Fatemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 1)

by David Estes

Right now, Bane wanted nothing more than to coast down the mountainside, laughing, forgetting about what he’d done. About what he’d become.

  “Why do the westerners call them sinmarks, while you say fatemarks?” he asked, fighting off sleep, forcing his eyelids to remain open. He needed answers, now more than ever.

  Bear grunted. “Because they are ignorant fools,” he said. “A lifetime ago I lived in Knight’s End. I have few fond memories of the capital of the west. There are few who truly understand the nature of the marks. Myself included.”

  “But mine is the deathmark. You understand that. And you could kill me now,” he said. They both knew it was a lie, which made them both laugh.

  It was strange, laughing, especially when Bane looked at his hands and saw the bloodstains. It was almost time for the second royal death. He could sense it, like a current running through his veins. Killing the knights was just a warmup for the main event.

  Once he’d recovered, King Gill Loren would fall.

  And then there would be chaos.

  Ten

  The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End

  Rhea Loren

  For once, Rhea didn’t need to fake her tears to manipulate her father. No matter how quickly she blinked, her eyes were eternal wells, overflowing down her cheeks.

  “There, there, Rhea,” King Loren said. “You’re safe now.”

  Rhea’s entire body shook as she remembered the blood. She didn’t feel safe—might never feel safe again, even within the castle walls. She’d known Sir Barrow her entire life, and, despite his blundering and bumbling, she still considered him a friend. One of her only true friends.

  And now he was…he was…

  A fresh wave of grief shuddered through her, matched only by the trembling fear that turned her bones to ice. Sir Barrow, with his slow movements and ill-equipped swordsmanship, wasn’t exactly a fearsome adversary, but Sir Cray…she’d seen him on the practice fields. He was deadly. Whomever had killed them was a dangerous foe.

  They’d found three other guards dead on the same night, and, unlike Barrow and Cray, they were all within the castle walls.

  Wrath-damn that coward Grease Jolly, Rhea thought furiously, her tears finally dried up by her anger. Wrath-damn him and his stolen fruit and his thick dark hair and sun-kissed complexion and smooth words and strong hands and full lips—

  She’d given him her purity and he’d treated her like a common whore.

  She pulled away from her father’s embrace abruptly, her mind setting an image of Grease Jolly ablaze. Though Rhea was typically of an easygoing nature, she hated being crossed. A year earlier one of the castle courtiers had informed her father that she’d snuck from her chambers at night, implying she’d been up to no good. She hadn’t been up to any good, of course, but she’d lied and convinced the king she’d merely gone to the library to retrieve a book. Later she’d bribed a kitchen maid to crush a small amount of jade hemlock into the courtier’s evening stew. The fool had been ill for a fortnight before recovering. Even to this day, however, his complexion was a little bit green, a fact that made Rhea laugh every time she saw him.

  And now Grease had crossed her in another, even worse, way.

  “What is it, princess?” her father asked. “What can I do to help?” His sunbaked eyes were tender and concerned, the polar opposite to how they looked when he was at court, meting out punishment on the guilty sinners throughout Knight’s End. If only he knew what her lips had been doing last night before her guards had been brutally murdered…

  As she looked at the man who spoiled her relentlessly, she considered her father’s offer. She remembered the way she’d pleaded with Grease to stay, to not leave her. How she’d poured her heart out to him, going so far as to offering to run away with him. How he’d rejected her so quickly. How he’d scaled the wall and run along its edge, abandoning her to whatever evil roamed the Cryptlands. The fear that had threatened to tear itself from her throat as she hid with the dead in her family’s crypt until the sun was long up, until she’d finally mustered the courage to tiptoe out, only to find her guards staring blankly at the blue sky, lying prostrate in a pool of their own blood.

  How one of the furia had found her shaking on the ground, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. All because Grease Jolly left her when she needed him. Wrath-damn my attraction to criminals, she wanted to scream. He’d saved her once, but that didn’t excuse what he’d done the night before.

