Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5)

by David Estes

  The woman’s gray eyes seemed to shine, despite the darkness. “He was a good man. He always helped provide for us. He was a good father, too, always tender with our daughter. I was lucky to have him, Your Highness.”

  Annise was moved by the woman’s words. “I don’t know you personally, but I believe he was lucky to have you, too.”

  “Thank you for saying that, but, respectfully, I’m not looking for compliments or comfort, though I probably need both. I just wanted to tell you that Sir Metz saved my daughter’s life. In doing that, he saved mine too. I have nothing to give him, but I owe him everything.”

  Annise remembered the young girl clinging to the knight’s leg, and it finally made sense. She also knew what to tell this woman, for she knew the honorable knight had demons, too, and that his struggle against them would never cease. Except maybe on this night. Perhaps for a few hours, because of what he’d been able to do for this woman and her daughter, he would find a measure of peace. “Trust me, your daughter has given him the greatest gift he could ever ask for.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand, Your Highness. What gift?”

  “She survived.”

  A spring snow squall had blanketed the city of Darrin while they’d slept. It wasn’t unusual, but still, Annise felt a deep sense of foreboding as her boots sank into several inches of snow. Tarin was beside her, looking all the more like an ice bear with a dusting of snow on his thick greatcoat over his makeshift armor. A helm of ice crusted his dark hair.

  “The weather cannot hold,” Tarin said, though it was clear his heart was not in it—the sky was a white swamp of clouds. Snow continued to fall, but the bulk of the storm had abated. The temperature had dropped too, but not enough for the cold-hardened northerners to require knit gloves and hats. For them, it was still a downright balmy day.

  “The weather is out of our control,” Annise said. “Our actions are not.”

  “For some perhaps,” Tarin said, and there was a tone of frustration in his voice, a carryover from the brutal battle of the night before.

  “You didn’t give in to the monster,” Annise said, offering the barest edge of her own frustration. Why couldn’t she make this man see what she saw in him? “You were in control.”

  “You don’t understand,” Tarin said, a flurry of flakes falling from his head as he shook it.

  She stopped suddenly, whirling on him. “Then help me,” she said, grabbing the fur of his unbuttoned greatcoat. “Every time you struggle, you close yourself off to me.”

  “I…I know.” His voice carried the weight of a problem suffered alone. “It’s just…”

  “Is this because I saved your life? Tarin, you don’t always have to be the one to save the world, and it won’t be the last time I come to your aid, I can promise—”

  “It wasn’t that,” Tarin said. “Being saved by you is an honor.”

  “What then? Tell me.” Annise pressed closer to him. His body gave off a surprising amount of heat, like he was a small fire. The memory of sleeping close to him in the middle of the Frozen Tundra swept through her mind, though it felt so long ago…

  “I must become the monster,” Tarin said, and Annise jerked back, so taken aback by the statement.

  “What? What do you mean—become?”

  He looked down at her with the darkest, most sincere eyes she’d ever stared into. There was no malice, or anger, or even fear. No, just a chasm of infinite sorrow. She wanted to fall into those eyes, to carry a lantern with her, lighting up all the dark recesses of his burdened soul.

  She wanted to make him happy.

  “I shall try to explain,” Tarin said. “I have learned how to steel myself against the desires of the monster. I create a wall in my mind. The monster is behind it most of the time. But in the throes of battle, I might remove a brick or two. The monster’s essence slips through those gaps, and it gives me strength above my own. It heals me as well, though the process is slower than if I were to tear down the wall entirely.”

  She could sense this conversation wasn’t about healing. “And what about your strength? If you removed the wall during battle, what would happen?”

  That sadness. Tarin looked away, staring through the curtain of falling snow, which had picked up again. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from someone else, emotionless and distant. “I never used to have a wall. Those days were dark, for I was not in control. It’s taken me a long time to build my defenses. All the while, the monster has grown restless. If I were to destroy the wall now…I fear I would never be able to build it again.”

  Thirty-Five

  The Northern Kingdom, Darrin

  Sir Christoff Metz

  Even on their most passionate nights, Christoff had never given himself so fully to Mona as he had during the predawn hours. As they’d moved as one, her fingers knotting through his hair as his hands tasted every inch of her skin—which was not repulsive like everyone else’s skin—she’d looked at him with something akin to wonder, and he knew his eyes mirrored the same emotion.

  They were bound by the knowledge that life was a gift, the truth that either one or both of them could’ve easily perished in the battle, but that something had allowed them one more night, and they would be fools to waste it. For Christoff it was something else too. A revelation. A feeling. Though he knew it was absurd, unfounded in scientific study, he knew he had a soul—that all who walked the earth had souls—and that his was connected to this woman’s in a way that was as unexplainable as anything he’d ever experienced in his life.

  It wasn’t just because of the incredible woman who’d chosen him as easily as he’d chosen her, and it wasn’t just because of the young girl who’d saved his life with her determination high atop the tower. It was everything. His brother’s tragic death. His parents’ forgiveness. The path of honor that had led him here, to this moment, to this time and place. A practical man, Christoff was not one to subscribe to fate, but even for him it was impossible to ignore the hand of a greater power than his own that had paved the very path laid before him.

