Seeking Mercy: Sith of Time, #1

By April A. Luna

One man, two-timelines, and a love for the ages—or to shatter her heart.

A time-traveling gargoyle seeks to alter the strings of time, but a demon bent on a blood war stands in her way, threatening to eradicate her and those she loves.

The Dráèek Kingdom, 1815. Mercy Hall, a member of the Gargouille Codex Clan, is forced to watch the execution of her brethren. Injured, she flees from blood-thirsty soldiers and crash-lands in the woods. Seeking safety, she climbs into a hollowed-out tree trunk submerged in water. In the blink of an eye, she ends up a captive in the middle of a war in the West Region of the IV Kingdom, 1715—a hundred years in the past.

Stranded amid danger, she discovers her only chance of survival lies in a human named Ambrose—from the House of Drak. But the dark, soulful music he composes both frightens her as well as speaks to her soul. Mercy finds herself torn between two irreconcilable lives and Ambrose, The Just King of the Tagnikźur Kingdom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DLG Publishing Partners
• Release date: Oct 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386066330

Book preview

THE SITH’S CREED

---

Are you sad?

Be you lonely?

To my words,

Listen ever so closely.

Deep in the dark depths of lore

Truths linger to whisper of war.

Man, and beast, they parted ways,

Hatred set their hearts ablaze.

But in their embers, there lies,

An unspoken love ready to rise.

A bond so thick, it spans time and space.

It's a triad for lovers to find their place.

Do you desire love's true embrace?

Yearn to feel a lover's full grace?

Do you crave the blissful kiss

Of love's eternal bliss?

If so, come forth my children,

Don't be shy, clutch my hands,

And we'll travel the unforgotten

Strings of time's uncharted lands.

1

Only the Beginning

Mercy Hall

---

The Dráèek Kingdom, 1815 . . .

---

Keep up, whelp. Graysen's voice, deep and throaty, rumbles inside the tunnel. Stay alert.

Mercy's twin hearts thump, hammering against her ribs as if trying to escape.

Comin'. The cold, slick stone makes it hard to grasp a handhold. She sucks in a shaky breath of air. I'm right behind you, brother. Grip slipping, her fingers slide over the dank surface.

No. No. No. Not now, please hold, she thinks to herself because she'd rather not fall.

Men hunting her like common prey in the bowels of the castle isn't how Mercy had planned to spend her birthday. Nay, a bit of solitude along with a lone expedition fit her taste much better.

In truth, time with her meddling mother and overbearing sire seems preferable to the present alternative—fleeing from guards.

Sharp pain stabs at her hearts. Her parents' deaths still fresh in her mind—an order given by King Alexander, the Dragon Slayer of Dráèek Kingdom—makes no sense. For generations, her clan, the Codex, have offered their services to the royal family, even to his majesty, Alexander. Hot tears blur her vision.

Pull it together, she scolds herself. There'll be more than enough time to grieve, to seek retribution, once clear of the noble grounds.

A sharp edge of a rock catches her index finger, tearing the nail well past the quick.

Wonderful, that's just great, as if there's not enough going on.

Searing heat shoots down her injured digit, stopping a few inches shy of her elbow.

A thick slime covers her palms.

Dammit. She slides several more feet. Fantastic. Can the day get any worse?

You okay down there? Graysen offers a hand. I smell blood. His fingertips brush against hers. Are you injured?

Nay. She plunges farther into darkness. Just broke a nail. Frustration gnaws at her, souring her already blue mood.

Legs stretched in a split, her feet skim over the grooves in the hollowed-out shaft. Stop. Stop. Come on. Stop.

Thwack. Mercy's head slams against the stone. Her ears ring. Blinking in rapid succession, her vision dims and the tunnel spins before her.

Holy hell. Her arms feel like string.

Concentrate. Focus. Just keep moving.

She must push forward or risk apprehension.

Whelp? The space between them falls silent for several seconds. Need some help?

Nay, so stop asking. Her descent slows. When she stops, the fabric of her trousers strains against the unnatural position of her legs.

