Truthmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 2)

  She’d had enough of this talk. “Do you love me?” she said.

  “You know that I do, Ann—”

  “Then what else is there to talk about?”

  “It’s not that simple.” He raised his hand as if to touch her—she wished he would touch her—but then let it fall to his side. “I am the only one of my kind, and no one, myself included, knows what I’m capable of.”

  “You’re not a monster.”

  “Tell that to the monsters I slayed during battle.”

  “We all killed them. We all became something other than our normal selves. That is war. It’ll make monsters of us all.”

  “But I’m different and you know it.”

  “I’ve been told the exact same thing my entire life, but I’m not running away from you.”

  “But you’re not—”

  “Stop!” Annise grabbed his chin beneath her hands and kissed him. He hesitated for a moment, but then kissed her back, roping his hand around the back of her head, his fingers nestling against her scalp, pulling her toward him. Like he couldn’t breathe without her. Like she was an addiction he couldn’t get enough of. His other hand found her hips and maneuvered her against him, into his lap. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and, as her fingers traced hot lines down his jaw and along his neck, he groaned.

  A quarter-hour later they were both warm and sweaty and, though still fully clothed, it didn’t feel that way. Annise nestled into the crook of his arm, not even minding the hardness of the armor beneath her head. “Glad we settled that,” she said.

  Tarin sighed. “That was an evil trick.”

  She laughed. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

  “For now.”

  “We’ll ‘talk’ later. And by talk I mean remove our clothes.”

  He shook his head again, but didn’t argue further.

  “Now I’ve got a few matters to attend to. Would you like to come?”

  “No, thanks. I might soak in a cold bath.”

  She smiled. “Is that my fault?”

  “Completely.”

  “Good. I’ll have Dietrich melt some snow. See you later?”

  He nodded.

  Sir Metz seemed anxious when she finally emerged from the room. Well, more anxious than usual. “A stream has arrived,” the knight said. “It’s from Blackstone.”

  “Good,” she said. “We need information.”

  Metz led her up the stairs and along the stone corridors. Though it had seemed like night in the dark potionmaster’s room below, aboveground it was midday, white sunlight breaking through the thick gray clouds. It was in the throne room that Annise found her guardsmen and aunt gathered, standing in a semicircle around the throne.

  Their stares found her, their expressions serious. She climbed the dais, but didn’t sit. “Did you read the message?” she asked Sir Dietrich.

  “Yes.”

  “And what does it say?”

  He pursed his lips briefly, and then said, “Blackstone has fallen.”

  The words made no sense. “Fallen? But my uncle had thousands of soldiers there, the entire strength of the north. That simply cannot be.”

  “The truth is hard to hear sometimes,” Zelda said. “That’s why so many people avoid it.”

  “It is signed by six separate lords,” Dietrich said, showing her the bottom of the letter. “As Lady Zelda said, it is the truth. Northern forces crossed the Bay of Bounty at full strength. Your uncle planned on taking Knight’s End and then marching south. Hundreds of warships sank. No soldier was left alive, save for the ones Queen Loren sent back across the bay to tell the story of her victory. It is said a creature of the deep rose up and decimated our armies. It is said Rhea herself controlled the creature.”

  Frozen hell. First her uncle’s army of monsters and now this? The Four Kingdoms had descended into chaos. We have no army. I am looking at the entirety of our strength in this one room. Well, except for Tarin.

  Annise felt the room begin to spin. She took a step back and sank onto the throne. “All is lost,” she said.

  “Your Highness, if I may?” Sir Jonius stepped forward. He was completely back to normal now, the monster potion having worn off days ago.

  Annise couldn’t speak, but she gestured for him to go ahead.

  He cleared his throat. “These are perilous times, and your uncle was taking drastic measures.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Annise said dryly. She wasn’t in the mood for a recap of the carnage her uncle’s monsters had wrought on her army, nor more talk about Blackstone.

