Deathmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4)

  He clamped his mouth shut. Opened it. “What of Calyp?”

  Windy smiled without humor. “The fate of Calyp has never been mine to determine. Viper might be a bitter snake, but she wants what’s best for our people. There comes a time in life when it’s necessary for one to walk away from everything they’ve ever known. For me, that time is now.”

  Roan nodded. He’d had a time once, too, when he’d left Calypso. His life hadn’t been the same since, for better or worse. “When do we leave?”

  “Immediately. We shall travel on guanik-back.”

  Roan groaned.

  Twelve

  The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End

  Rhea Loren

  Rhea was powerless against the strong arms pinning her to the floor, the stones icy through the thin fabric of her silk shift.

  Where are my clothes? she wondered, even as she tried to fight off the woman who held her.

  She remembered: They took them. They stripped me down to this.

  A scream rose up from her lungs, but lodged itself in her throat, choking her. The two Furies holding her bared their teeth, which were stark white next to their long, red hair. The third stood over her, hurling accusations in that cold, even tone that marked her as a servant of Wrath. The edge of a blade caught the light, a flash of silver death.

  I am powerless. I have no control.

  Control. That word. It was the key to everything. To life, to death, to happiness, to driving away her enemies.

  Again: I am powerless.

  The knife darted down, pressing against the skin of her cheeks. She felt its bite, the warmth of her blood flowing freely. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t. She saw the Fury—

  No. Oh Wrath.

  Father?

  King Gill Loren stared down at her, his expression sad. He began to cut.

  Father!

  But no, her assailant wasn’t her father anymore, but her lost brother, Roan, his long, golden hair falling across his brow in waves.

  Grey Arris was next, and she remembered how he’d protected her to the end, just before he’d—

  Left.

  Her chest felt ripped open, her heart exposed, a lonely thumping thing with no purpose, no control over its own destiny.

  Dimly, she was aware that this was a dream—no, a nightmare, one that had recurred again and again ever since the Day Where She Was Scarred—and yet she couldn’t bring herself to end it with a scream, the way she normally did.

  For the first time, there was one more person left to hold the knife. To cut. To scar her.

  Leo. Her younger brother. She could see the anger in his narrowed eyes, in his white-knuckled grip on the knife, in the way his teeth knit together, grinding.

  Leo, no! she tried to shout, but her words were caught behind that frozen scream. And then Bea was dying all over again and she was powerless, her life spiraling out of control, and all she wanted was to return to the old days, when she was just a rebellious maiden and her father was the king and Bea was alive and—

  She screamed, shattering the dream world, thrashing so hard her silken sheets wrapped around her, tightening…

  She choked. Gasped. Breathed. Stopped fighting. Counted to ten, then to one hundred, in rhythm with her racing heart. Just breathe. She did. She breathed.

  It was just a nightmare and the past is the past.

  It was something she’d been reminding herself of daily, in an attempt to be a different person, not the monster she’d become ever since the day Cousin Jove had condemned her to a fate she never wanted.

  The control was an addiction, a part of her she couldn’t cut away like a piece of fat attached to tenderloin. One of her tutors had once told her about an odd lizard in Phanes that could be cut and regrow. A tail, a limb, even its head. The only way to truly kill this lizard was to burn it to ash. It was like that with her need for control. No matter how much she fought it, strove to cut it off, that need would regrow, driving her to do mad things like what had happened to her sister in the Bay of Bounty.

  I will have to use fire to slay my own monster, she thought. Burn it to ash.

  There was one more thing Rhea had to do before departing Knight’s End.

  Rhea hesitated in the shadows of the doorway, watching her brother, Leo, as he stared at the wall. What is he thinking? she wondered. What is he seeing? Memories of his twin sister’s final moments, before Wrathos dragged her screaming from the shore? Rhea’s cold, uncaring face as she pretended she felt nothing?

  That was what plagued her more than anything—that Leo thought her a monster.

  Sometimes she agreed with him.