Better pants than a dress.

Hell, if it had been up to her sire, Baltos, she'd be wrapped tight in several layers of petticoats. Moreover, topped off with a pink, lacy dress, and matching corset. A demon's contraption to squeeze the life out of women everywhere, human or gargouille.

Ya need me to retrieve you? The base undertones of his voice vibrate in the stone beneath her palms.

Help. Really?

The mere suggestion makes her blood boil. I'm all right.

In truth, falling into a sinkhole sounds better than showing weakness.

I don't need help.

She'd be more inclined to ask the gods for aid before allowing a single plea to pass her lips for any male to hear, much less her brother, and him, she likes.

Stop horsin' around. He resumes his climb.

Mercy wedges her fingers into a fissure then pulls herself up several inches. I'm not . .

A piece of stone crumbles loose. She drops deeper into the bowels of the fortress.

Really? By the gods, both new and old, if it weren't for bad luck . . .

Calling on the eyes of her inner gargouille, the restless beast within, she stares at the jagged rocks. She sighs because below her, sewage churns in circles like a swirling sludge of death just waiting for a new victim.

Seriously? She shakes her head. That's not gonna happen—not today.

Nay, this isn't the end, it's only the beginning.

She flexes her talon-shaped nails on each hand then slices into stone. With every ounce of strength that she has left, she digs deeper into the shaft wall.

Stop, dammit, stop already.

Mercy sucks in air, which expands her burning lungs.

Escaping the holding cell and freeing Graysen had posed more difficulty. So, why does climbing the tunnel offer more resistance?

Come on. Push forward. Don't stop until the deed is done. Slowly, she forces her way through the narrow tube.

A sliver of light snakes across the stone overhead.

Good, at the end, at last.

Mercy crawls out. She lands face-first into a mixture of soot and urine-infused soil.

She gags. By the gods . . .

Hot, toxic bile creeps in the back of her throat.

Are you praying, whelp? He stoops to brush some dust off her shoulder.

What? She wipes her cheek with the inside of her leather vest and smears the foul grime across her face. Are you seriously asking me that? Her nose twitches.

Graysen weaves his fingers through her locks, ruffling several strands loose.

We don't have much time, whelp.

Hair falls over her face, obstructing her vision.

Stop that. She punches his arm. For your information, I'm not a whelp. The impact of her sturdy blow sends a tingling shock wave of discomfort to vibrate up her arm. I'll be twenty-one when the sun sets.

A grin spreads across his face. Perchance. The dimples in his cheeks give him a boyish quality. But you'll always be a whelp to me, little sister. He studies the tunnel in front of them as well as behind. Help me look. It can't be far.

She stands then sweeps debris off her pants.

Thought you knew where you were goin'. Pushing deeper into the tunnel, she searches for an exit. How much time before they're upon us?

I've yet to hear the bullhorn. He slides his hands over the bricked-in walls. It's only a matter of time.

A high-pitched squeak echoes in the confines of the small space.

Her ears perk then twitch. Meelo? Her mouth goes dry as she spins around on the balls of her feet.

A pair of glowing eyes peers out from under a crack in the floor. They belong to a two-toned polecat. Those same unblinking, orb-like buttons focus.

She waves the critter onward. Come.

Relief washes over Mercy's battered body, for she'd thought her pint-sized friend lost to the underworld with the rest of her family.

Without hesitation, Meelo, the masked bandit, scuttles across the stone floor then waddles along the path.

Really? Graysen ducks to avoid a dislodged piece of stone. You're taking the fleabag?

Aye, He's a better companion than you.

Fine. The vermin will make a right tasty stew to fill our bellies. Especially, with a few potatoes.

Don't listen to him. She strokes the critter's head then scratches under his chin. I thought I'd lost you. With an unsteady hand, she scoops Meelo up and slides him into the leather pouch on her hip.

Think I found it. He taps the smooth, buffed wall once, which produces a solid knock. A second time generates the same result. We mustn't delay. The third rap makes a dull thud. Aye, It's here. Wedging his fingers into a crack, he outlines a door.

