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  Grave

  Sanctuary Series Book One

  L.H.Whitlock

  Copyright © 2019 by Lyndsay Whitlock

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  First Printing: 2019

  Dedications

  I feel so blessed to have such an amazing support system. Between my husband and my Mother-in-law and Father-in-law, Kim and Dick, I would never have the opportunity to finish these stories that fill my head. Being a working mom and author is hard, and if I didn’t have someone to help take over, I would still just be a daydreamer. This book is for you, Dick and Kim. I love you.

  Thank you to my readers for picking up my stories. I never imagined when I started writing that I would ever be published and that others would actually read my books. Each time I get a message from a fan, I feel justified and lifted. Thank you for your continued support.

  A special thanks to my amazing cover designer, May Dawney, who comes up with beautiful images that really capture my characters. I am so thankful to have you on my team.

  Thank you, Gina, and Killing It Write for all your support and guidance, even when it’s just a freakout call at midnight. I am so grateful for your friendship.

  Cover Artist: May Dawney

  Editing: Killing It Write

  1

  Darkness descended, eclipsing the quaint, brightly-colored town of Yunnika in deep purple. Stars peeked out from behind drifting clouds as Nora peered around the side of the stone wall that separated her prison—disguised as a castle—from the rest of the homes and shops etched into the cliffs of the oceanfront town. During the daylight, the town bustled with merchants and fishermen auctioning off their finds, but tonight the cobblestone streets looked more like a cave then her newly-appointed town.

  Nora’s hand drifted to her stomach and stretched against her abdomen. Still mostly flat, but in only a few solar months it would be swollen with child. Tomorrow, a celebration to determine the sex was planned, but the knowledge of what would happen if it wasn’t a suitable heir for the throne did not bring joyous thoughts.

  She had watched alongside the rest of the world as the king’s twenty-seven previous wives failed the test of Hayme, the king’s holy advisor, and celebration turned to death, for if the queen did not have a male growing inside her, Hayme ordered an abortion and the queen was banished. For that was their God’s way, according to Hayme, and ordered it so in his written word, the scrolls, an ancient document found when the first star-pilgrims struck their shovel into the unspoiled land they now called Yunnika.

  No one other than Hayme was permitted to read the sacred words, and the holy advisor’s word was as final as the king’s, if not more so.

  Now, twenty-seven brides banished, twenty-seven pregnancies terminated and twenty-seven Gender Ceremonies later, still not one male child had been announced. If King Mighton didn’t get an heir soon, Hayme would appoint one himself out of necessity.

  Nora’s stomach turned. How could their God demand a baby be murdered just for being female? If Nora had stayed in her village, any child would have been sacred, not just males.

  She looked up into the night sky, somehow feeling closer to her God that way. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  Nora exhaled a shaky breath that fogged in the chilly night air. She had picked out the hardiest clothing she owned from before she had been forced to marry King Mighton; from when she was just a simple farmer living in a single room shack with her family. Yet, despite the many layers and the shawl she hugged around her shoulders, the breeze nipped at her skin.

  Ducking behind the side of the stone wall, she listened as two guards walked by, their conversation kept low between them.

  “Poor girl, barely of age and Hayme will banish her.”

  “Pretty thing too, with that pale skin, violet hair and those eyes!”

  “I know. Haven’t seen a blue so deep before.”

  “Think he’ll keep her around? He does like gentle little things like her.”

  The guards’ armor clanged as they came to a stop. “No. The king’s had many a pretty wife, and he prefers bigger tits. Nora may be a timid little thing, but she’s much too thin for his liking in any case. He’ll move on to the next.”

  “He may not have time for another. Rumor has it that Hayme is anxious for an heir, and Mighton is getting old.”

  The other sighed heavily. “Damn shame.”

  “Right so.”

  Their armor clanked, growing fainter as they moved further into the shadowed streets making slow, lazy laps around the castle; keeping guard, but not expecting anything to happen, and that was to Nora’s advantage

  With her shawl hugged tightly around her shoulders, she raced down the streets, finding allies within the shadows.

  With each booted step, she feared the echo could be heard all through the hills, but that was just her imagination. She had thought this plan out since she learned of her pregnancy, and she had every intention of making damn sure she wasn’t caught.

  Every passing moment had her worrying that someone was out looking for her, that her escape had already been discovered. No, I have the perfect alibi, she reminded herself.

  When Mighton told her they would be performing the ceremony tomorrow, Nora had feigned hysteria and demanded that she be left alone until then. Despite all her experiences with Mighton, he showed a hint of humanity and agreed to her demands. Or maybe he just didn’t want to deal with her apparent hormones. Either way, the king gave a dismissive wave saying, “Whatever the queen wants,” and she went running down the halls weeping.

  Immediately inside her room, she barricaded the doors and even left a recording of her sobbing. And, just as a precaution, she had developed a recording that was triggered by the sound of knocking that exclaimed she “wanted to be left alone or she would drown herself.” While Nora didn’t think of herself as the suicidal type, she hoped that would give the poor guards pause, and they wouldn’t attempt to enter the room.

