Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5)

Their footsteps scraped and echoed, accompanied by the harsh intake of breath between her lips as the miles of darkness took their toll on Annise’s lungs.

  “Why did you tell me this story now?” Her eyes found her aunt but she only shrugged.

  “Because I’m a mad old woman, that’s why. Who knows why I do anything I do!”

  Annise didn’t laugh, for she knew it was a lie. Zelda had been underestimated her entire life, and yet she’d always survived, always emerged victorious. If anyone should be her role model, it was her self-proclaimed mad, eccentric aunt.

  She opened her mouth to tell her just that when the ground yawned open before them, rocks tumbling into an abyss.

  Annise lunged forward, crying out, scrabbling at anything she could get her hands on as her stomach shot into her throat.

  One of her hands found the opposite edge of the chasm and she dug her fingers in as she swung her opposite hand around to find purchase beside it. Darkness collapsed upon her as the torchlight skittered away like the rocks that had shattered beneath their weight.

  Auntie! she thought, but couldn’t give voice to the idea, her very breath stolen by the effort it took to cling to the rough stones.

  Heavy footfalls rang out in the darkness and then a light poured over her. “Annise,” Tarin said, his voice as rough-textured as she’d ever heard it. “Hang on. I’m going to get you.”

  Though she didn’t want him to risk crossing the gap, she still could say nothing, her teeth grinding together in determination. Her toes were balanced precariously on a finger-thin lip of rock but they kept slipping even as she tried to dig them in.

  Carefully, she managed to twist her head around to look down. At first she saw only inky gray and her heart shriveled like a grape left in the sun—she didn’t even scream—but then—

  A pair of white eyes looked up at her. Like her, Zelda’s jaw was set tightly, broad and firm and unrelenting. “Gäric determination,” Archer had always called the expression, though, with his softer features, he had never been able to stake any claim to it. Zelda clung to the rock ten or so feet below Annise, having somehow found the barest shoulder of rock to balance her toes on. Her fingernails were dug into the narrowest of crevices.

  Annise knew in an instant that time was of the essence, her aunt’s arms and legs already quivering from the effort. A weaker person would already be gone…

  Her aunt’s story came back to her in a rush, surrounded by other memories too, so many horrible, wonderful memories assailing her like a swarm of bees, all boiling down to a single point, a single image.

  Her mother—Sabria Loren Gäric. The most courageous woman in the world, because she stood up to the Dread King of the North, though it had eventually cost her her life.

  She is in you.

  An enormous shadow flew past her, the wind of the passing buffeting her, but she ignored Tarin even as he skidded to a stop and flung himself over the precipice to reach for her hand. She ignored him because she was already out of reach, climbing down into the abyss, feeling with her toes for the ill-conceived edges of rock she was forced to rely on to keep her from plummeting into darkness.

  “Annise!” Tarin said, but she ignored that voice, because if she wasn’t the kind of woman who would try to save her aunt, then she might as well let go now. If she was that woman who’d quaked at the fear of death, of failure, and required others to save her, then there was no sense in going on living.

  But now, like a spark flaring in the dark, she knew who she really was.

  A woman of the north.

  A queen of the north.

  And I fear nothing.

  She reached her aunt, growling between clenched teeth: “Grab my ankle.”

  Zelda shook her head. Her determined expression made it clear there was still plenty of fight in her, but she was a woman of the north, too, and she wouldn’t risk her niece’s life to save her own.

  “Auntie! Take my hell-frozen ankle or I will drag us both down into the depths of this mountain—don’t think I won’t.”

  Despite the danger they were both in, she saw the sparkle in her aunt’s dark eyes. Her knuckles were already white, but Annise saw them pale even further, announcing her intentions. Annise steeled herself, tightening her grip, preparing for the added weight.

  Zelda released her hold on the rocks and reached out. For a moment Annise thought she’d misjudged the distance, her fingers clawing at empty air, but then she felt the tightness of their grip on her ankles and the weight as her aunt swung free.