  Jonius soldiered on, unperturbed by her weary tone. “Toward the end, Lord Griswold was obsessed with an ancient scroll he’d found locked away in your father’s private collection.”

  Annise frowned. “What scroll?”

  “It was a map.”

  “What map?”

  “A map to the Sleeping Knights.”

  Annise breathed out heavily. “They are a children’s bedtime story.”

  “Your uncle didn’t think so.”

  “My uncle was a fool.”

  “Now that is the truth,” Zelda said. “But that doesn’t mean he was wrong.”

  Jonius took another step forward. “He was an evil man, yes, like your father, and perhaps a fool, but he certainly believed in this…bedtime story, as you call it.”

  Anger swirled inside Annise. “If you believe my father and uncle were so evil, why were you their stepping stool for all these years? Why did you kill on their behalf? Why did you betray me? Yes, you helped us in the end, but do you think that makes up for everything you did? All the atrocities?” Annise realized she’d stood up at some point during her tirade, her hands fisted at her sides.

  Jonius only looked sad. He said, “My wife was sick.”

  Annise paused, glancing at her aunt. Zelda shrugged; apparently she wasn’t aware of this information either. Annise said, “I didn’t know you had a wife. I never saw her in court.”

  “She was bedridden for many years.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” Annise said, still wondering how she could’ve been ignorant to so much about this man’s life. “But what does that have to do with your actions?”

  He told her everything. About how years ago Darkspell had formulated a tonic that kept Sir Jonius’s wife alive, how first the Dread King and then the Imposter King threatened to cut off the supply if the knight didn’t obey their every command. Sir Jonius began crying partway through the story, and that was when Annise knew exactly how it would end.

  “When did she die?” she asked. “Your wife.”

  Sir Jonius blinked, unshed tears sparkling in his eyes. “A fortnight ago. First I tried to escape, but your uncle’s men caught me, imprisoned me. Then I tried to take my own life, but I failed. Or perhaps I was too cowardly.”

  “You are no coward, Sir,” Annise said. “You proved that with your valor during the battle. I would be dead if not for you. We all would.”

  He shook his head. “I want to be tried for my crimes against the kingdom. I will admit to them all. I have not forgotten a single one.”

  Annise descended the steps one at a time, slowly. She placed a hand on his shoulder. She felt as if her heart was cloven in two, first by Tarin’s words, and now by this knight’s. “I will not try you for crimes you were manipulated into committing by my father and uncle.”

  As fresh tears bloomed, he shoved his knuckles into his mouth, biting down hard. When he removed them, he said, “My wife is dead. She was my life, my everything, as pure as freshly fallen snow. And I keep asking myself, why am I still alive? Is this my punishment? What is left for me to live for?”

  “I don’t know,” Annise said. “But you are alive. And if you cannot live for yourself, Sir Jonius, live for me. Serve me and I will do everything in my power to rebuild our great kingdom, with you by my side.”

  He shook his head, but Annise knew it wasn’t his answer.

  “Good,” she said. “Now show me this scroll of yo
urs.”

  Calling the scroll a “map” was being generous. Yes, it showed landmarks like the Mournful Mountains and Frozen Lake, but beyond that it was difficult to discern. Clearly, Sir Jonius was correct about its purpose: “Sleeping Knights” was written in flowery calligraphy near the top of the map, right above a spot labelled “Cavern of the Ancients,” set deep into the Hinterlands, further north than anyone had ever explored, at least as far as Annise knew.

  There was one great explorer, however, Heinrich Gäric, the same Crimean explorer who’d originally discovered the Four Kingdoms, who’d led a party far to the north in search of gold. No one really knew what had happened to him, and that was five hundred years ago anyway.

  On the other hand, the legend of the Sleeping Knights was no secret. One of Annise’s childhood nurses had told she and Arch the story many times, upon request. The one-thousand knights were said to have been the elite soldiers of the early northern kingdom, established shortly after the first Gärics had splintered off from western rule, declaring their independence.

