“You attacked me in my mother’s house,”
“No, that was”—Calum—“someone else, I swear. Please, Tamriel, you must believe me—”
“After you lied to me and everyone else? No, I don’t have to believe a single word out of your mouth. Everything you did was to get close to me—it was all a part of the plan to kill me, wasn’t it? It was all a ruse, and that night in the library meant nothing.” He stops and takes a deep breath, hurt flickering across his face. His hands clench into fists. “I always knew you were different from the court. I’m ashamed it took me so long to realize just how different.” He starts back toward the camp, but Mercy’s voice halts him at the edge of the clearing.
“You’re right,” she says, and she is filled with self-loathing when her voice trembles. Damn him for having this effect on her. Damn him for making her weak. “I am different. Would you like to know why?
“My father gave me to the Guild when I was one week old. He bartered my life away so he and my mother could live. Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up in the Guild? When I was five, I was handed a dagger and told to attack the other apprentices. When I was nine, our tutor cut gashes into our arms and forced us to sew ourselves up. When I was eleven, I sat on the back of a Daughter’s horse as she ran down an Assassin who tried to run away to the man she loved. The Guild was my entire life. I had never even left the Forest of Flames until I went to the capital,” Mercy says. “So you will believe me when I tell you that until a week ago, I would have done anything to prove my devotion to the Guild, and I threw it all away for you. The Daughters will never stop hunting me. They have contacts all around the world and no matter where I go, they won’t quit until I’m dead.”
Tamriel flinches and slowly turns to her, his face slack with shock. For one foolish, desperate moment, Mercy allows herself to hope that he will forgive her.
Then his expression hardens. “While I am grateful for your sacrifice, that choice was yours to make. Pilar thought you will play a part in discovering the cure, so you have my protection from the Daughters while we are together . . . but once this plague is defeated, I want you gone. I don’t care where you go, so long as you never show your face in my city again.”
He squares his shoulders and marches back to camp, leaving Mercy alone in the moonlit clearing. When she finally summons her courage and returns to camp, she spots Calum leaning against the trunk of a tree, peering out into the woods. He acknowledges her with a nod and a wink, the dying fire reflecting off the blade of his dagger as he twirls it between his fingers. Tamriel lies on his bedroll on the opposite side of the camp, his back to her. Despite the exhaustion tugging at her, when Mercy stretches out on her cloak and closes her eyes, sleep eludes her for hours.
2
Mercy
“Trouble in paradise, princess?”
Calum grins at Mercy from atop his black stallion, his dark hair tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His shirt is unbuttoned, billowing gently in the wind which provides momentary relief from the heat. The farther northeast they travel, the more summer sinks its claws into the land. Fields of long grass sway as far as the eye can see, patches of vibrant wildflowers and small copses of trees occasionally breaking the verdure of the plains. Despite the breeze, the air is humid and sticky.
The people tending the fields and fishing the narrow channels pause in their work when the prince and his company ride past, staring with a mix of curiosity and wariness at the nine armored guards, one elf, and one unarmored human surrounding His Highness.
Mercy drags her sleeve across the sweat on her brow and scowls at Calum. “Don’t call me that. And stop grinning, you idiot. In case you don’t recall, you’re the reason we’re in this mess with the Guild.”
He moves his horse closer and leans over so far she’s amazed he doesn’t fall out of his saddle. He lowers his voice, staring at Tamriel and the guards riding ahead of them. “Really? Because I seem to recall a certain Daughter failing to complete her contract.” He straightens and shoots her another infuriating grin. “Idiot. Is that any way to speak to your family?”
Mercy snorts. Three weeks ago, she’d had no one. Now, she has a pain-in-the-ass half-brother and the ghost of a sister who was murdered eighteen years ago. Not quite the family reunion for which she had hoped.