  She wished she could let it go, find a way to cool her fire-breathing temper. But she couldn’t, her anger eating her up from the inside out, screaming for revenge. Yes, she was a princess, but that didn’t mean her life was all peaches and cream. Her mother was dead. Her brother had vanished mysteriously when she was naught but a child. Her two siblings—the twins—were sniveling brats.

  The urge to tell her father everything was strong, but she fought it back. Her father could never know she was anything but the perfect, chaste, Wrath-loving princess that he’d built up in his own mind. “There’s a thief,” she said instead. “I’ve seen him in the markets. He’s clever and never gets caught. I watched him steal half a dozen items from all different carts.”

  Her father’s eyebrows narrowed and his eyes seemed to darken with righteous indignation in that familiar way she’d seen half a thousand times at court. “Would you be able to identify this criminal?” he growled.

  She nodded. “I know it won’t bring back Sir Barrow and Sir Cray, but catching him will make Knight’s End a safer place.”

  Her father clamped his hands on her shoulders firmly, his hands warm through her black dress of mourning. “Take as many castle guards and furia as you need. Bring the thief to justice.”

  “I will, Father,” she said, and for the first time since Grease had kissed her, she smiled.

  Eleven

  The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End

  Grease Jolly

  Grease was an expert at forgetting. After his parents died when he was eight and his sister five, he forgot all about them. He even forgot his own name and came up with his own, because after all, what difference did it make? No matter how many times his sister tried to remind him of the past, he let the memories slide right off him. He was Grease Jolly, through and through. It was as if his life had been split up into two pieces. He preferred the new piece, so why dwell on the old?

  Rhea was now part of the old, so he needed to forget about her. Plus, she was safe, apparently. Though he’d feared the worst when he couldn’t find her, the rumors were already swirling through the city. Two more knights were dead, along with three guardsmen. The knights had been guarding the princess, but she was fine, unharmed. She is fine, unharmed. Those words had allowed him to breathe again, but he couldn’t dwell on them. No, he had more important things to do, like getting the rot out of Knight’s End. After seeing that…creature…in the Cryptlands, Grease was convinced it was time to move on, both literally and figuratively.

  Then why is it so hard this time? he wondered as he stuffed his dirty clothes into a satchel.

  Because of her, his mind echoed. He shook his head. He shouldn’t give a rot about her. She was just a girl. Hell, she was a godsdamned princess! It had been fun while it lasted. A new conquest. And it had been all passion, all physical, hadn’t it? There was no true attachment. Nothing real.

  And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her, how betrayed she’d looked when he abandoned her outside the crypt. “Not my rutting problem,” he muttered under his breath. He took a bite of moldy bread and stuffed the rest into his sack.

  “I’m not leaving,” his sister announced, dumping the contents of her own satchel on the floor of their dingy crawlspace under the steps of the pleasure house. Shae placed her hands on her hips and scowled at him. Gods, when had she become so grown up? At fourteen, she was becoming more and more stubborn. With her long strawberry-gold hair, she reminded him of someone, but he refused to think about that, the pain still too close to the surface.

/>   “You are. Pack your bag.” When she just stared at him, he snatched her satchel and began shoving the spilled contents back inside.

  “You can take my things, but you’re not taking me,” she said.

  “I’ll carry you kicking and screaming if I have to,” Grease said.

  “And clawing…” Shae muttered.

  Grease placed her bag next to his. “Look…I told you when we arrived this was only temporary.”

  “But I like it here. I have friends. The furia are nice to me.”

  And this is exactly why we have to move on, Grease thought. Among other reasons. Like a murderous demon with the glowing mark. Oh, and the fact that I bedded the eldest princess and the king will probably find out and want to execute me several times in several painful ways.

  The furia were the holy female warriors led by the Furies, a trio of righteous women who had the responsibility of enforcing Wrath’s laws in the west. They targeted young street girls, like Shae, giving them food and education while grooming them to eventually join their violent ranks.

  “It’s not safe here anymore,” Grease said. And I won’t have you become a furia.

  “Where will we go?” Shae asked.