  Her baby kicked, its timing uncanny. Once she might’ve believed nothing mattered but controlling her own destiny, protecting herself from ever being hurt again, but now…

  Now she wanted the child to have a mother to be proud of. Not a monster.

  “I am not a monster,” she whispered under her breath, willing it to be true.

  Leo turned at the sound, his eyes sunken, dark circles under them. She wondered how many sleepless nights he’d had, how many times he’d been woken by nightmares of her.

  She took a deep breath and entered, hating the way her brother flinched when she moved closer. Hating that it was warranted. How could she explain that she never meant for Bea to be killed? How could she explain that she was as much a victim of Wrath’s will and whims as him?

  “I’m going away for a time,” she said, her voice quivering slightly on the last word. Once, not so long ago, she would’ve hated hearing that weakness in herself, would’ve tried to hide it. Not now. Not with Leo.

  “You’re going to war,” Leo said. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his head angled slightly toward her, but not making eye contact. His voice was flat, monotone, without feeling. He doesn’t care whether I live or die. She didn’t blame him—couldn’t blame him.

  Who am I? she wondered. The girl who murdered her cousin, Jove, as he forgave her sins, or the queen who faked Ennis’s death to save his life? The brave warrior who saved her kingdom in the Bay of Bounty, or the petty sister who caused Bea’s death because she wanted to scare her? The vicious ruler who sought to poison an entire species, or the mother who saved all of the Four Kingdoms from Darkspell’s plague potion?

  She realized Leo was staring at her, that she’d been silent for a long time.

  “I don’t want you to”—she swallowed—“hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Leo said, too quickly, far too quickly. He was never a good liar, not like Bea had been. He’s scared of what I’ll do to him if he says the wrong thing. The thought made her unbearably sad.

  “It’s all right,” Rhea said softly, taking a step closer. Leo leaned away, eyeing the dark space beneath the bed, as if seeking an escape route. “I deserve it. I’ve done…bad things. Too many bad things. But I’m trying to do right now. I’m trying to be better.”

  His eyes remained fixed on that dark space. He said nothing.

  “I didn’t kill Ennis, you know,” she said.

  At that, his eyes roved back to her before darting away again. “Everyone says you did. You stabbed him in front of the entire city.”

  “It wasn’t real,” she said. “He wore a bag of blood on his chest. He was given an elixir that made him appear dead.”

  “Then where is he? I want to see him.”

  She shook her head. “He’s in Phanes. That’s why I must go to war. To get him back.”

  “Is Bea alive, too? Was that staged as well?”

  The naked hope in his voice, the way it rose toward the end, shattered what was left of her heart. “I—I didn’t mean for that to happen. I only wished to prove the stories about Wrathos.” And scare you. Yes, she’d wanted to scare them into obedience. Even unspoken, the truth tasted bitter.

  “But it did happen!” Leo said, his eyes suddenly wild, his hands roaming over each other. “She’s dead, Rhea.” His voice broke on the last word, the tears streaming freely down his
face.

  She went to him; any façade of strength she had left broke as she held him, as they cried, as they mourned their lost sister, their dead father, the mother they’d barely known.

  After a time, Rhea dried her brother’s eyes on her dress. “Your eldest brother, Roan, lives. And I’m going to find him.”

  Until she said it, Rhea didn’t know it was true, but now it felt like the most important thing in the world. Her next words surprised her even more.

  “We’re going to be a family again. You, me, Roan, and my baby. You’re going to have a niece or nephew.”

  The spring mist hung low, clinging to the streets of Knight’s End, painting the city in ghostly shades of gray.

  Despite the hour, thousands thronged the main thoroughfare to watch the army leave the western capital. Most wore white, their god’s symbol of purity and righteousness, but each citizen included an article of red, Wrath’s color of vengeance, as worn by the furia. A red bandanna tied around a head here, a silk ribbon wrapped around a wrist there. Atop her white horse, squinting through the mist, Rhea saw them all, wondering how she had earned the respect and trust of her people.

