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 beside Mercy, then catches Tamriel’s hand as he reaches for the reins. “You will make a wonderful king,” he says.
Tamriel stiffens in his saddle. Why did he say that as if he is saying goodbye? Tamriel opens his mouth to ask, but Ghyslain slaps the horse’s side and it jolts into motion before he can.
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 a Daughter and has made no secret of her attempt to murder him, even going so far as to brag about it when he had gone to visit her in her cell. He had offered her a chance to explain herself, to apologize for her crimes and beg his forgiveness, and she had thrown the ugly truth back in his face, grinning all the while.
But she had seemed so sincere . . .
He can still feel her face pressed into the hollow of his neck, her small, yet strong frame folded in his arms. He can still feel her fingertips curled in his hair and the pressure of her lips on his, soft and warm. He longs to kiss her again, and that fact alone makes him wish she had let the Daughter kill him.
Mercy had spared him.
She finally notices his gaze on her and glances up, her expression softening. When their eyes meet, Tamriel looks away. He frowns and stares straight ahead, narrowing his eyes as the first rays of sunlight appear over the peaks of the mountains. The dawn is beautiful, the sky streaked with the same pinks and oranges and purples as in his mother’s cherished watercolors, and the stars still sparkle above the city behind them. 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.
He pretends not to hear when Mercy spurs her horse forward, slowing when she reaches his side. She doesn’t say anything until he turns and looks at her. He sucks in a breath when he sees how close she is; just one more inch and their legs would brush.
She offers him a sad smile. The hood of her cloak is up, concealing all but a few strands of hair which hang down around her face, and 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 seems to know this already. 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.
END OF BOOK ONE
Heartless (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 on the road to Cirisor. 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, trained harder, been more devoted than any of the other girls. When she had knelt and spoken the sacred vows of the Guild, she had meant every word.
It had taken just one decision 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 again until now.”
“So you had been wandering aimlessly around the castle until you recognized me? And now you’re telling me—after whispering to me for weeks, ruining my contract, and sending us on a wild goose chase for a cure which 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 . . . I don’t know what happened to the others. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.”
“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 that to me.”
“But—”
“No. I don’t care that Calum has supposedly changed his mind about the contract. 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, anger and mistrust flashing in his dark eyes.
“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 farther away from her each day. When he looks at her, the betrayal in his eyes burns her like a brand.
“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. She knows he has been sleeping even worse than she has, that the magnitude 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. Much to Master Oliver’s frustration, Tamriel insists on taking more nighttime watches than any of the guards in a vain attempt to stave off the nightmares of the Daughters’ brutal attack. Oliver’s concerned looks and whispered advice have met blind eyes and deaf ears thus far, but Tamriel won’t be able to stave off sleep forever.
“Are you okay?” she murmurs, aching to speak to him with the ease she had once enjoyed.
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.”
“You attacked me in my mother’s house.”
“No, that was”—Calum, she thinks—“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 we kissed 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 stomps 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 a Sister who tried to escape 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, but I threw it all away for you. The Daughters have contacts all around the world and no matter where I go, they won’t stop hunting me 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 believed you will play a part in discovering the cure, so you have my protection 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 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.
“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 only 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 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. “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 family?”
Born Assassin Saga Box Set Page 46