Indistinct voices murmur.

Shh, wait. Her words catch in her throat. Where are they coming from? Dread weighs her body, making it as heavy as iron.

Imprisonment isn't an option. At least, not one she cares to entertain.

Mercy's ears twitch. Her inner beast claws for release.

No, please, not now. She struggles to maintain control. Don't do it. Don't transform.

The warmth of her pink skin shimmers then takes on a silvery coloration, signaling her inner beast is already upon her.

She hears the king's guards on the other side of the stone wall.

One voice stands out, Tanager's. The mere chortle of the human's speech grates on her last nerve.

Listening, Graysen cocks his head. Behind us? Perchance.

Find them, says Tanager from the other side of the wall. The male traveling with her is expendable. The girl, no one touches. Understand?

She struggles to reel in her beast. You sure about that? He sounds close. Too close.

Aye. He nods. I'm sure.

Filtered light spills into the narrow passage through hairline fissures in the wall.

2

Humans and Blind Faith

Mercy Hall

---

Her brother's wings drape over his shoulders. They fan out behind him, casting shadows to streak across the walls. Long canines protrude from his mouth.

A raging fire grows in the pit of her gut. She's not alone in her anger. Nay, her brother's reactive transformation leaves little to the imagination.

There's no love lost between her and Tanager. She hates the human with every fiber of her being. Mercy didn't trust the slimy human when they were kids. She sure as hell doesn't trust him now. Especially, after he revealed where she and her brother were hiding.

If it's the last thing she does, she'll make him pay for his willful betrayal.

He can't get to us. Graysen brushes hair out of her face. He's on the other side of the wall in the long hall. He draws her into a brotherly hug.

Lucky for him. She reluctantly withdraws from the comfort of his arms. Because when I encounter him, he'll rue the day he ever met us.

The trapdoor springs open, revealing a lavish room—the king's quarters.

Fine tapestries, belonging to the lords and ladies of the past, line the walls. Hand-carved ornate furniture, covered in deer skins, graces the chamber.

She gazes at a thick, brown-pelted rug that contains the head of a bear. They call us animals. Empty glass orbs for eyes stare at her.

You'll not enter. Grasping her shoulder, he stops her forward momentum. Not like that. He shoves her into the sodden tunnel. Change, now.

Why? Mercy, hands on her hips, defiantly stands. You're transformed.

You know why.

Because of the blood prophecy? Her nose scrunches in disgust.

Aye, as if you had to ask. He adjusts the sword on his hip. Never let the humans see your beast.

I don't put much stock in that children's fable. Neither should you.

Whelp, don't argue. A throaty growl of a warning rumbles in his chest. Do it.

You're not my sire. The words roll from her lips before their meaning registers in her brain.

Now.

Mercy's wings drape her like a cloak. Fine. Skin warming, she transforms into her human form. Only because I want to.

Avoiding his gaze, she sheds a tear for their fallen sire. He had always ordered her around, but deep down, she knew her father had loved her—wanted nothing more than to protect her.

She wipes the moisture from her eyes. Tipping her head from side to side, she works out some of the kinks in her tense muscles.

Graysen grabs the hood of her cape and covers her head.

You know, you look more like Mother with each passing day. His hand slides over a lock of her hair. Right down to her fiery tresses.

I shall never be like her. Mother's weak—was weak. Mercy slaps his hand away from her face. No one will ever treat me like a trophy. The tips of her canines pierce her upper gums, and she welcomes the pain. Never. The distinct taste of blood, earthy with a hint of copper, coats her tongue.

You have her temper, as well. Black hair slides over his face, covering his dark eyes. However, I'd wager, you're more pigheaded than she.

I'm nothin' like her. She observes her brother's form. I'll never allow a male, human or beast, to strip my will or steal my freedom with such ease. Love. Who needs it?

So, you say, now. But remember, one should never spread doubt when love is involved.