  Annise was almost dragged from the rock just as she’d promised to do to Zelda. Her fingers ached as she held on, her knees beginning to tremble. But then a portion of the weight was relieved and she released the breath that had been trapped in her lungs under the strain. Presumably her aunt’s toes had found something to stand on. “Now what?” Zelda said.

  “We climb.”

  “By the frozen gods,” Zelda muttered, but she didn’t argue as Annise reached for a hold so small she could barely see it.

  Annise never thought she would be so glad to see the solid walls and ceiling of the tunnels, but she was. They looked different now—less like a tomb than a corridor limned with possibility. So many of her people were dead—that hadn’t changed and she didn’t want to be in denial about the great losses they had suffered—but against all odds, some of them had survived. Not thousands, but hundreds, a bedraggled group of refugees that didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the words fail or defeat.

  Annise was proud of them.

  The entire column of refugees had crossed the chasm by rigging a rope bridge constructed of leather satchels slung together. They hadn’t lost a single soul in the process. As they passed, they’d each looked upon her with awe, but Annise didn’t bask in it.

  Yes, she had shown her own mettle when she’d saved Zelda’s life, but that didn’t matter to her. All that mattered was that her aunt was alive. My last living relative except for my villainous uncle, she thought, which was a sobering idea. Things could’ve gone very differently in the chasm. The Gäric line could’ve been ended. Once, she might’ve thought the world would be a better place without the Gärics. Now, however, she knew it would be far worse.

  This is my duty. My fate. She might not be fatemarked, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a role to play in what was to come. Her aunt did too, she suspected.

  Annise stood up, and Tarin said, “Not yet. You need to rest.” He tried to press on her shoulders to ease her back to the ground, but she swatted them away and pushed him in the chest.

  “We leave now,” she said, barging past him.

  Behind her, she heard Zelda say, “You heard the queen. Move out!”

  Annise continued to lead, though Tarin kept trying to stride ahead of her in case there were any more pitfalls. She shoulder-barged him into the wall a few times and he gave up, contenting himself with walking abreast.

  He tried to speak to her thrice, inquiring about whether she was in good health, but she just grunted and he gave up. She knew they’d laugh about it later, but for now she was of a single concentration: escaping the tunnels.

  Hours passed in silence. Annise knew they were beyond their usual stopping time. Her mouth was dry, her stomach clenching from hunger, her legs sore, but she refused to quit, and she knew without a doubt in her mind that the northerners behind her wouldn’t falter either, not until their legs crumbled beneath them.

  And then she saw it, up ahead. An arc of light. It wasn’t particularly bright, but next to the gloom of the tunnel it might’ve been a glowing beacon. Annise started to run. Behind her, she heard her people give chase.

  Toward the light they went.

  Forty-One

  The Eastern Kingdom, Crow’s Nest

  Gareth Ironclad

  The sun had begun its descent, and, at least to Gareth, seemed to fall far faster than usual.

  You had no choice. You could not remain in Crow’s Nest forever, hoping for miracles.

>   Still, Gareth hated to leave, for he longed for a ray of hope in a world that seemed covered in ash.

  Desiring to gaze upon the mountain while on its flanks one last time, he steered his horse aside and gestured for his legionnaires to pass. Rising above them, the switch-backed trail seemed reminiscent of the path of his life, crooked and unpredictable. For some reason, he remembered the shepherd he had met when they’d first arrived. The man’s casual air of fearlessness. That, in some ways, was a true ray of hope.

  Greedily, he let his gaze linger on the snowcapped mountains cloaked in thick gray clouds. He worked his way down their flanks, until the snow gave way to formidable black cliffs, and then, nestled beneath them, the hardy stone city of Crow’s Nest.

  He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. A flag was being raised up a pole. Not the crossed swords sigil of the east, which was already flapping in the breeze, but an arrow aimed toward the north. Gareth’s heart quickened as he had never actually seen this flag raised, though he’d learned its meaning as a young boy.