  Wondering whether she deserved it.

  Her thoughts strayed back to Leo. She’d sought him once more before she’d left the bounds of the castle, but he’d already left his quarters, having risen even earlier than she.

  She was surrounded by many of the furia, though more would join her as they approached the Furium, which they would pass on the route to the southern gates. They stared straight ahead; in the foggy dawn light, their red armor appeared painted with blood. Appropriate, Rhea thought grimly. I’ve seen so much blood lately. Too much. Far too much.

  Her horse slowed unexpectedly, and then eased to a stop. Beside her, the furia’s horses did the same. Something blocked the way forward. Attenuated shadows, shifting through the mist. A mob, filling the width of the street. To the right, Rhea could make out the fuzzy edges of the structure known as the Furium, the training grounds for Wrath’s holy army.

  Though this was where the two halves of her army were meant to come together, something felt…off. Figures shifted forward, materializing with each step. One, two, three…several furia moved in behind them.

  Rhea frowned. “I was told you left the city.”

  “We didn’t.” It was Sai who spoke, her eldest living cousin. He looked older somehow, his chestnut hair streaked with gray. He wore silver armor, a longsword hanging from his belt. His hand gripped the hilt, as if ready to draw his blade in an instant. Flanking him were his brother and sister, Wheaton and Gaia. Wheaton seemed distracted, scanning the crowd, which had gathered to watch the exchange. Gaia, once rather close with Rhea, almost as close as Ennis, stared at her with her piercing green eyes narrowed. Ennis’s siblings, all three.

  “I’m glad,” Rhea said. “Thank you for coming to see me off. Or are you planning to ride with us?”

  “No. We are immune to your silver tongue, cousin,” Sai said. “Where is Ennis?”

  It was then that Rhea noticed another, smaller figure standing off to the side. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

  Leo.

  In her attempt to get her brother back on her side, Rhea had unwittingly admitted to a lie of epic proportions. She’d trusted him, and he’d betrayed her. Just like Bea. Anger rushed through her like a rogue wave. Commands lingered on her tongue, sharp words meant to hurt, to destroy, to control. She could easily deny her brother’s claims, order her cousins and Leo arrested, thrown in the dungeons. Nothing had to change. She’d survived thus far with strength, with fearless, brutal action.

  Her child shifted, perhaps rolling over in its sleep.

  I don’t want to be that queen, that person, anymore.

  “Where is Ennis?” Sai asked again.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Sai’s eyes widened in surprise, which made Rhea realize something. He thought I lied to Leo about Ennis being alive.

  The thought made her feel horrible, because he was right to think that. Ever since her face had been mutilated by the Furies, she’d maintained power with lies, murder, and fear, all under the guise of righteousness.

  “You admit he’s alive?” It was Gaia who spoke now, and her eyes were also wide with wonder. No, not wonder. Hope. Rhea had never considered how badly Ennis’s death would hurt the rest of her cousins. I have been blind for so long. Too long.

  “Yes,” she said, the word seeming to knock a large weight from her shoulders. Several gasps arose from the crowd. Whispers ran through the throng, like the rustle of leaves blown by a stiff wind. The words felt like the held-back waters of a dam exploding through a hole as they rushed out of her. “I faked his death. I lied. Ennis disobeyed a direct order from his queen during a time of war, the punishment for which was death. But I didn’t want him to die. I couldn’t lose another person I cared about.”

  At that, Gaia’s expression softened. Sai’s did not. “By your own admission, you lied to your people, to your kingdom. Do you deny it?”

  Rhea didn’t know what would happen, but she felt stripped of everything but the truth. “No.”

  “And what of Jove’s death? You claimed he was murdered by the King’s Bane. Did you tell it true?”

  There was no going back from this. No seeking forgiveness. No regaining the control she so desperately craved. “No. I lied. I murdered Jove with a shard of glass as he sat upon the throne. My throne.”