  In fact, the only people who knew anything at all about her plan, other than her personal maid, was her family. Hopefully.

  Nora had sent notice via a courier to her village that she was leaving and for her family to run immediately. There would be no way for anyone besides her sister to decipher the message because Nora made sure to use a childhood code they had created between them.

  Thanks to Bella, her maid, who had given Nora the location of the shuttle to Morala, an all-female, peaceful sanctuary that protected women in all sorts of distress, she had a destination. The only problem now was that this sanctuary was located off-planet on one of the many moons. There was a shuttle leaving tonight, and Nora had to make sure she was on it.

  2

  In the open-air loading bay, crew members dressed in flight suits rolled cargo into the supply shuttles. Ever since the peace treaty between the sanctuaries and the mainlands, supplies were routinely passed back and forth between the communities. But the trade agreement wasn’t what part of the peace treaty Nora was after. It was the asylum. Per the agreement, once someone had successfully sought refuge within the sanctuary, they were protected as long as they stayed within those walls.

  Nora felt a little bare, only bringing the layers of clothes she had and a bag of Tint coins with a few medicinal herbs and oils tucked inside, but she had to travel light if she wanted to sneak aboard. It was i
llegal for citizens to gain passage aboard the supply shuttles, but she wouldn’t be the first to choose this form of transportation or this alternative.

  The legal way to access the sanctuary was to apply through the Gris Foundation and be issued a seat on their monthly transporter. But Nora didn’t have weeks to wait, and she didn’t trust the confidentiality they promised. Sure, confidentiality was easy for an average citizen, but if they found out she was King Mighton’s new queen, well, Nora didn’t trust she wouldn’t be sold out.

  So here she was, lying on her stomach beneath a docked ship staring at the two shuttles in front of her. Her first problem presented its ugly face. Why were there two ships? She wasn’t very good at reading the different languages between the moons, so she lay there staring at the branding.

  Both said sanctuary. Other than that, she didn’t know which was for Morala. They both had a logo, although one did seem more feminine than the other, and as her time was running out, she chose to go with that one and prayed her God would see mercy and allow her safe passage, even if the purpose of her voyage defied him.

  A man in a flight suit wheeled a trolley down a ramp and went back into the warehouse. Nora looked left, then right, then bolted across the asphalt, nearly tripping as she sprinted up the ramp, barely managing to duck between two wooden crates before the man returned with another load.

  Her breath coming in pants, Nora looked back to confirm the worker hand’t seen her. He was close enough still that she heard a buzz of static coming from the microphone in his ear.

  He held a finger to it for a moment. “Yeah, last one just loaded. I’ll be off in a few minutes. Yeah, everything’s good. I should be back in a few hours. Kilton is in close orbit.”

  The man moved off, and the ramp raised into the ceiling, closing Nora off from the outside. Finally, her heart slowed, and she blew warm air onto her trembling hands.

  I’m safe. She nearly cried as the realization hit her. Pressing her open palm to her stomach, a wave of nausea hit her. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her pregnancy, the emotion and stress from running away, or the fact that she didn’t know what she was going to do once she got to Morala. All Nora knew for sure was that she couldn’t let another innocent baby die. She couldn’t watch it happen again, even if it were the Scroll God’s will.

  3

  The shuttle jostled against the brutal crosswinds as Nora pressed a hand to her churning stomach. She took deep breaths in with her nose and released them slowly through pursed lips.

  Rain pelted the ship’s steel body. Her head throbbed, and she covered her ears in an attempt to block out some of the noise, but it penetrated through her, pulsing in her brain.

  She groaned as another wave of nausea threatened to spill her gut, and tried once more to pull her leg out from beneath a large wooden crate. Sometime shortly after her journey began, Nora lost consciousness when the atmospheric pressure in the cargo compartment dropped to a dangerous level. When she came to, she lay on the cold, hard floor with the crate atop her. She could still feel her leg; she didn’t think any damage had been caused, but she couldn’t remove the heavy crate by herself.

  Finally, the ship landed with a violent thud. The journey had been long giving Nora plenty of time to come up with a million excuses for why she was hiding in the rear of the shuttle, should she be found. But chances were she would be immediately recognized by the pilot and crew if they saw her. They would force her back to the king and then collect a nice reward for not allowing her to escape.

  Her throat tightened as the ramp lowered, revealing a windy, torrential downpour amongst the cobalt blue of late night.

  A different man stepped inside with muddy boots and wet cargo pants, his jacket clinging to him as the fabric was heavy from rain. He took two steps inside before his gaze landed on Nora’s. They stared at each other for a moment before he rushed forward and lifted the box from her leg.

  “You all right?” he asked in a gruff voice. He had a few days of stubble on his cheeks and soft gray eyes.

  “Um, yes.” Nora took his offered hand as he helped her to her feet. Her leg prickled and she shook it in an attempt to revive it.