  Afterwards, as they’d lain next to each other, just breathing, a pair of heartbeats that felt like two parts of the same, they’d said nothing, for there were no words that could express what their bodies already had.

  Sir Metz knew it was illogical. There were always words to describe the natural world. Even sex could be described in a mundane, clinical way. But the feelings inside him…

  They were an enigma. For once in his life, he didn’t feel the need to explain them, or separate them into their component parts, each of which must surely have a chemical origin. No, even as the dark had turned to dawn had turned to a bright white morning sheeted in snow, he’d simply lain with Mona Sheary, existing without definition.

  And he’d felt free.

  Eventually, they had to rise, though Christoff’s eyes never left Mona’s as they dressed and girded themselves in the armor of soldiers. Such eye contact with anyone else but her would’ve made him feel ill and he’d be forced to look away within seconds. With her, however, his cheeks merely grew warm, though not enflamed.

  She came to him, her arms roping around his back, her cheek resting on his breastplate. Still they didn’t speak. Words were useless in this moment.

  And when they departed their quarters, his fingers remained entwined with hers, breaking his own rule about public displays of affection.

  Familiar faces were already gathered, eating a meager but warm meal as snow fell all around them. His queen, Annise, was there. My friend, he thought, which surprised him. When had their relationship crossed that line from one based on duty and honor alone to one so personal?

  A long time ago, he realized, even if he hadn’t been willing to admit it. The others were friends too. Mona’s cousin, Tarin, who no longer looked at him with undisguised suspicion. Sir Jonius, with his stern but kind face and sad eyes. Lady Zelda, who was one of the few people besides Mona who truly seemed to understand the core of him. An
d Fay, the blacksmith, who’d worked tirelessly to outfit his soldiers because she understood what it meant in terms of both equipment and moral.

  My friends, all of them.

  In that moment, Sir Metz knew he would die for any of them and all of them. It’s not that he planned to, but he wouldn’t hesitate.

  “Here,” Mona said, handing him a bowl of warm oatmeal spiced with cinnamon. He took it, kissing her lightly on the cheek in thanks, still saying nothing.

  It didn’t even bother him that she’d used his status to skip to the front of the line.

  No, all that mattered on this snowy spring morn was friendship and love.

  Thirty-Six

  The Northern Kingdom, Darrin

  Tarin Sheary

  As Christoff and Mona sat to eat, Tarin watched Annise from the corner of his eye. Frozen gods, she’s beautiful, he thought.

  Though they’d been far too exhausted to make love in the spare hours before morning, they had shared love. A love that Tarin finally knew could not be shattered by anything—not the wars of men or the Horde or even the monster inside him. For Annise’s response to him had been spoken with such truth and certainty he couldn’t not believe her.

  Tear the wall down and be free. The monster shall not rule you, but you the monster.

  He hadn’t yet, for the time was not right, but he could sense the beast’s excitement lurking close, its voice hissed in the darkness, a palpable, tireless energy behind the wall. A challenge.

  It was no longer a question of if, but when.

  I am as patient as a spider, the monster purred.

  I will not make you wait much longer, Tarin said, and he knew it was a promise he would not break.

  Lives were at stake, the most important lives in the world, and he would not save his own soul if it meant they would lose their lives.

  Annise

  Annise could sense Tarin watching her. She turned to meet his gaze and she could see something different in it. Gone was the sorrow. There was a steel to it, like it was not his body but his expression that wore heavy armor.

  He nodded to her, and she nodded back. It felt like a shared promise, though of what, Annise was not yet certain.

  The conversation seemed to spiral around them with the wind and snow—Zelda and Jonius were arguing again—but she was consumed by Tarin’s fiery gaze, and she could feel the monster somewhere within it.

  She had hoped the snowfall would diminish during breakfast, ensuring visibility during their march across the wastelands that separated Darrin from the largest mountain range in the Four Kingdoms, but instead the storm had picked up. Perhaps it was a second storm on the heels of the first, or maybe the other storm had chosen to reverse course and hit them again. Whatever the case, there was nothing for it. They would be cloaked in both armor and snow as they marched. Annise could only hope both would hide them from their enemies.

  Her gaze slid away from Tarin and she refocused on the conversation, which she knew would require her decision soon. The argument was in full swing, and she took a moment to listen.

  Jonius said, “We don’t even know if there’s a way through the mountains. For all we know, the tunnels have been caved in.” Annise knew he was referring to the tunnels once dug by the easterners over many years. The same tunnels their enemy had used to attack Darrin on more than one occasion.

  “Or they might stand wide open,” Zelda retorted. “We won’t know until we look.”

  “Then send scouts.”

  “You think the barbarians will wait patiently for us to scout the range? No. They will attack before this day is done. We cannot hold the castle again, regardless of our mettle.”

  Jonius stabbed a knife into the snow, burying it to the hilt. “The easterners have not agreed to provide refuge. We will be pinched on both ends—barbarians to the north and Ironclads to the south. The caverns will become our very tombs.”

  Zelda said, “You would have us travel back to Raider’s Pass? For all we know the pass is guarded by the entire Horde.”

