Fatemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 1)

by David Estes

  They were gathered in Arch’s royal tent—Annise, Arch, Lady Zelda, Sir Craig, Sir Dietrich, and Tarin, who had to duck his head to avoid hitting it on the ceiling.

  Annise shook her head, still trying to come to terms with the fact that her brother had managed to secure himself an army, albeit a rather small one.

  Arch seemed able to read her mind. “It didn’t take much convincing,” he said. “Most of these men have never even met Lord Griswold, and owe him no allegiance. They are tired of fighting to secure the Pass, tired of treading water in the armpit of the north. I brought them something they haven’t had in a while.”

  Annise raised her eyebrows in question.

  “Hope,” Arch explained. “Change.”

  “What change?”

  “An end to the war,” he said. “I have promised them that if they can hang on a little longer, if they will help me restore the north to its true heir, that I will initiate peace talks with the west.”

  Annise opened her mouth to speak, to inform him of what everyone had seemed to have forgotten: That Arch was not of age, and now Annise was. The true heir he spoke of so confidently was her, not him.

  But Zelda placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped her with a sharp glance and barely perceptible shake of her head. “Peace with the west may be impossible now,” Zelda said. “Their king is dead. And the news of your mother’s death was not taken well. She was their princess, after all.”

  “That was Uncle’s decision, not mine,” Arch said. “He tried to kill me, too. I can explain that to the Lorens. I will make them understand.”

  Zelda nodded. “I have no doubt you will try,” she said. “Have you received word of whether the line of succession has been determined?”

  Arch bit his lip, an expression that finally made him look his age. Then he spoke and the boy he’d once been gave way to the man he’d become. “We received a stream two days prior. Rhea Loren is of age, but has been accused of fornication under western law.”

  Annise knew the west was strict on many things, but surely taking a lover wouldn’t preclude the princess from inheriting the throne.

  “The work of the furia, no doubt,” Zelda said, sighing. “This is unfortunate news. Rhea might’ve been an easy ally. I assume her eldest cousin, Jove, has assumed the crown as King Temporanus?”

  “Correct,” Arch said. “We streamed him a message only yesterday explaining the situation in the north, though his spies have likely already informed him. We will defend the Pass while we await his reply.”

  “What did you ask of him?” Zelda said. “The west is in turmoil. They are in no position to offer assistance to our cause.”

  “I did not ask for assistance, nor do I need it,” Arch said calmly. He sounded like a king. Not like her father, full of anger and fearmongering, but strong and willful. “I simply warned him of Lord Griswold’s illegal seizure of the throne and his gathering of forces at Blackstone. In the event that I can defeat my uncle, I requested that we negotiate peace under new terms. Our terms, not those of our elders.”

  Zelda smiled thinly. “You have done well.”

  “There is something else we must discuss,” Sir Dietrich said.

  Annise glanced at Lady Zelda sharply, knowing immediately what the knight was about to bring up. Her name day. Northern law. After hearing her brother speak, she didn’t want him to know the truth. He was always meant to be the king, anyway, not her. Already he’d shown his ability to rule, to make hard, fast decisions. And she’d thrown snowballs at an ice bear, defeated a lusty drunkard, and hidden amongst timber and swords. If all that made her worthy of being a queen, then she would leap atop a wild mamoothen and storm Castle Hill herself.

  Zelda seemed to feel the same way, because she once more interjected, cutting Sir Dietrich off. “Yes, we must discuss the strategy for the impending battle. I assume preparations are complete?”

  Sir Dietrich frowned but seemed to take the hint, clamping his mouth shut. Annise exhaled slowly. She would talk to the knight later, try to convince him that the truth was better kept from her brother, at least for now.

  Before Arch could respond to Zelda’s question, Sir Craig said, “Wait. Shouldn’t we first consider whether we should defend the Pass?”

  Sir Dietrich’s frown deepened. “What are you suggesting—that we let the easterners march right through, free to enter our lands unmolested?”

