Fatemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 1)

by David Estes

One of the furia pushed back her red hood to reveal an expressionless face. He was taken aback by her pristine skin, her piercing eyes, her sunrise-red hair; he had to admit that the woman was almost as eye-pleasing as Princess Rhea. She moved so fast that Grease didn’t have a chance to defend himself. Her foot swept behind him, kicking out the back of his legs and bringing him to his knees.

  He grunted, squinting through the web of long, tangled hair that fell into his face. The furia who had struck him was back in position as if nothing had happened. He opened his mouth to speak again, and then thought better of it. He pushed the hair away from his eyes and waited.

  After a while, his knees began to throb, but when he tried to stand, the other furia glided forward and swung her fist in an arc. Again, he was too slow to block the attack, her knuckles colliding with his jaw, rocking him back.

  Half-naked, lying on the cold, hard ground, he rubbed his jaw. He’d been in plenty of street fights, but had never been hit like that. Slowly, shielding his face with his arms, he sat up, returning to kneeling position.

  The furia ignored him once more. Eons passed, his bruised face pounding, his knees aching, the confessions of sinners seeming to scream at him from the walls.

  Thief!

  Fornicator!

  Thief!

  Fornicator!

  ThiefThiefTHIEF!

  And then the wooden door opened and his heart stopped.

  They were actually here. Not the foot soldiers, but the generals themselves, the Furies. The moment they entered, the two furia parted to let them pass, closing ranks as soon as their holy masters were clear.

  The Three wore no hoods, their hair as red as hungry flames. They were all as attractive as their foot soldiers, but in a harsh way, their jaws angled and strong, their eyes dark and fierce. Grease tried to hold their gaze, but eventually looked away.

  “You have been accused,” the one in the center said. “Confess your sins!”

  Her bark made Grease flinch.

  Grease didn’t try to deny it—there was no point. All that mattered was his sister. “I am a thief,” he said. “I will accept my punishment. Five days in the stocks. Ten? Name it.”

  The two Furies on the sides laughed. The one in the center did not. “Stupid boy,” she said. “Our punishment is not of men, it is of Wrath.”

  Something about the way she said it made Grease want to punch himself in the face. “I will accept it,” he said.

  “Yes. You will. Which hand do you use to steal with?”

  The question took him aback. “What? I don’t know. My left usually—”

  The third Fury grabbed him by his neck, shoving him to the ground. The second Fury jammed a knee into his chest, pushing all her weight on him until he could hardly breathe.

  And the first Fury, the one who had spoken, forced his left arm flush against the cold stone. She raised a hand, gripping a blade, its sharp edge glinting in the colored light refracting through the temple’s mosaic windows.

  “No!” Grease shouted, but it came out as a squeal, his windpipe pinched.

  Her arm came down. Her blade came down.

  Grease screamed.

  Darkness swept in like a black tide of unconsciousness. A kindness, under the circumstances.

  Grease awoke from the nightmare shivering and panting, trying to catch his breath. He felt cold, so cold, and yet sweat pooled on his face, stinging his eyes. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. Shae! He needed to wake Shae up and get them the hell out of the Holy City. Forget the main gates—he’d take them down the coastline, past the Cryptlands.

  He tried to rise, but something held him back. He blinked in the dim lighting, trying to figure out what was happening. Thick leather straps ran across his body, securing his chest, arms, torso, and legs.

  “What in Wrath’s name?” he said.

  Someone sniffled in the dark.

  “Who’s there?” Grease said.

  “Oh, Wrath, I’m sorry,” someone whimpered. “I didn’t know. I was so angry.”

  That voice. That voice. “Rhea?”

  “I didn’t know what they would do. I thought they’d lock you up, make you do penance for your crimes. I didn’t know…”

  Oh gods. Grease didn’t want to look, but knew he had to. He lifted his right hand high enough so he could see it, flexing his fingers. He cocked his head and tilted his gaze to the left, raising his other—

  The stump was wrapped in white cloth, the blood soaking through in several spots.