  “It isn’t,” Annise said. “From everything you’ve told me about Helmuth, he won’t linger in the north. A swift attack on either Knight’s End or Ferria makes the most sense, aye? You said it yourself.” Zelda conceded the point with a nod, but Annise wasn’t finished. She turned to Jonius and said, “But we cannot go back. Even if it is safer. We must take a chance. We march for the mountains in one hour.”

  Annise didn’t wait for further argument, standing and striding through the snow. She didn’t allow herself the luxury of doubt. A queen’s decision was not to be doubted, not even by her.

  Christoff

  Duty. Honor. Sacrifice. These were the precepts he’d lived by his entire life, ever since he’d failed his brother as a child.

  But now, silently, he added another to the list. Love. Once he’d thought that four-letter word was a weakness, but in the presence of his friends and the woman who was more—so much more—than a friend, he now knew love was a strength, one he would use to his advantage.

  To his surprise, the queen offered no concise but rousing speech as she’d done in the past, but instead nodded toward him to speak to the masses assembled before them. There were soldiers, though far fewer than before, and civilians—also fewer—but none wore their fear where the world could see it.

  “You are northerners,” he said. “Survivors. Live for those you’ve lost. Honor them by fighting for every step. Every one of you are heroes. Like me. Just like me.” With that, he raised his hand and then sharply lowered it, the command to move out.

  He turned his head and met Annise’s gaze. The hint of a smile flitted across her lips, and then she too turned and departed.

  They left via the main gates, for otherwise too few would be able to march out at a time to achieve the speedy exodus they’d planned. Christoff watched as the lines of his soldiers formed to perfection, just as he’d instructed. Each line that passed through the gates separated into two distinct halves, angling to the sides and transitioning from a single horizontal line into two vertical ones.

  Armor, Christoff thought, which was how Fay had described it when he’d mentioned his plan to her at breakfast. The truth of her description was now manifested as the civilians funneled between the walls of soldiers, who resumed their march forward, creating a wall of steel and plate and shield and spears around the most stalwart people on the planet.

  My people, Christoff thought, feeling a sense of satisfaction.

  He waited until all had passed through the gates before he followed. He offered a final glance behind him at the deserted city cloaked in white. And then he stepped free of its bounds.

  Tarin

  “It’s eerie, isn’t it?” Sir Jonathan said as he walked beside Tarin.

  Tarin knew exactly what his old friend meant. They’d fought so many battles together here. It felt like a familiar place, full of memories. Some good, some bad, most ugly. “Aye. That’s a good word for it.”

  At first their procession had made good progress, covering a quarter of the distance to the mountains quickly and without incident, save for one aging man who’d sprained an ankle. The storm, however, was no ally of theirs and had redoubled its efforts to thwart them. Now they couldn’t even see the mountains through the white haze, and if not for Sir Metz’s uncanny sense of direction they could very well end up traveling in circles until the Horde found them.

  It wasn’t only the lack of visibility that slowed their pace, but the ever-increasing thickness of the carpet of snow. For someone of Tarin’s size it wasn’t a major problem yet—even the highest drifts only reached his knees, but those smaller were beginning to struggle. Children had to be carried on shoulders, and short, thickset men and women, like Zelda, were forced to walk behind those who could plow a path.

  Still, they were making progress. Each step brought them closer to the mountains. Rather than cutting directly across, as the Horde had the night before, they angled toward the southeast. The hope was t
o avoid the barbarians altogether, though it meant the distance was greater.

  The wall in Tarin’s mind was missing several bricks now. Just in case.

  The monster, true to its promise, was being patient, not even allowing a shred of its power to seep through the gaps. Not yet, it hissed.

  Tarin gritted his teeth and marched onward, trading old stories with his friend.

  “Remember the time Barney Bones couldn’t hold it?” Sir Jonathan said.

  Tarin snorted. He would never forget, though he couldn’t remember the man’s true surname—his nickname, which was derived from the way his bones seemed to protrude from every part of his rail-thin body, had been far too appropriate. “Aye. It was the coldest night in a generation, and he was about to piss his britches.”

  Sir Jonathan chuckled. “When he stumbled back into the barracks he was shivering from head to toe and muttering something about a golden rainbow.”

  “What did he mean?” Fay asked. She’d been listening silently to their stories for a while now.

  “In the morning, we found his piss frozen to the wall,” Sir Jonathan explained. “It was shaped like an arch.”

  Fay shook her head. Tarin said, “’Tis true to the word. This weather feels like summer after that night.”

  “Then we should count ourselves lucky,” Annise said, joining them. She’d been walking the line of refugees and soldiers, offering words of encouragement. Sometimes Tarin could only marvel at her endless energy.

  “Lucky. That’s the word for it,” Zelda added. She was eating snow from her barehand. “We should be gambling, for we cannot lose!”

  Sir Jonius was the only one who didn’t join in the conversation, his eyes shadowed by the steel helm now crusted with ice and snow. He was squinting toward the southwest, watching.

  A good man, Tarin thought. Even if he was misguided at times, there was no doubt as to the purity of his intentions. His words from earlier came back to him. The caverns will become our very tombs.