  Sir Craig raised a placating hand. “Why not? They will help our cause in the short term. If they make it to Castle Hill they may even overthrow Lord Griswold. Why should we defend the usurper king?”

  Sir Dietrich opened his mouth to speak again, but Arch cut him off. “It’s an interesting proposal, but why should we replace one unlawful king with another? Either way, we’ll still have a rebellion to carry out.”

  “We could reason with King Ironclad afterwards,” Sir Craig went on. “He might listen, especially if we made certain promises of peace.”

  Though she was against the proposal, Annise was pleased to see Arch well and truly consider the idea—something her father never would’ve done. After a moment of reflection, Arch said, “Sister, what do you think?”

  Annise was surprised but honored that her brother was interested in what she had to say. He really was becoming a wise king, a fact that made the weight of her secret even harder to bear. “I wish we could avoid violence at the Pass,” she said, “but we cannot allow our anger at our uncle dictate our decisions. We are northerners, and if the east would invade our lands, we have no choice but to defend it, to the death if necessary. We have no reason to believe the Ironclads would be open to peace negotiations, not after all the bloodshed between our kingdoms.”

  Arch nodded vehemently, as if her opinion had solidified his own. “I agree with my sister’s wisdom. Other opinions?”

  There were none, and Sir Craig backed down. Arch moved on to the battle strategy. Evidently the eastern king, Oren Ironclad the Juggernaut, had decided the north was ripe for defeat. He’d led a large battalion of soldiers from his stronghold in Ferria to Raider’s Pass. Given the poor weather conditions, he was expected to mount an attack through the Pass soon, perhaps as early as on the morrow. Preparations had been made for just such an assault. When the Pass was once dominated by the raiders of old, numerous fortifications had been built directly into the cliffs, manmade caves offering a strong position from above. Arch had sent half of his forces to each of these outposts, hauling timber and heavy stone. These men included his best archers. The goal was to send as many of the easterners into the frozen river as possible before they could traverse the narrow pass and reach northern territory.

  However, if any of the enemy did make it through, Arch had planned accordingly. Enormous ice slings had been constructed, and were prepared to bombard any who emerged from the pass. Furthermore, his most capable swordsmen, including Sir Dietrich, as well as those with experience in hand to hand combat, would provide a final line of defense.

  The goal was victory with as few casualties as possible—they would need a heavy force to march on Castle Hill and take back the throne.

  Annise once more marveled at the change in her brother. He was all business, a far cry from the boy who always had a quip at her expense on his tongue. He was born to be king, and she wouldn’t try to convince him otherwise. Once this was over, she would flee to the north, or possibly Crimea, but she wouldn’t try to convince him to go with her. No, she couldn’t ask that of him.

  “Explain yourself,” Sir Dietrich said, grabbing Annise’s arm as he caught up to her.

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you,” she spat back.

  Tarin stepped up, moving chest to chest with the knight who’d defeated him in the melee, an event that now felt like a lifetime ago to Annise. “Remove your hand, Sir,” Tarin said.

  Sir Dietrich raised his eyebrows. “I see you two have...bonded out on the tundra,” he said, laughing. Still, he released his grip and pulled his hand back.

  �
��You know nothing,” Annise said.

  “Really? I know that you are legally a queen now. That it is you and not Arch who should be making a claim for the throne. Regardless of your intentions, you must tell him the truth.”

  “I will,” Annise growled. “After the battle. And I will relinquish my rights to him. He is the king; no name day can change that.”

  “It can if you want it to,” Sir Dietrich said.

  “I don’t,” Annise said quickly.

  The knight moved closer once more, as if daring Tarin to stop him. “What are you afraid of, Annise?” he said, his voice husky. “Of being adored? Of being cheered? Of being strong?”

  Annise shoved him away. “I already am strong, and adoration is for pretty princes with big smiles and arrogant demeanors.” She walked away, toward the tent Arch had provided for her, while Tarin stopped Sir Dietrich from following.