  Annise’s ancestor, the fourth Gäric ruler, King Brown Gäric, was said to be a strange man, a superstitious recluse who dabbled in sorcery. After his elite squad was formed and trained, he’d supposedly found a way to grant them immortality, so they would always protect the north from invasion. However, what he didn’t know was that once they were made immortal, they would leave him for the Hinterlands. According to the legend, they’d left because they were not truly needed, and only when they were called upon in the north’s true time of need would they rise up again from their slumber.

  “A bedtime story,” Annise said again, sighing.

  “Perhaps,” Zelda said. “Perhaps not.”

  Annise looked to Sir Dietrich. “What do you think?”

  He looked surprised to be asked for advice. “The only other option is to begin training new soldiers from the cities. It will take years, especially because we have so few knights left to train them.”

  Annise didn’t have years. She might not even have days. The north was ripe for the taking, and as soon as the rest of the Four Kingdoms realized it, they would swarm through Raider’s Pass and grab Castle Hill by the throat. “I don’t know that we have any other choice,” she said.

  “I always wanted to meet one of the Sleeping Knights,” Zelda said, brushing a finger across the spot on the map.

  Hours had passed since she’d left Tarin, but finally Annise and her inner circle agreed to sleep on the choice of whether to pursue the supposedly immortal Sleeping Knights, and make a final decision on the morrow. Now, she sought him out once more, determined to talk some sense into him.

  He wasn’t in her quarters, like she had hoped. She asked several people, but no one had seen him. Grudgingly, she traipsed back down the steps into the darkest part of the castle, seeking him in the potionmaster’s old room.

  She scanned the room. Empty.

  Memories flashed of Tarin sitting in the corner. How he’d kissed her, breathed her in. How he was like kindling to the fire inside her.

  She frowned, and was about to turn to search elsewhere when she saw a sliver of parchment peeking out from beneath the table. Evidently a gust of wind had blown it to the floor.

  She stooped and picked it up, the paper slightly crinkled, as if it had been splashed with moisture, only to have dried.

  Her heart stopped. Her breath caught. Her fingers shook.

  All she’d read was the very bottom, where Tarin’s name was signed in neat lettering, just beneath the words “Goodbye, my love.”

  Hot tears splashed on the page as she read the rest:

  My dearest Annise,

  You are perfection exactly the way you are, while I am a broken man. This monster inside me has eaten too much of my heart, my soul, and I fear my every action. Being reunited with you gave me hope, with your every word, with your every touch, that I could be fixed. You made me better. But alas, it wasn’t enough.

  I continue to have hope for the kingdom, however, as I know you will be the queen you were meant to be, the queen the realm deserves. My greatest sorrow is that I will not be there to see you rule, to share your embrace, to feel the touch of your beautiful lips upon mine.

  Our time together was too short. Too hell-frozen short. I would gladly die for one more day, one more night, but I will not risk your safety for my own selfish desires. I will cherish the time we had, the memories.

  Do not seek me out, for you shall not find me. Perhaps in my solitude the monster will retreat into the dark hole it emerged from when I drank the witch’s potion. But, please, do not wait for me to return, as I don’t expect I ever will. Find a suitor who will love you the way I have.

  Goodbye, my love,

  Tarin Sheary, the Armored Knight

  She placed the note gently on the table, using her dress to wipe it clean of her tears. Then she dried the tears on her cheeks. Memories flashed through her mind: building a shelter on the Howling Tundra together, sharing body heat all night; the first time they’d kissed, after the battle at Raider’s Pass; his japes about her being the Bear Slayer; the pink hope flower he’d pressed into her hand; their first night together, the passion they shared, the love. Their embrace had felt like a fire that could never be snuffed out, but which was now a wet pile of ashes leaking smoke.

  She remembered what she had thought while riding, how she would rather die than live without Tarin. Now, as she faced that exact scenario, she wondered if she’d meant it. Was she like Sir Jonius, her lifeblood connected to that of another person so deeply that without him she was lost?