A flash of her sire, Baltos, comes to mind. Her brother carries their father's darker looks and height. Whereas, she's shorter in stature—fair like their human mother, Arden. Nay, love is a useless human emotion.

There are far worse things than showing one's humanity.

Such as?

Possessing a lack of empathy or humility, says Graysen.

He steps out of the tunnel and into the room.

Come. He waves her on. The path is clear.

Slipping past him, she sniffs then stiffens. Wolfsbane. The scent stings her nose and makes her eyes water.

What?

We're not alone. She crouches and sets her hand on the hilt of her dagger.

The king's guards march out of the shadows.

Graysen steps between Mercy and the humans.

I see you found your way through the tunnels. Tanager enters the chamber. Flank them. He motions to three guards. Remember, no harm befalls the female.

Mercy takes in the opened doorway seven paces away. There are only four of you and two of us. So, it seems you're at a disadvantage. The corners of her lips tug upward. I'm going to enjoy this.

Oh, he is not alone. King Alexander's bear of a frame emerges from the hall and blocks the opening. For the dragon slayer is here. Armor covers his body from head to toe.

She turns her attention to the king but keeps Tanager in view. You're no dragon slayer, my lord.

Of course, he's not alone. Tanager never is.

You are the murderer of innocence. Women and children are your prey. Not by your hand, nay, you leave the dirty work to others. She widens her stance. Which is why you travel with your guards like a common dung beetle.

There's the mouth I've heard so much about. The king holds a steel-fisted hand shoulder level as his guards shift behind him. Wait. Advance only on my order.

The guards stand at attention.

Humans and blind faith. It's something she'll never understand. You've trained your pets well.

A glimmer of light draws her attention—an opportunity for freedom. Only, Tanager blocks their route to the balcony, to liberation.

Stand down, my brother and sister. Tanager grips the handle of his sword. There's no need for additional bloodshed.

"He's not your brother, Mercy hisses. I'm sure as hell not your sister."

Well, now, Tanager says, that hurts my feelings.

Feelings? Really? We both know you have none. She draws a dagger. You'd have to have a heart for that.

Graysen holds Tanager's steely gaze. How much did they pay you to betray me—us?

More than I'll get for you, dead or alive. A grin slithers across Tanager's lips. Now, for her, they'll pay a king's ransom.

Mercy lunges forward. She drags the edge of her dagger across Tanager's ribs, slicing through his tunic. A shallow furrow of blood surfaces and seeps into the off-white fabric.

Tanager draws a hand over the wound. I'm going to make your brother pay for that one. He sticks a crimson-colored finger inside his mouth and sucks the blood off. Close in.

Two guards swing double-sided swords overhead.

Both Graysen and Mercy duck. Together, they sweep the men's legs out from under them.

The guards crash to the floor.

With swift movements, her brother breaks the neck of one man then turns around to slash the throat of the other.

A red stream of liquid oozes across the tiles.

Her brother slips, landing on the wet stone underfoot. His limbs twist and tangle with more guards. He's snared into a blood-covered ball of arms and legs.

Two more humans, dressed in the king's colors, close in.

One holds a spear over her brother's chest.

Mercy's heart sinks.

Graysen's bloody hands wrap around the base of the pointed tip. He struggles to push the slick weapon away. Run, whelp.

Stand down. King Alexander opens his fisted hand.

The guards relax their stance. Surrender, now. He waves to Tanager, who readies his weapon. And I will release your brother.

She glances at her brother then back at the king. Like you released the others? Like my family?

Mercy skims a hand over her leather shoulder belt, tracing the outline of the blowpipe with her fingers.

They trusted you, she shouts, all of them did.

The four poison-tipped darts her sire carved brush against her fingertips.

"I trusted you. Tears brim her lower lids. Have you no shame?"

Concede. King Alexander waves an open palm. His guards take a step forward. I will not ask again.

Shoving the weapon away from his body, Graysen rolls out from under Tanager's sword. On the floor, he releases a five-inch throwing knife from his ankle and plunges it into the spear-wielding guard's flesh.