  Bile rose up in Grease’s throat, so fast he couldn’t swallow it back down. The vomit dribbled down his chin, staining his already filthy shirt.

  Not possible. Not real. A wicked nightmare. Had to be. It didn’t even hurt. A trick. They’d played a trick. A mean, nasty trick to teach him a lesson, one he would pretend to learn and then be on his way, off to another town, his sister in tow.

  “Where is Shae?” he asked. Something throbbed along his left wrist, but he ignored it. If he didn’t look at it, it wasn’t real.

  “Is that her name? I swear I didn’t know about your sister. Please forgive me,” Rhea said. He could just make out her slumped form in the corner of the small room. She was still wearing her black dress of mourning. She’d never looked so vulnerable, so pathetic, a far cry from the seductress he’d always known her to be. She didn’t look or sound like a woman grown anymore. She was just a broken girl.

  “You’re forgiven,” Grease said quickly. A rutting lie. He’d never forgive her if something happened to Shae. He was feeling lightheaded, the room starting to spin. Pain lanced up his arm. “Just tell me where my sister is.” Please. Please. Before I pass out. I have to know.

  “You shouldn’t have left me in the crypts. I was scared. That scream…”

  “I know. I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Spots flashed before his eyes, blinking like dying gold stars.

  “I forgive you, too.”

  “Princess.” He was pleading now. “Tell me. Where is she?”

  “They killed her,” Rhea said.

  Not real not real not real.

  “Oh Wrath, I didn’t mean your sister,” Rhea said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

  I didn’t mean your sister. Grease clung to those words like a man adrift in the ocean with only a single wooden plank to keep him afloat. The princess continued to apologize, her voice rising hysterically. “Stop,” Grease said, blinking away the spots obscuring his vision. Rhea clamped her mouth shut, her wet eyes locking on his. “Who did they kill?”

  “My aunt,” Rhea said. “The queen in the north.”

  Grease blinked. What? “How? Why?”

  “They blamed her for the Dread King’s death. They executed her. They killed her!”

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” Grease said, not knowing what else to say.

  “My father is livid,” she went on. “There is talk of revenge. Of war. Everything is falling apart. We should’ve left together last night. We should’ve gone away from this horrid city and sailed across the great ocean and found another life. A better life.”

  This was the girl Grease had fallen for. Spontaneous. Half-crazy. Rebellious. But that was over the moment she pointed her accusing finger at him at the city gates and involved his sister. All kindness left his tone. “We didn’t leave,” Grease said. “Where is my sister?”

  Princess Rhea covered her face with her hands. Her body shook silently. A shadow entered Grease’s body, twisting and thickening and squeezing around his heart, which seemed to slow in his chest. The world was fading to black again. Blessed, blessed darkness.

  “They found it,” Rhea said.

  No. Gods, no. Anything but that. His denial was gone, torn away by the truth of Rhea’s words. Take my other hand. Take my head. Take me me me me…

  “They found her mark,” Rhea said, and then she rose and fled from the room, her sobs echoing into eternity.

  Seventeen

  The Northern Kingdom, The Howling Tundra

  Annise Gäric
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  Something wasn’t right. Well, something besides the fact that Annise was wandering an endless tundra with a witch-cursed knight who’d once been her childhood friend. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but whatever was eluding her mind kept gnawing away at her as they trudged through the snow, which was up to Annise’s knees and Arme’s—Tarin’s—armored calves.

  It wasn’t her half-empty stomach either, although that clearly wasn’t right. She knew she was in trouble when the snow started to look like icing on an enormous poppy seed cake.

  She stopped. Tarin’s long strides carried him a bit further before he realized she wasn’t beside him anymore. He turned and said, “What is it?”

  “We’re going back,” she said.

  “To where? Castle Hill?”

  “No. To the edge of this hellfrozen tundra. And then we’re heading south for Gearhärt. We’re going to find my brother.” And then we can escape north. Together.