  “What are you doing back here?” the man asked.

  From outside another man called to him, “Hey Jack, how many boxes?”

  Jack yelled his response over his shoulder. “Twenty-seven. I’ll load the first in a sec.”

  When the man outside called back, “Okay,” Jack turned to her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I um, I um… I seek Asylum,” she blurted out despite her wobbling voice.

  “Asylum, here? Shit. I mean, that’s what we do, but I would have thought a pretty thing like you would have gone to Morala, not Kilton.”

  Nora scrunched up her face. “I’m not sure what you mean… This isn’t Morala?”

  Jack shook his head. “No, this is Kilton. A sanctuary for all, though we tend to attract a…rougher crowd compared to our sister sanctuary on Millnor.”

  “Rougher crowd?” Cold air sweeping in from the open hatch wrapped around her, and she pulled her shawl tightly to her.

  The man seemed to search for the right words. “Criminals, thieves, murderers, that sort of folk.”

  His partner outside called for a status report, and another voice, one Nora assumed belonged to the pilot, chimed in saying, “Can we hurry this up? I want to get back to my wife.”

  Nora’s eyes flashed from the opened doorway to the man in front of her. “Please,” she begged, not caring if he thought her desperate. “I need asylum. I don’t care where I am. This place has to be better than where I came from.”

  He scratched the back of his neck for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter to me where you go.” He stood to the side and motioned to the door with his hand. “You’re free to go as far as I’m concerned.”

  Nora bit her lip. It was a small chance, but still a chance she had to take. “Please, I’m um…highly wanted and I don’t think they realize I’m gone yet. I would prefer it to stay that way. Can you help me get to the gate without the pilot knowing I was on board? Please.” She debated falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around his legs to physically match the pathetic tone of her request.

  Jack arched a single brow and studied her for a long moment before chuckling. “You know, I wouldn’t have guessed you a wanted criminal. Good for you.” Jack jabbed at an open spot on the bottom of the trolley beneath a wooden crate and hefted another on top of it. The two boxes stood nearly twice his height, but he seemed strong and able to handle the load.

  “Hop on and hold onto the back. They won’t be able to see you there in the rain and the dark. But you’ll have to wait outside the wall for Grave. No one gets in without his blessing.”

  Nora’s throat went dry up. What kind of name is Grave? She shivered against the damp air and almost protested, but ultimately pushed down her fear and nodded.

  She grasped the iron railings and balanced herself on the bottom. When Jack tilted it, she clung, afraid she would fall off and ruin the entire plan.

  The wind hit her first, penetrating her shawl and sparking an outburst of goosebumps over her skin. Thick raindrops pelted her as the wheels of the trolley cut through thick mud. The lights of the sanctuary sliced through the darkness, slowly moving left and right. The walls looked black against the night and were almost double those of her city back home. She wondered exactly what they kept out, or in this case, kept in.

  She almost wept with the knowledge that her perfect plan had gone so terribly wrong, and instead of finding herself in paradise, she found herself in a sanctuary full of criminals running from their sentencing. Maybe this was her punishment for running from her obligations.

  Jack came to a stop and up-righted the trolley. He leaned down to speak so she could hear him over the rain.

  “Wait here for Grave. He should be coming back around soon.”

  Nora hopped off the trolley, her boots immediately sinking into
the mud. Thankfully, she had dressed for the worst instead of wearing the little slippers she typically wore at the palace.

  She stood in the mud and pelting rain and watched Jack turn to leave. “Wait!” she called out, and somehow, he heard her and turned back around. “How will I know who Grave is?”

  Jack’s smile looked dark and sinister in the downpour. “You’ll know.”

  4

  Grave sludged through the thick mud, his hooded cloak thrashing against his body. Every night the rain came, so he was used to it, but the wind made the cold air bitter and unrelenting.

  His hood sagged from the weight of the water, drops dripping off the edges, hindering his vision, but he didn’t need to see where he was going to know the way.

  A man heading his direction darted across the street as Grave approached, tactlessly avoiding him. No bother, Grave preferred to bypass the chit-chat. The citizens of the Kilton sanctuary rarely talked to him though they whispered as he walked by as if he couldn’t hear them. Didn’t they know he was genetically mutated? His senses, among other things, were magnified to make him a lethal killer.

  No, they had no idea who he really was, and he honestly preferred it that way. No questions. No disguised fear when they realized how many men he had killed for sport. Not that it was sport to him; it was either kill or be killed, and Grave chose the former.

  He walked a strange line as both the citizens’ worst fear and their defender. And still, instead of praising, they cowered in his shadow, treating him as an outcast in the sanctuary he helped build with his own bare hands.

  The gates of the front entrance loomed ahead, towering nearly ten stories. High enough to keep out the wuglors that roamed the land, as well as making it difficult to be infiltrated. It also gave a clear definition of the Peace Treaty’s promise that “All within these walls shall not be harmed.”