  In truth, Grease didn’t know. According to rumors, the north was in turmoil after the death of King Gäric. The East-West War made the borders along the Spear impassable. And going south only meant you had a death wish—the Phanecians had been sallying out from the Southron Gates, attacking the border towns at Vinya, Sarris, Cleo, and Felix. Word was they were using trained pyzons and vulzures in the attacks. The very thought of giant snakes slithering across the ground and razor-clawed raptors swooping in from the sky made Grease’s skin crawl.

  “Grey?” his sister said, snapping him away from his dark thoughts.

  “Talis,” he said definitively. Apart from the fact that it was dangerously close to the Dead Isles, Talis was the furthest from each of the kingdom’s borders, and protected to the west by the sea. “We’ve never been there. I’ve heard it’s nice. And don’t call me Grey.”

  “Sorry, Grease,” she said. “Or should I call you Sir Jolly?” She laughed.

  “It’s not funny,” Grease said. “Our real names are dangerous.” Although his sister refused to change her first name, she’d been willing to take on the surname Jolly, at least while they were in Knight’s End.

  “They saved us,” Shae said, her bottom lip quivering. Grease wished he’d never said anything about his name. “I won’t forget Mother and Father, even if you will.”

  Grease threw an arm around his sister. “I just want you to be safe,” he said. It was the reason he did everything he did. Well, most everything. His fling with the princess was something completely different.

  “I am safe. Here. With the furia.”

  Gods. If only, Grease thought. Unfortunately, the furia and everything in the Holy City was his sister’s enemy. “Your mark,” he reminded her.

  “It doesn’t do anything,” Shae said. “It’s not a sinmark. Just a birthmark, or something.” Grease hated that she referred to it as a sinmark, like everyone else in the west. There was nothing sinful about his sister—as far as he was concerned, she was an innocent flower. He knew she didn’t believe her own words, about it being a birthmark, but he wouldn’t contradict her. Not when their parents had died because of her mark.

  “Still,” Grease said now, “people wouldn’t rutting understand.”

  “Don’t curse, Grey. The furia will cut out your tongue if they hear you. Listen, if I become one of the furia, I can change the way people think about the marks.”

  “I said no,” Grease said, hefting both packs over his shoulders.

  “This isn’t fair!” Shae shouted. “I hate you! I wish you had died instead of Mother and Father.”

  The words stung, but Grease absorbed them the way he absorbed anything bad in his life. Without feeling. He hadn’t cried in nine years, and he wasn’t about to now. He had to be strong for Shae, even if she hated him for it.

  He moved aside the empty barrels that hid their crawlspace, and strode down the street. He didn’t look back to see if Shae was following. He didn’t have to, because she always did.

  A few minutes later she was by his side. “I didn’t mean what I said about hating you,” she said.

  “I know, Shae. I know,” Grease said.

  “Or about you being dead.”

  “Forget about it. They were just words. Words disappear the moment you speak them.”

  Shae was silent for a minute as they walked along. “Maybe they don’t disappear,” she finally said. Grease was surprised she’d given what he said so much thought. “But maybe you can grab them before they become real.”

  “Works for me,” Grease said. That’s when he realized they were heading in the wrong direction. If they’d wanted to head out of the city in the direction of Talis, they should’ve been going the opposite way. Instead they were walking toward the castle walls.

  Her, Grease thought. “Get the rot out of my head,” he muttered.

  “What did you say?” Shae asked. “Did you curse again?”

  “Nothing. And no, I didn’t curse.” But still Grease refused to turn his path. When they finally reached the castle, he stopped, craning his head back to look up toward the ramparts.

  “What are we doing?” Shae asked, but he didn’t answer.

  “Goodbye,” he said. He felt foolish saying goodbye to a wall, or even saying goodbye at all. Sentimentalities were for fools.

  Regardless, there was no reason to rush out of Knight’s End. Whatever he’d seen that morning wasn’t going to stalk him in broad daylight. So instead of turning around, he led Shae toward the edge of the bay, which swept before them in a crystalline arc of sparkling water that met jagged mountains rising like swords into the clear, blue sky. They sat atop a rise, watching the gulls chase each other on the wind.