  “It’s not safe,” Tarin said.

  “And this is? Do you even know where we are? This is my life, my decision, and we are turning around. Immediately.”

  “No.”

  She gritted her teeth. She hated the way he always said things with such finality, like her opinion mattered little and less. She didn’t care that they’d shared body warmth, or had a strange moment of truth. She could consider all that later, if at all. Now she had to take matters into her own hands.

  “Stop me.” She whirled around and sprinted in the opposite direction. Well, more like slogged, her boots clomping through the snow. She heard his heavy feet give chase, and she waited until she could sense him almost upon her.

  She dropped flat to the snow. Tarin let out a surprised cry and tripped over her, rattling like a tin can dropped down a staircase. Annise was up in an instant, taking advantage of the opportunity. She already had a handful of snow, which she shoved through his eye slit, not caring if she poked his eyes a little in the process. She even added a solid kick to his armored ribs.

  He flailed, scrubbing at his eyes, but she didn’t stop to watch. She was off and running. She knew he would catch up eventually, but by then she hoped he’d have reconsidered. It was a foolish, desperate plan, but it was all she had.

  She hazarded a glance back. Tarin was still down, prying off his helmet. She almost stopped to look—she desperately wanted to see his face—but then remembered how defiant he was when she’d seen just his hand.

  Spinning around, she charged onwards.

  Just in front of her, an enormous white form rose up from a snowdrift, unleashing a roar that rattled her frozen bones. She tried to stop, but her feet skidded on the ice, kicking out from under her. Gravity did the rest, slamming her down violently on her tailbone.

  By then, the massive ice bear loomed over her, rearing up on its hind legs, slicing the air to ribbons with its razor-sharp front claws. Its gaping jaws revealed a row of glistening fang-like teeth. The white-furred monster was twice the size of Tarin, although Annise couldn’t help but notice they had a similar disposition.

  She tried to scoot back, but slammed into a drift, chunks of frozen snow raining down on her face. Without other options, she rolled just as the bear slammed its paws onto the ice where she’d been a moment earlier.

  Leaning back, she kicked out with all her might, connecting solidly with the beast’s head.

  This seemed only to enrage it even more. It lunged for her, snarling, raking a claw across her face. Heat bloomed like a snowflake flower on her cheek as she was knocked back. She slid along the ice, blood dripping from her chin.

  She tried to stand, but her feet slipped again. The bear seemed to have no such problem, its claws digging into the ice as it propelled itself toward her, its black eyes focused on its meal.

  Annise finally found her footing, diving to the right, the creature punching her shoulder as it flew past. She grunted and twisted into another fall as graceful as a one-legged woman learning to dance the Northern Jaunt.

  It was desperation time, and Annise was always willing to cheat rather than lose a fight. She squatted in the snow, her heart racing, her chest heaving, her shoulder throbbing, her face bleeding. She packed iceballs as tightly as she could, ignoring the pain and fear. When the bear charged, she let loose a barrage, pelting it in the face, in the eyes, in the mouth. All those years growing up in the snowy north with a pack of bratty lordlings as her only companions were finally paying off. Arch would be proud.

  The ice bear squealed, rearing up, its forepaws swatting fruitlessly at the air, trying to ward off this new attack that it clearly didn’t understand. “Eat ice, bear,” Annise screamed through gritted teeth, hitting another bullseye.

  The bear shook its head, whipped around, and took off, loping along the frozen ground with long heavy strides. A full retreat. For now, at least.

  A moment later, Tarin came running up, his black helmet back on his head, though it was still crusted with hard-packed snow. “What in the frozen hell are you?” he said.

  “A princess of the north,” Annise said. “Nice of you to show up, protector. Now stay the frozen hell out of my way—I’m going back.”

  She stomped off, soaking up the blood on her face with the snow left in her hand.

  “I could tell the story, but no one would ever believe me,” Tarin said, walking beside her.