Whelp, I said run.

The weapon pulses in the man's chest, keeping beat with his heart.

Mercy ignores her brother's words—this isn't a fight he can win alone. Palming the blowpipe, she inserts two darts. Lips around the hollowed-out reed, she blasts two quick bursts of controlled air.

The small barbs sail through the air.

One strikes the side of a guard's arm, the other digs in deep and embeds itself in the king's neck.

King Alexander removes a steel glove. You dare to attack your king. He retrieves the dart. You leave me no choice. Rolling it between his thumb and index finger, he examines the small object. Do it.

3

Live to Fight Another Day

Mercy Hall

---

Tanager thrusts his arm forward, plunging his sword into Graysen's gut, and then drives the weapon to the hilt.

Argghhh, a throaty growl rips loose from deep inside her brother's chest.

Nay, Mercy screams. Her knees buckle, and she falls to the floor.

Hands take hold of her, yanking her up, and she's drawn into the king's arms.

Clawing for release, she struggles against the bonds restraining her. One thought fills her mind, freeing herself from the king's grasp. She must reach him, her brother, because he can't leave her, not now, not like this.

Shh, blood brother. Tanager catches Graysen before his body hits the floor. You should have listened. You all should have.

End him, King Alexander orders. Do it now.

Tanager's hand hovers for several seconds. Releasing Graysen, he twists the blade, side to side. Two-handed, he slices Graysen from the navel to sternum.

Mercy wrestles free and takes several steps but is dragged back into the clutches of the king.

Still yourself. The king tightens his grip, his fingers bite into her flesh.

Tell me. The sting of released rage bores a hole through her heart. Why did you do it? She struggles to stem the hot release of emotions streaming down her face. My mother, my sire, and now, my brother. Why? Why did you kill my kin?

I am king. No one refuses me.

I don't understand. She fights to control her inner beast. We've always served you and the land. My family has denied you of nothing.

"That is where you are wrong. The king stands toe-to-toe with her. By refusing to turn you over, they failed to uphold the terms of a treaty between humans and your kind." King Alexander slithers a hand across her cheek.

What are you talking about?

The prophecy. He catches a tear on the tip of his finger and studies the reflective, clear fluid. My bloodline was promised an heir a hundred years ago. He whistles a bird like call.

A guard closes the door and locks it.

What does that have to do with me?

Everything. King Alexander's hot breath creeps over her skin. Have you not heard the stories?

Her stomach churns because she's heard all of the childhood tales.

You're the first female born to your clan. Under the treaty, you belong to me. The king staggers but regains his footing. Make no mistake, you will bear me an heir.

Nay, I won't.

The dullness in the king's eyes signals the effectiveness of the dart's sedative—milk of the poppy.

You will. The king's hand slides down her arm, skims over her tunic, then cups her unbound breast.

Don't touch me.

Mercy rips free of his grasp. She pulls a dagger from the king's waistcoat and swings the blade at his face.

The king raises a steel-covered arm, blocking her attack. In time, you may even grow fond of being here.

Touch me again, and I'll gut you like a fish.

King Alexander laughs. You do have spirit. He lunges forward, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. I shall enjoy taming you in and out of bed.

Dagger in hand, she slices the blade across the man's exposed hand. With precision, she plunges the weapon between the armor slits covering his shoulder and bicep.

Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she dashes to the balcony.

She calls on her inner gargouille. Her vision grows crisp and clear. For the first time in her life, she transforms in front of humans. Pivoting around, she hisses, then faces the king.

So, it is true. King Alexander wraps a cloth around his bleeding hand. You are both beast and human.

What I am is of no concern of yours. The words come out with a hiss.

The king shouts, Retrieve her. Remember, I want her alive, unharmed.

Her wings uncurl and expand. She takes one last look at her brother's body. His eyes, so dark and full of life moments ago, now appear as lifeless and empty as the boneless bear sprawled on the floor.