  “Do we have to leave?” Shae asked.

  “For now. But maybe we’ll come back some day,” Grease lied. He squinted as he noticed the merchant ship he’d seen approaching earlier that morning. Its sails had been tucked back in and tied off with ropes, and it was anchored in the bay, preparing smaller landing vessels laden with goods. It appeared as if the boats would be separated, some moving north toward Blackstone and the rest to Knight’s End. The Crimeans are still selling to both sides, Grease thought wryly. Smart move.

  “When?” Shae asked.

  Grease didn’t answer, because he didn’t want to lie again. Not to her. Instead he said, “We should go.” He turned and headed back toward Knight’s End, this time steering them south through the crowded city streets. The familiar cobblestones slapped beneath Grease’s trod. Despite himself, he would miss the Holy City. At just under three years, it was the longest they’d stayed in any one place since their parents’ deaths.

  And he would miss Rhea. Deeply. No matter what he tried to convince himself of, she was more than some conquest, more than a thrill. In another life, she could’ve been special to him.

  She is special to me.

  He was tempted to nick a few supplies from the vendors on the way out, but he didn’t for two reasons: first, he didn’t want to risk getting caught; and second, his sister would never let him hear the end of it. Like cursing, she was against stealing, although Grease was pretty sure she wouldn’t care when her stomach started rumbling.

  They reached Corizen Corner, which connected the two major city thoroughfares in a large square marketplace. It was where he’d first seen Princess Rhea, where she’d given him the secret note. Though it was only six weeks ago, it felt like a lifetime now that they were leaving.

  He tried to focus on the positive fact that even after having an illicit affair with the eldest daughter of the Holy King, his head was still attached to his neck. Three godsdamned cheers for me, Grease thought.

  They zigzagged through the marketplace, pushing through the crowd, which was as thick as bees in a hive. A few sellers who reco
gnized him fired scowls his way. They’d never caught him thieving from them—well, except for the baker the night before—but in their hearts they knew what he was.

  Don’t worry, he wanted to tell them. You’ll never see me again.

  Out of Corizen Corner, they picked up speed, the crowds thinning as the street narrowed. The main city gates were just ahead, manned by furia who questioned every trader or traveler who entered Knight’s End. Grease acted calm, reminding himself that they were leaving. No one would question two street rats departing the city. In fact, the holy sisterhood would likely be glad to see them go.

  “That’s him,” a voice said, rising above the sound of cart wheels rattling across the cobblestones. The voice was familiar somehow. Grease frowned, bobbing his head back and forth. It can’t be. It’s impossible.

  But it was. Princess Rhea was lying prone atop a royal litter hefted by four muscular servants. A dozen guards and furia surrounded her. Even in her thick frock, Rhea was a sight, her hair twisted into a crown of golden vines atop her head, not unlike the hairstyle she’d worn when he’d first seen her in the marketplace. When he’d saved her from the lunatic.

  She wasn’t smiling, her eyes alight with an angry fire Grease had never seen in her before. She was pointing at him. “Thief!” she cried.

  Before Grease could even consider running for it, several of the guards had him and Shae in chains. “Grey!” Shae cried, reaching for his hand. He tried to grab her fingers but the guards pried them apart.

  There was nothing to say, nothing to do. Princess Rhea had betrayed him.

  And it was his fault, because he’d betrayed her, too.

  Oh, Shae, Grease thought. I’ve failed you.

  Twelve

  The Eastern Kingdom, Ferria, Ironwood

  Roan

  The design of the castle was ingenious. Each circular metal wall had a gate, but they were at different positions, moving from south to north and east to west. If an invading army were ever to breach the first gate, they would be forced to fight their way around the circle, most likely hauling a battering ram, in order to break down the second gate. At that point they would have to once more fight their way around to the third gate, and so on. All told, there were eight gates, and Roan was breathing heavily by the time they’d cleared the final one. At least I’m not on the horse anymore, he thought.