  An invasion from the north.

  He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and charged back up the mountain, shouting orders.

  Annise

  She emerged from the tunnel blinking, her vision assaulted by the light, which was so powerful it left her seeing spots.

  Others crowded behind her, and she could hear the excitement in their murmurs.

  But as her vision cleared, her arms shot out to her sides, blocking the way forward.

  What have I done? she thought, watching as the line of soldiers charged up the hill toward the mouth of the tunnel, weapons already drawn, slashing the air at their sides.

  Her options were few: retreat back into the tunnel, where they would surely be pursued and caught; fight, right here and now, despite knowing they were exhausted and sorely outnumbered; or surrender and face the mercy of the east, a people who they’d fought against, and killed, for decades, long before she was born.

  Annise stepped forward, into the light, just as several of the soldiers skidded to a stop. At least three of them were of Orian descent, and these ones raised bows, training them on Annise’s heart.

  Behind her, Tarin said, “Annise. Back away slowly. Get behind me.”

  She knew he was only being his typical, chivalrous self, but she didn’t try to hide the venom in her tone as she said, “No.”

  “You are our prisoners,” one of the Orians said. “Lay down your arms or you will die.”

  Annise took a step forward, and again her answer was, “No.”

  Expert fingers clenched bowstrings as the archers adjusted their aim.

  “Last warning,” the spokesman said. “You are on eastern sovereign land. Any act outside of surrender will be considered an act of war.”

  Annise lifted her chin and said, “I am Queen Annise Gäric, ruler of the north and defender of my stubborn people. We have been through fire, ice and darkness to reach your sovereign lands. We bear weapons, but we shall not use them while in the east unless provoked. You have my word, as you have my word that we will not hand them over. If it is bloodshed you want, you shall have it.”

  She heard Tarin growl behind her, and she knew he’d released the monster.

  She took another step forward, and she could see the doubt in the soldiers’ eyes. She frowned. Why would they doubt themselves? she wondered. They have the numbers, weapons and strength. Unless…

  More soldiers poured into the area below them. More arrows pointed in their direction. There were hundreds already and hundreds more coming. Somewhere far below, she saw a trail, the telltale shimmer of plate reflecting along it.

  Thousands, she thought. We’ve stumbled into an entire army.

  “So this is what it comes to,” she whispered to herself. Her pleas had fallen upon deaf Ironclad ears. To her surprise, she felt no fear, the certainty of fate urging her forward. She drew her Evenstar, stepping carefully down the rocky trail that led to the area now filled with eastern legionnaires.

  She stopped before them, dozens of arrows trained upon her. Hands gripping steel. Hard eyes burning into her, years of hate in those stares. But still, she sensed something giving them pause. Doubt. But why?

  “Well,” she said. “Who shall be first? At least give me the honor of a fair fight.” The steadiness in her own tone gave her energy. I am my mother. I am Zelda. And, perhaps, she was a little bit of her father, too. The stubborn, fearless part.

  A commotion arose from the crowd, though she could not determine the cause. But then the ranks of soldiers began to part down the middle, each man and woman stepping aside to create a narrow path wide enough for only a single rider to pass.

  One such rider galloped through, his clean-shaven face young and fair, the hair atop his helmless scalp of a reddish hue, tangled and messy, almost as if he’d just woken up. He brought his steed to a stop before her. His eyes remained on her the entire time as he swung his leg over his horse’s back and dismounted, landing with the practiced ease of one who’d grown up learning the art of equestrian as a child of the north might practice throwing snowballs at her siblings.

  He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Annise’s hand tensed on her hilt, but he never moved to draw his own weapon. “I received your stream,” he said, and though she now knew exactly who he was, she detected none of the haughty regal air she expected.

  “Your Highness,” she said. “Why didn’t you respond? A simple yes or no would’ve sufficed.”

  He frowned. “I did, Your Highness. I sent a stream to Darrin six days hence.”