  “I don’t care,” Annise said. Her shoulder was killing her, her face was stinging, and the injury to her tailbone was worse than she’d originally thought, but still…she did care. She cared that Tarin was finally listening to her, that he wouldn’t stop talking about her victory over the ice bear. She cared deeply, but refused to show it. She wasn’t sure why.

  “I’m sorry,” Tarin said.

  Her head jerked toward him. She wasn’t used to hearing apologies. “For what?”

  “For…your mother.”

  Annise sighed, unable to maintain the fire that had raged in her belly since her encounter with the bear. She stayed silent, unsure what to say.

  “I hate myself for it,” he went on. “She was a wonderful person, inside and out.”

  Annise could keep silent no longer. “I didn’t even know her. To the very end, she was a stranger to me.”

  “She shouldn’t be,” Tarin said.

  Annise frowned. “Why not? She barely spoke to me.” The memory of the last time her mother spoke to her, in the tower of mirrors, played in her mind.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. It was the only way I knew how to protect you. I wish I’d been better. Stronger. You are better, you are stronger. And I’m so proud of you.

  “You’re wrong,” Tarin said. “Your mother isn’t a stranger to you. I see so much of her in you.”

  Annise scoffed. She scraped her knotted black hair through her fingers. “Yes, my hair is looking particularly sunny this time of year. And I think I’ve shed two stones since we started walking across the tundra.” She sashayed her hips like she’d seen other girls do as they walked past the lordlings.

  Tarin shook his head. “You have her eyes,” he said.

  She opened her mouth to contradict him, but he held up a hand. “Not the color, the intensity. When your mother put her mind to something, she did it. Like saving you and your brother. She was determined. And here we are.”

  Annise wanted to jest, to laugh his words away, but her desire to know more overwhelmed her usual quick tongue. “What else?” she asked.

  Though she couldn’t see it, she was sure Tarin smiled beneath his mask. “Your stubbornness.”

  Annise rolled her eyes, but couldn’t argue with that. They continued on, and again Annise felt the gnawing, some important truth eluding her.

  “You defeated a bear. An ice bear,” Tarin said after a while. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “It’s not like I killed it.” Playing it down. Smiling on the inside, grinning through the pain.

  He shook his head. “You are something else.” It was the most she’d heard him talk,
sounding more like the energetic boy she knew growing up. The thought made her incredibly sad.

  Nibble nibble. Gnaw gnaw.

  It hit her and she slammed to a stop.

  This time Tarin was ready, echoing her movements. She let loose a string of imaginative curses and Tarin took a step back, as if afraid he would become her next victim. Or perhaps appalled at her language, which was decidedly unladylike. Then again, she was no lady, something she’d proven time and time again.

  Frozen hell. It was no wonder it had taken her so long to realize something so important. Her entire life she’d assumed that by the time the Dread King was dead and gone, Arch would already be of age. The laws were clear: the eldest male son had rights to the throne once he came of age, at eighteen, only after both his parents—the king and queen—were deceased. Eldest daughters be damned. Because her father always seemed invincible, Annise had never considered the possibility that this law could work in her favor, in the event that Wolfric Gäric the First died early. And even then, her mother would’ve become the ruling monarch in her father’s stead.

  But that’s not what happened, and no one else had given her the slightest consideration, not even her uncle. Because she wasn’t of age, either. She was only seventeen when her father died and her mother was executed.

  Now, however, she was counting days.

  “Princess?” Tarin said.

  “Annise,” Annise said.

  “Annise. What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Annise’s face was starting to hurt from the deepness of her frown amidst the biting cold. She recounted just to make sure, but she came up with the same answer. Today was the day. Her eighteenth name day. She was finally of age and both her father and mother were dead.

  She closed her eyes.

  Her eyes flashed open.

  “I am the queen.”

  “Your uncle will realize the truth soon enough,” Tarin said, leagues later. Finally—finally—Annise could make out the end of the infernal tundra. She looked forward to the cover of trees and rolling hills, blocking the frigid wind’s eternal sting.