She glances at the front of the group, where Tamriel rides tall and proud beside Master Oliver. She had relished the prince exploring her body with his hands, had tasted his lips against hers, had smiled and laughed with him. She had counted every agonizing minute she had spent in the pitch-black castle dungeon, not knowing whether he had survived Calum’s attack for which she had been framed.
“Brave words from a man who paid to have his cousin murdered.” When Calum flinches, Mercy smiles. “How many of your plans failed? Two? Three?”
“It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t go through with it. I thank the Creator every day that you were able to stop the Daughters before they killed him. If you hadn’t gone back, he’d be dead. I never would have made it in time to save him. I know you don’t trust me, but I swear I will do everything I can to protect Tamriel. I will give my life for him, if necessary.”
“What about revenge for your father?”
Calum hesitates, and in that moment, she knows where his loyalties really lie. He still wants to avenge his father’s death. Perhaps he no longer wishes to kill Tamriel, but he hasn’t completely given up on hurting Ghyslain. Then he shakes his head. “My father has been dead for a long time. Nothing I do will change that.”
Liar. Instead, she says, “I’m glad you see it that way, because if you ever lay a hand on Tamriel, I’ll rip off your arm and beat you to death with it.”
Calum laughs. “I’m beginning to suspect one of your favorite pastimes is thinking up colorful ways to kill me.”
“Well, we’ve been riding for days. What else am I supposed to do?”
Mercy spurs her mare forward; not wishing their conversation to be overheard, they’ve begun to fall behind. Calum’s easygoing charm has fooled her before—she won’t allow it to happen again. Hunger for revenge doesn’t fade to remorse in a week. Vengeance doesn’t give way to devotion. But you can so easily turn your back on the people who raised you? a doubting voice in her head asks. Where is your loyalty to the Guild? Mercy squashes it. If he is sincere, he can prove it.
Mercy’s gaze drifts to Tamriel once again. He has traded in his finery for the light clothing favored by the people of the fishing district, and the bandages wrapped around his torso are visible through his linen shirt. The memory of the bloodstained tunic after he had ripped his stitches in the fight with the Daughters is seared into Mercy’s mind. She has seen far too much of his blood spilled. In front of the guards, Tamriel pretends that the wound is nothing, but she can tell by the way he moves that it still causes him pain. The damaged muscles continue to heal, but he’ll bear the scar for the rest of his life.
“You know I don’t approve of this,” Calum calls as he rides after her, gesturing between her and Tamriel. “You and him. But I don’t suppose you and Tam could quit arguing for the sake of making this journey more enjoyable for the rest of us.”
“I have told him what truth I can afford, and the prince has made his opinion of me abundantly clear.”
Calum raises a brow. “You’re not giving up, though.”
“Of course not.”
He scoffs. “You two are like a damn tragedy. He has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”
“Calum?”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
3
Tamriel
Tamriel’s eyes are trained on the dark mass on the horizon—the Howling Mountains. Behind him, Calum’s laugh sends a nearby flock of birds into flight. Tamriel grits his teeth at the sound. He can picture all too well the irritated half-smirk on Mercy’s face, imagines her turning away to hide the reluctant amusement in her eyes. He takes a deep breath, the bandages on h
is back pulling tight, and forces himself to focus on the road ahead.
“How much farther to Cyrna?” he asks Master Oliver.
“At this pace, we could ride all night and reach it at dawn tomorrow. It’s not far, but we have to find places to cross the rivers. Some are still flooded from summer storms and we don’t want to lose anything in the currents.”
“We’re moving too slowly,” Tamriel says. Suddenly awash with reckless abandon, he spurs his horse into a gallop. Every day, more of his people die. The plague which has taken over the capital spreads, sending his citizens to early graves. He doesn’t dare imagine how many have become infected since he left. Certainly thousands. Master Oliver cries out in alarm as he and the rest of the group scramble to follow.
The wound in Tamriel’s back throbs with each powerful pump of his horse’s legs, but he doesn’t slow. Even as his horse’s mouth begins to lather and its sides darken with sweat, Tamriel doesn’t slow.