  Gasps from the crowd. The citizens—her citizens—stared at her in horror. In disbelief. Mothers pulled their small children’s faces against their skirts, as if to look upon her would dirty them forever.

  Worse was the look on Gaia’s face. On Wheaton’s face. On Sai’s face.

  Gaia whirled and pushed through the crowd, not wanting to be near her a second longer. Wheaton shook his head and scowled. Sai calmly stared at her, his gaze icy. “Then the furia have no choice but to punish you for your crimes—no, your sins—against Wrath and the kingdom.”

  So this was it. The end of her short and intense reign as queen of the west. In some ways, Rhea felt relieved. She swung a leg over her horse and prepared to dismount. “Stop,” Sai said. She looked up, hoping against hope that there was some mercy left in him. “The Furies have already decided your punishment.”

  Rhea’s heart sank, but she wouldn’t make a scene. Wouldn’t beg or grovel or weep. Her actions had consequences, and she would face them like a queen, her head held high.

  One of the Furies stepped forward, her face a mask without expression, the scars carved by Rhea’s own hand gleaming wickedly as the sun tried to break through the fog. This woman had no reason to show Rhea mercy.

  She didn’t, and yet Rhea relished her punishment like the mortally wounded relished death.

  “You, Queen Rhea Loren, First of Your Name, will ride south to Phanes and trade yourself for Ennis Loren. You are hereby stripped of all claims on the throne, which will pass to your brother, Leo Loren, upon his sixteenth birthday. Until then, your eldest living cousin, Sai Loren, will be crowned King of the West and Protector of the Realm.”

  “No,” Rhea said, but it wasn’t a denial, merely a change in the details. “By Western Law, the crown must pass to the eldest in the line of succession. Roan Loren, my eldest brother, shall be king.”

  Thirteen

  The Eastern Kingdom, Ferria

  Gareth Ironclad

  Gareth expected to feel a lot of things, but not calm. Yet that was exactly how he felt, like he was sitting beside a burbling stream on a warm, sunny day. Peaceful.

  Maybe Roan is right. Maybe peace is the way forward. Maybe it’s possible.

  After all, in only a matter of two weeks he’d managed to do what his brother, his father, and his grandfather had been unable to accomplish in a century. A treaty with the west. A possible treaty with Calyp.

  The latest, conducted in a series of negotiations with the self-declared Empress, Viper Sandes, via message stream, w
as contingent on two things:

  First, the delivery of enough gold to make the families who had lost soldiers in the Dragon Defense wealthy for generations to come. Gareth knew gold couldn’t replace lives, but at least it was a step in the right direction, an admission of guilt by the Calypsians.

  Second, the dragon being returned to Calypso. After the dragon’s recent killings, this was the harder of the two.

  His people wouldn’t be happy. In the past, blood would be met with blood. Violence with violence. I am not my brother, Gareth thought. Nor my father.

  And I’m not the Shield, he added as an afterthought. At least not anymore.

  He refocused, listening as his booted steps thudded on the forest floor. He was surrounded by legionnaires, but when he stopped in front of the gate, he raised a hand to command them to hold back.

  Lines of a poem written long before he was born were etched in the metalwork. Rather than reading the familiar lines, he let them blur into nothingness.

  He pushed through, closing the gate behind him.

  A good sign, he thought. She’s not angry with me anymore. Else the gate would’ve barred his entry into this portion of the forest.

  Gwendolyn Storm sat perched on a metal hammock, her legs swinging idly over the side. Her catlike eyes watched him approach, decades of experience locked in that expressionless stare.

  His heart beat firmly in his chest. I am a mouse.

  “Gwen,” he said, stopping to look up at her.

  “Gareth.” Those eyes. Like a predator’s finding its prey. She is your friend, he reminded himself. At least for a little while longer.

  There was nothing for it. He blurted out the reason he’d come here. “The terms of our treaty with Calyp have been finalized.”

  “Truly?” Her thin, scythe-like eyebrows lifted to her forehead. “Let me guess—gold and a dragon.”