Sure-footed and perching on the steel rail of the balcony, she leaps into the air. Wings outstretched, she captures a gust.

Her body twists, and she glides within an arm's reach next to the stone building. Spinning, she rotates, seeking a new wind current to sweep her away.

An arrow whines as it passes her ear. A second one soon follows, and its pointed tip sinks into her shoulder below her collarbone.

A hot, searing heat rips through her flesh.

Hold your fire, Tanager shouts from somewhere below.

Catching the wind, she steers away from the castle but glances at the king. The motion pulls the skin taut over her back and arm.

The red feathers on the arrow draw her attention to the embedded weapon. She pulls on the shaft, and it snaps in two, leaving the tip buried under her skin.

Escape. The singular thought spins a web in Mercy's mind. Don't stop. She glances over a shoulder. Keep flying. Live to fight another day.

King Alexander leans over the balcony. I know what you are. You will be mine. He turns to a guard, snapping orders, Track her. Bring her to me before dawn's light.

The king's voice fades into the darkness.

Below her, a band of guards tracks her movement.

Veering left, she heads for the tree line.

With luck, she thinks, I'll lose them in the forest.

A gust of wind pushes her upward.

The sharp movement sends a shock wave of pain shooting through her shoulder, down her arm, and into her back.

She loses altitude as the guards giving chase draw closer.

A deep-rooted pain rips into her thigh. The shaft of another arrow fills her vision.

Hold your fire, you idiots, Tanager yells. The king wants her alive.

She struggles to stay in flight. Once she clears the edge of the forest, she manages another fifty yards before she tumbles to the ground.

A soft squeak sounds. Still on her back, Mercy opens the pouch.

Meelo, are you okay?

Her little friend chirps, then lightly nibbles on her fingertips.

In the distance, the cadence of the horses' hooves the sentinels ride, pound against the ground.

The howl of the royal hounds on her scent sends a shiver through her body.

I'm sorry, little one. She closes the flap. We can't stay. It's not safe.

4

Search Party

Mercy Hall

---

She rises then grabs the stalk lodged in her thigh. Though pain engulfs her body, she grits her teeth and, with a huff, pulls the arrow free. Her vision blackens, but at least this time, the weapon remains intact.

A steady trickle of blood oozes from the shallow wound.

Don't falter now. Freedom equates to avenging the wrongs, or so her brother would say.

She slows her breathing, focusing on calming her racing twin hearts.

Aye, death won't come easy for those who spilled the life essence of blood today. Nay, she'll see to it personally.

Shoulders back, she flexes her wings.

Mercy launches into the air. A low-lying current shoots her upward. She fights to stay airborne.

A canopy of interwoven tree limbs rush to meet her.

This isn't happening. Wake up. It's just a dream.

Squaring her shoulders, she spins to miss a tree. Wings extended, she glides up the length of a mammoth trunk. Her foot clips a branch. Tumbling, head over heels, she's sucked into the thicket below.

Vines bigger around than her fingers ensnare her.

Meelo peeks from the pouch at her hip then scurries out. He chirps while clinging to a thin branch.

Clawing at the vegetation, vine by vine, she liberates her body. Once released, she free falls and slams into the leaf-covered soil.

A solid pop, followed by a jolt of pain in her shoulder, takes her breath away.

Okay, perchance, it wasn't the brightest idea to slash the vines.

Rolling onto her back, she takes on her human form and stares at the night sky.

Traces of the blood moon stream through the interlaced crown of trees. Fleeing from the king's guards isn't how she had envisioned the eve of her birthday.

She draws in a deep breath then skims a hand over her shoulder. Her hand, wet with blood glistens in the moonlight.

Well, at least, nothing's deformed or out of place, she says, half-heartedly to Meelo, who chirps, again.

Mercy wipes the blood on her pants, rotates her wounded arm, checking the range of motion, then winces.

Pain dulls her vision. Her surroundings spin.

Decaying leaves squish under her. Moisture seeps into the fabric of her pants, chilling her legs.

Focus and breathe, she says to herself. Come on. You