without my daggers? They’re worth more than everything I’ve ever owned. I earned them. Besides, you shouldn’t have left your watch.”
“I woke Calum. He’s standing guard until I return.”
“Oh,” is all she can think to say. She shuffles her feet as an uneasy silence settles between them, longing to reach out to him. He’s been sleeping even worse than she has. Clearly, the weight of everything which has happened has finally hit him. It kills her every time she lies awake on her bedroll, listening to him toss and turn each night. Much to Master Oliver’s frustration, Tamriel insists on taking more nighttime watches than any of the guards. Oliver’s concerned looks and whispered advice have met blind eyes and deaf ears thus far, but Tamriel won’t be able to fight off sleep forever.
“Are you okay?” she asks, aching to speak to him with the ease she once had.
He barks a harsh, humorless laugh. “Am I okay? Are you really asking me that? You betrayed my trust, played me for a fool, and now the woman who destroyed my family—” A pebble flies out of the woods and hits Tamriel in the back of the head. He spins around, rubbing the place where the stone had struck, and glares into the trees. “Fine. Liselle, who has been dead for eighteen years, has somehow returned from the Beyond and is now following us. That’s after a group of Assassins broke into my bedroom and slaughtered my guards. That’s perfectly normal. Why could I possibly be upset?”
When he turns back, Mercy scowls at him, her temper flaring. How dare he speak to her this way, after all she has given up for him. “Liselle is helping us find the cure for the plague and she saved our lives from Lylia and Faye. I killed a Daughter—I risked my life to protect you—and now the Guild won’t rest until I’m dead. I turned my back on everyone I know for you.”