  “If you don’t tell him, I will,” Sir Dietrich called after her.

  Annise had been trying to sleep for a long time. The camp was quiet and dark and, strangely, peaceful. The calm before the storm, she mused, rubbing her eyes.

  Faintly, she could hear Tarin’s snores from without her tent. Though they’d shared a much smaller tent than this one, he refused to sleep inside, preferring to guard the entrance. “That was survival,” he’d said when she’d offered. “Now, it wouldn’t be proper.”

  Proper, she thought now. She hated that word, more so because it always seemed to follow her around like a chaperone. Don’t cheer too loud at the melee, princess, it wouldn’t be proper. Don’t eat too much or too fast or too loudly, it’s not proper. Don’t fight with the boys or play Snow Wars or do anything that could possibly be construed as fun, it’s just not proper.

  “You can take your proper and shove it up your—” she muttered, but stopped when she heard voices outside.

  “Yes. Of course.” Tarin’s deep voice, sleepy but alert.

  The tent flap opened and Annise sat up. Her brother’s face appeared. He was still in his armor. For once, Tarin wouldn’t be the only one passing the night in full body armor, his weapon at the ready. Two thoughts crossed Annise’s mind in an instant: Sir Dietrich had made good on his promise and told Arch the truth; and, the enemy has attacked.

  “Have the easterners begun their march through the pass?” Annise asked quickly. She almost wished they would. The waiting seemed worse, somehow.

  “No. Did I wake you?” He closed the tent behind him, the wind whistling in his wake.

  She shook her head, searching his expression. “I couldn’t sleep if I was knocked unconscious,” she said.

  Arch laughed, and he wasn’t a king anymore. He was just her brother. “Me either.”

  “Why are you here?” Did you talk to Sir Dietrich?

  “Do I need an excuse to visit my elder sister, who I haven’t seen in a fortnight?” he said.

  “You’re the king,” Annise said. “You don’t need an excuse for anything. Father certainly didn’t.”

  “Good point. But still, I keep going back and forth on every decision I’ve made, second-guessing myself. Did I word my letter to Jove Loren correctly? Was it too strong? Too weak? Should I let the east invade the north uncontested, like Sir Craig suggested, and allow them to defeat Uncle for me? Is my battle strategy sound? Am I just a child playing a game where I pretend to be a king?”

  Annise laughed. “Back in your war tent I never would’ve guessed you had so many doubts.”

  “I’m good at hiding them. Just like the joust.”

  “You always won the joust,” Annise pointed out. “You always looked like you knew you would win.”

  “All an act,” Arch said.

  Annise raised her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  Arch sighed. “Because you were always so strong. I wanted to impress you. I wanted to impress my eldest sister.” He went silent for a minute, looking thoughtful. “I’m glad you’re here,” he finally said.

  “I thought you wanted me to hide in the hustle and bustle of Blackstone,” she said.

  “See?” Arch said. “That was a mistake. Perhaps all of my decisions are mistakes.”

  “Perhaps,” Annise said, smirking.

  “Frozen hell!” Arch protested. “You’re supposed to make me feel better.”

  Annise knew this was the perfect, light-hearted moment to admit the truth and simultaneously relinquish her rights to the northern throne, but she didn’t want to spoil what might be her last time alone with her brother. Plus, she didn’t want to do anything else to shake his confidence. Instead she said, “Arch, you were meant to be king, I believe that. I trust all of the decisions you’ve made so far, even the one concerning me and my safety.”

  “So you’re not angry?”

  “I’m not angry, but that doesn’t mean when this is all over that I won’t rub snow in your face, for old time’s sake.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Arch said, smiling. “Now we should both try to get some rest. By morning there could be war.”

  With that, he left. Just before the tent was sealed shut once more, Annise caught a glimpse of Tarin’s dark eyes peering in. For half a moment she considered commanding him to come inside, but then thought better of it.

  She lay back down, and this time she fell right to sleep. After all, the attack likely wouldn’t begin until morning.