  She thought of the people of Castle Hill chanting her name while she stood high on the wall. Not Archer’s name, but hers.

  No, she thought fiercely. She was saddened greatly by Tarin’s departure, almost as sad as she had been when her mother had been executed, but no, she didn’t want to die. No, her strength, her life, was not tied to one man or to any man. It was tied to something inside her, an inner strength she never knew she had. Not until now, anyway.

  I am the queen.

  She didn’t need some silly title after the traditions of her father and grandfather, like the Undefeated King or Dread King.

  No. I am Queen Annise Gäric, and that is enough.

  Forty-One

  The Southern Empire, Phanes, the Southron Gates

  Raven Sandes

  Fire had easily melted the first of the four iron Gates, the liquefied ore pooling on the ground, cooling rapidly and forming a metal floor. At some point, there had been an explosion, and then another, but from where, Raven knew not.

  From there, Fire led their forces west along the wall, toward the next of the Gates, nearly a day’s march away. They took heavy fire from the wall’s defenders the entire distance. Arrows, heavy stones, and vats of boiling tar rained from above, killing many.

  But still they marched, as Surai arced overhead, cooking them alive in their leather armor. It was almost as bad as the desert—worse perhaps—because they couldn’t stop to rest. Twice Raven deflected arrows with her shield. Being on the enemy’s side of the wall had its advantages, however. Thrice small forces of chalk-faced Phanecian soldiers sallied out from Sousa and attacked in the typical phen ru style—spinning wooden batons capped with blades on each end and using acrobatic maneuvers—but they were ill-prepared for a full-scale assault on their side of the wall, and Goggin and his guanero were able to repel them without taking a significant number of casualties. Also, Fire sent platoons of soldiers up the stone staircases, where they fought along the wall. Eventually, Fire and Raven took to the wall as well, using the high ground to move quickly across the borderlands. To the north were the four western border cities: Vinya, Sarris, Cleo, and Felix, the counterparts to the Phanecian warcities. Beyond them were the Forbidden Plains, an infernal stretch of uninhabited land meant as a buffer between Phanes and the west.

  Up ahead, a large enemy contingent blocked their path, but Fire launched several fireballs, scat
tering them off the sides, where they fell to their deaths. Raven’s sister’s words came back to her.

  I am a weapon.

  Indeed, she was, Raven could not deny it. But still, it didn’t mean Fire wasn’t more than that, too. When they returned to Calypso, she would convince her of that, beating it into her head if necessary.

  Their warriors and guanik were weary, but still Fire led them onwards, toward their goal of destroying the second of the Gates. With half of the four Gates destroyed, it would be months before their faata could gather enough ore to replace the enormous iron barriers, which had previously taken a year each to construct. By then, it was almost certain that the north would be in position to march on the south. Pincered between the north and Calyp, Phanes would surely fall.

  As planned, they reached the second Gate just as the sun goddess slipped below the horizon, spraying the sky with her final gift—flowers of purple, red, and pink.

  They descended the staircase above the Gate, and, once more, Fire placed her palms, fingers splayed, on the thick metal, which bore an intricate design of the four-eyed lioness. Her hands glowed red, the heat and color emanating outwards, superheating the metal until it began to drip red-hot tears.

  Fire danced back, joining Raven and the rest of the guanero who were silently watching, many of them with their swords, scimitars, and whips raised high in support of the empress. “Arrrrr!” Goggin roared, a war cry of victory. Many echoed his call.

  “We should retreat,” Raven said. “We have accomplished what we set out to do and there are many leagues between here and the Spear.”

  Fire said, “Hemptown is due south of here.”

  “Exactly,” Raven said. “The army at Sousa will have sent word already. They’ll be preparing a counterattack. If we race along the wall, we may be able to escape before they cut us off.”

  Fire shook her head. “We haven’t lost more than a twentieth of our force. We have marched far. I will not waste this opportunity.”