“Your Highness, stop!” Master Oliver calls. “You’ll wear out the horses!”
Tamriel pays him no heed. The sooner they reach the Cirisor Islands, the sooner they’ll find the cure.
No one else has to die.
Twilight falls as they arrive at Cyrna’s stables, their horses panting and dripping with sweat and water from the rivers they had crossed along the way. The bottom half of Tamriel’s pants are wet. His boots squelch as he dismounts, and he can’t stifle a groan at the soreness in his legs. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Mercy climb down from her gray mare and grimace as she massages a cramp in her thigh.
“Gonna go over there and help her?”
Calum has stopped at Tamriel’s side on his way into the stable, his enormous saddle in his arms. He raises a brow, his eyes sparkling. Tamriel’s face flushes. He turns to fiddle with one of the buckles on his stallion’s saddle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Calum snorts. “Sure, you don’t. Just like she didn’t when I asked about you earlier.”
Tamriel shoves him and Calum chuckles as he walks away. Several of the guards chatter amicably as they unsaddle their horses and lead them into the stable, but Tamriel remains by his stallion’s side, hoping the night is dark enough to hide his blush.
“Your Highness?” Mercy says a few minutes later, startling him. She stands with the others on the cobblestone road which leads into town. They all stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to join them.
“Just . . . just a moment.” He quickly unsaddles his horse and leads it into its stall beside the others. He drops a few coins into the stablemaster’s hand, then jogs after Calum and the others.
As they walk along the winding road which leads to the center of town, Tamriel marvels at how different Cyrna is from Sandori. No walls surround the town, no arches or gates divide the neighborhoods, no labyrinthine streets weave between tall stone buildings. Here, the houses are made of dark wood, and most are alight with candles or lanterns, the shuttered windows open to allow a nighttime breeze to flow through. Music, laughter, and conversation spill from several homes they pass. The sounds of life buoy Tamriel’s step a little. At least these people have not yet fallen prey to the plague.
Tamriel glances to his right and cannot suppress a grin at the awe on Mercy’s face. Her hazel eyes are wide, flitting from one detail to the next like a hummingbird. He remembers that she has seen less of Beltharos than any of them; she’s never been this far north. It reminds him of how amazed she had been by the lake behind the castle, how she had taken off her priceless silk slippers and stepped into the water, laughing when the cold waves lapped over her toes. She glances at him and catches him watching her before he thinks to look away.
“This place is beautiful,” she says. “I’ve never been anywhere like it.” Then she laughs. “Well, I’ve never been anywhere, really.”
“I don’t think there is anywhere quite like this town,” he responds. He fixes his gaze on Calum’s back, wishing his glare were sharp enough to maim. Because his cousin is right—it takes all Tamriel’s self-control to not forgive her, to forget the kisses they had shared, to remember she’s a killer at heart.
Mercy’s pace falters as the street corner comes into view. A fishmonger’s shop occupies the tiny wooden building, its open windows offering them glimpses of iceboxes of fresh fish scattered about the store. When they pass under the sign, Mercy stiffens and quickens her pace.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, and she jumps at the sound of his voice.
“No.”
He raises a brow.
“That place,” she murmurs, so quietly he must lean down to hear, “works with the Guild. Look at the teardrop mark hidden on the sign. If Illynor has sent word of my betrayal to her contacts and the shop owner recognizes me, I’m as good as dead.”
Tamriel frowns. “It took us three days to ride from here to Sandori. I doubt she’d be able to send a message all the way from the Forest of Flames in that time.”
“Assumptions like that are why you nobles are so easy to kill. She’s had decades to perfect her system.”
“‘So easy to kill?’ I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Thanks to me and a dead girl. In fact, I remember you doing a fair amount of cowering when I arrived in your bedroom the night the Daughters attacked.”