  Unfortunately, King Ironclad had other plans.

  PART IV

  Rhea Grey Roan

  Annise Bane

  There are those who are not fatemarked who may influence the events that transpire; whether for good or evil is still to be determined.

  The Western Oracle

  Thirty

  The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End

  Rhea Loren

  Rhea wanted to die. The next best thing, however, was closing her eyes and never opening them again.

  After passing out from the pain, she’d awakened in a room full of mirrors. Everywhere she’d turned was another looking glass, spitting her horrid reflection back at her. She’d screamed and curled into the fetal position, her disfigured face smashed against her hands, her skin throbbing with pain.

  She used to relish the time in the morning spent in front of the broad mirror over her dressing table. Staring at the big turquoise eyes her mother had blessed her with, the flawless skin, the sly smile, the silky sun-kissed hair. She loved the way she looked, loved how—even garbed in her cloak of purity—every male head would turn when she passed. She loved how Grease had stared at her with smoldering desire every time he’d met her in secret.

  No, she thought bitterly, her teeth grinding together. Not secret. Someone knew. And now her sins had been used against her, her only talent—seduction—stripped away by the holy knife of the Fury whose image would forever haunt her nightmares, dwarfed only by her own face screaming back at her from the looking glass.

  She’d been carved from temple to chin on both sides, perfectly symmetrical, the work of a master butcher. From each end of her chin, two additional, shorter slashes had been cut, angling along the edges of her lips and connecting in a point beneath her nose. Her perfect nose. Her perfect lips. Her perfect face.

  Now that of a monster.

  The symbol was unmistakable—a ‘W’ for Whore, a mark that would forever label her as a fornicator, a sinner, unclean. She’d seen similar markings on prostitutes caught working the streets in Knight’s End. She’d always pitied them. Though she was certain many of the women had once been fair, she’d never been able to see past their disfigured faces.

  And now she was one of them.

  Her parents were dead. Her younger siblings hated her. Her cousin had usurped the throne that was rightfully hers. Grease—no, Grey, she remembered—the only boy she’d ever loved, was gone, not that she blamed him. No man would ever look upon her with desire again.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, tears leaking out, the salt burning the deep cuts in her flesh.

&nbs
p; The door creaked open, but still she wouldn’t look, afraid of seeing her own reflection. “Oh, Rhea,” a voice said. “Wrath save us all.”

  She knew the voice, which only made her tuck her head further into her hands, her entire body wracked with thunderous sobs.

  Strong arms wrapped around her, and Ennis said, “I’m here, dear cousin. You are safe.”

  Rhea hated how much she believed him, although his words were nothing more than a kind lie.

  “The furia have gone mad. They’re patrolling Knight’s End day and night, punishing sinners. My brother ordered it. Jove said the city needs to be cleansed, that your father was too lenient and that is why we are being punished.”

  Rhea sniffled, taking it all in. Her father was the strictest man she’d ever met, even if he was too trusting of his own daughter to realize what she was up to half the time.

  Ennis continued. “The furia are spreading rumors about you. That you lay with a man. A thief with a sinmarked sister.”

  They aren’t rumors, she thought. Still, it was all she could take. Yes, she’d bedded Grey. And so what? She loved him. She wanted him. And yet, if not for having met him, she would still be beautiful.

  She squirmed away, unfolding her arms, her eyes flashing open. “Where were you when they did this to me?” she spat. Dozens of grotesque Rheas mimicked her accusation.

  Ennis tried to hide the shock in his eyes, but failed miserably. “Oh, Wrath.”

  “No,” Rhea said. “Wrath is not here, if he ever was. Knight’s End died when my father died.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Ennis’s gaze was locked on her face, and she knew he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her disfigurement.

  “I do,” Rhea said, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. “I want this city to burn, along with everyone in it.”

  Ennis stood up and held out a hand. “Come. You’re permitted to leave now. A good rest and some food will help. I will have your handmaiden attend to your face. The wounds will heal. The scars will fade.”