  This, more than anything, surprised her. “We left the castle six days ago.”

  “The Horde pursued you,” he said. There was no question in his voice.

  “Yes. How do you know that?”

  “My scout saw evidence of a struggle. I assumed the worst.”

  “We…survived. Some of us. Now you would take us prisoner?” Over my dead body, she added in her head.

  “Prisoner? No. I have heeded your call. And had you read my stream, you would know my simple answer was three letters, not two. Yes. The answer is yes. Queen Annise Gäric, by royal decree, welcome to the east. May you find our hospitality somewhat greater than that of the Horde.”

  PART III

  Shanti Roan Gwen

  Raven Lisbeth Shae

  Rhea Bane Whisper

  Falcon Helmuth

  “The scales of justice are not borne on one man’s shoulders alone.

  No, by necessity they must be supported by all who walk the earth,

  or there shall never be justice for any of us.”

  Jai Jiroux, deceased

  Forty-Two

  The Southern Empire, Phanea

  Shanti Parthena Laude

  In the south, it was said the descent into madness could start with something as insignificant as stepping on a slug.

  Shanti knew nothing about slugs, but she knew about death and loss and struggle. Yes, and the madness of a world sick with an incurable disease. She knew about people worthy of life. Her father—deceased. Her sister—deceased. Her mother—deceased. Jai Jiroux.

  Jai Jiroux.

  When Shanti had met him, she had immediately sensed something in him, something special. To learn of his fatemark…it had changed her, grown a seed of hope into a tree, strong and thick-limbed and

  And

  Now

  Cut down like a mere sapling, kindling to the fires of madness burning its way across the Four Kingdoms.

  Falcon Hoza was speaking to her, but she heard nothing except the rush of blood through the veins in her temples.

  Why keep fighting when one kept losing? She knew to voice such a thought, even to her closest friend, Sonika Vaid, would label her as weak. And she wasn’t weak—not by a long shot.

  She was simply tired, weary to the core of her heart, the marrow of her bones. And, she was beginning to believe, the world was exhausted too.

  She knew she could?
??ve left with the Black Tears, when they departed for Calypso, off to find Sonika’s long lost brother, Gat. Sonika had practically begged her, but Shanti had merely turned over in bed and pretended to sleep. It was, perhaps, the worst thing she had ever done.

  Not for long, she thought, a plan forming in her mind.

  Falcon was speaking to her again, and this time she unstopped her ears and listened to the end of what he was saying. “…ruler to ruler, perhaps I can recall them, reason with them to return to Phanes, to join forces to fight this great evil.”

  They were words of hope whispered into a world with none. Shanti nodded along, stripped of any conviction. Yes, Falcon Hoza was a good man, but that didn’t change the fact that he needed to die.

  They all needed to die.

  That was the only gift Shanti had left to give; after all, death was a mercy in this horrible world.

  Forty-Three

  The Southern Empire, Phanea

  Roan Loren

  The stream network was of no use without the proper inkreeds, so Roan was forced to track down an old Phanecian birdkeeper who’d been training pigeons as a hobby. He bore a gleam in his watery eyes that seemed one part excitement and ten parts mischief.

  “Will they fly?” Roan asked him as he handed over the messages he’d scrawled.

  “Yes. But to where is the question.”

  Roan drew the scrolls back sharply. “I thought you said—”

  “A quip, nothing more,” the man said, easing his hand forward toward Roan. “They are intelligent birds. They will reach the destinations you’ve requested.”

  Roan sighed. It wasn’t like he had a choice. He had to warn Gareth and Raven. Even Sai Loren deserved to be warned. Four more rulers were going to die, whether it was by Bane’s hand or not. He handed the messages over and watched as the narrow-eyed man tethered them to his pigeons’ feet. One for the west. One for the east. One for Calypso. He’d even prepared one for the north, though he knew not where to send it. Darrin was the logical place for Queen Gäric and her people to flee toward if the Horde was upon them.