“Cowering!” he objects. “You are sorely mistaken.”
Although she fights it, a smile breaks out across her face. She finally slows when they turn the corner, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. Mother Illynor has ravens. She has people in every major town in the country, partners all around the world. If she wants something—or someone—she will get it.”
“I told you, I’ll protect you while you’re with me.”
“And after we figure out the cure? After you cast me out? What then? I’ll be living on the run for the rest of my life. I refuse to quietly fade into the shadows, scurrying about like a rat. You’re not ridding yourself of me that easily.”
Tamriel sighs, rubbing his temples. When she had faced off against his father time after time in the castle, he had admired her stubbornness. Now it’s merely annoying. “Do you have any idea what people will think if I return to Sandori with the woman who tried to kill me?”
“I didn’t try to kill you!” she hisses. “I—”
Mercy stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk, the blood draining from her face. Oblivious, Calum, Master Oliver, and four of the guards continue ahead. The rest, taking up the rear, pause when Tamriel and Mercy do.
“What’s wrong?”
Mercy’s next word escapes on a single breath. “Lylia. She’s here.”
4
Mercy
Tamriel’s eyes widen and he ducks his head, gripping Mercy’s arm tightly. “Where?”
Behind them, the guards reach for their swords.
She shakes her head, carefully extricating herself from his grasp as the group of workers pass. They chatter quietly, pausing for a glimpse of the prince and his armored guards. Under the light of the lantern hanging over a house’s front door, the redheaded woman’s hair glows like fire. “Nevermind. I was mistaken. Sorry.”
She pushes past him, feeling the weight of his gaze on her back as she walks away. She takes a deep breath, pretending her legs don’t shake and her stomach doesn’t clench at the thought of Lylia being here, so close to finding her.
Not yet. Please, not yet.
With a huff of exasperation, Tamriel jogs after her and snags her sleeve. “What do you mean, nevermind?”
“I was wrong. I didn’t see her.”
“You’re certain?”
“Tamriel, I’m hungry, wet, sore, and I haven’t slept properly in days. I’m allowed to make one mistake, aren’t I?” She tugs her sleeve away and hurries after Calum and Master Oliver. “How much farther to the inn?”
“One more block, I think,” Master Oliver says. “Then we’ll be able to change, eat a hot meal, and sleep in a nice warm b
ed.”
“Thank the Creator,” a guard named Maceo says.
“Don’t forget to check the mattress for fleas.”
“I’d take fleas over the cold, hard ground any day.”
They round another corner, and the inn rises before them. It’s a huge building which dominates the block, twice as tall as every surrounding house and three times as wide. The slurred shouts of patrons leak through the doorway when a drunk man stumbles out and retches into a bush. Calum steers Mercy away from the man, wrinkling his nose in disgust, and holds the door open for her.
The air inside is warm and smells of alcohol, but Mercy can’t focus on anything but the scents drifting from the kitchen. Her mouth immediately begins to water. She is certain the quality is far from the fine food she had seen in the castle on the night of the Solari festival, but after days on the road, anything would taste good to her. A warm fire burns in a hearth in the center of the room, logs crackling. Two long rows of tables stretch down the center of the room and several smaller wooden booths line the walls.
Master Oliver shoulders past Mercy and the guards and speaks to the owner at the bar. He pays for their rooms, then gestures for them to follow him up the rickety wooden staircase.
“Room assignments are: Maceo, Akiva, Parson, Conrad in one. Silas, Clyde, Florian in the next. His Highness and Calum in there.” He nods to each door in the short hallway, and the guards split up as he calls their names, retreating to their rooms to change. Then he turns to Mercy. “You’re with me, so I can keep an eye on you.”
“But—” she objects, glancing between Tamriel and Calum as they walk to their room. The last thing she wants is to leave them alone together, but she hopes that Calum isn’t stupid enough to kill his cousin with his guards in the next room.
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