by David Estes
Frozen hell, man, she thought. We must both be blind or stupid. Or both.
But still…she wanted him to remove his mask, and she could take a quick peek at her archenemy—the mirror. “Fine. I’ll look.”
Like it was nothing, she stood and stomped over to the looking glass, standing directly in front of it. She froze.
It was her, all right: muscled arms, broad shoulders, wide, dimpled chin. But there was something different there, too, something she’d never seen before. Steel in her eyes. Determination in the set of her jaw.
It was the face of a queen.
She turned away, as if she saw nothing but Princess Annise from Castle Hill. “There. Satisfied? Your turn,” she said.
Tarin nodded. “You’re a terrible actress,” he said. And then he removed his helmet and placed it on the dressing table.
Annise tried not to stare, but it was impossible. She could see his veins through his skin, bulging from his flesh, black blood streaming through them. She could see the ivory of the bones in his jaw, thick and strong.
There were so many things about his appearance that should scare a normal person, give them nightmares, make them run away screaming. But Annise was no normal person, and the thing she noticed above all else were his eyes.
His eyes were the same, conveying the entirety of his facial expression in a single glance. She could see the self-hatred, the fear, and something else that couldn’t be hidden behind his own self-loathing.
The thing he felt for her.
She could see the love.
And beneath whatever the witch had done to him while sparing his life, he was a handsome man, every bit as attractive as Sir Dietrich with his rugged manliness and scars. She lunged at Tarin and he caught her in his strong arms. Her lips found his and for a moment the kiss was one-sided, making her wonder if she’d misinterpreted everything.
But then, slowly, firmly, his lips moved against hers. She cupped her hands around his cheeks, letting her fingers roam his skin, which was unnaturally smooth, save for the ridges caused by the protruding veins. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was that they were here together.
When Tarin had gone, the massive hunk of man fumbling to replace his helmet like a young boy, Annise smiled at herself in the mirror. Her reflection returned her smile, and there was something about the way it lit up her face that wasn’t so bad.
Arch would recover, she knew, as she turned to watch him sleep. But he wouldn’t be king.
No. Not until Queen Annise, the Bear-Slayer, is dead.
She left the room, finally ready to speak to her aunt about the future of the kingdom.
Thirty-Eight
The Western Kingdom, the Crimean Sea,
Off the coast of Talis
Grey Arris
The sea-worn ship bucked and writhed beneath his feet, causing Grey’s stomach to lurch once more. He hung over the wobbly railing, spewing out the little that was left in his empty stomach. It was only the first day of a voyage that would take several weeks, and yet he already felt like death. His stump was clearly infected, and his stomach hated the sea.
“You all right, lad?” one of the crewmembers asked, clapping a hand on his back.
Grey spit into the blue waters of the ocean and nodded thinly.
“Cap’n Smithers said ya can take the day off, ’til ya find yer sea legs.”
Grey let out a heavy sigh of relief. Hopefully a good rest while his body grew accustomed to the rise and swell of the sea would do the trick. “Thank you,” he said. “But what if I don’t find my sea legs?”
“Then we’ll throw ya to the sea monsters,” the man said, laughing.
As Grey stumbled below decks, he wished he hadn’t asked.
Being below decks did little for his nausea, which rose and fell in pattern with the sea. He tried to sleep on the salt-stained sheets in his bunk, but he couldn’t stop thinking about two people:
Rhea and Shae. Not necessarily in that order. Even as the ship sailed away from the west, Grey had the urge to ask the captain to turn it around. He could go back to Knight’s End, plead with her to help him find his sister. After all, the furia were hers to command now—she could force them to bring Shae back. Rhea owed him that much, especially now that her father was dead and she was queen. More than that, he desperately wanted to see her again, to somehow reconcile the mistakes they’d both made, pour water on the angry flames that had seemed to erupt out of nowhere between them.
An impossible idea. Regardless of what had transpired between them, she was a queen and he was…
A thief? A pathetic, lost boy without a hand? A jape with no punchline?
Tears pricked his dry eyes, stinging. A tear fell, then another, so foreign to his face they might’ve been strange blue rain in cloudless skies. For the first time in nine years, for the first time since his parents’ deaths, he wept.
And when he was finished, he wiped the tears and snot from his face, gritted his teeth, and clenched his fists. It was the same reaction he’d had the last time he’d cried. Refusal to go quietly into the night. Refusal to give up on his sister or himself.
No, he thought fiercely, biting back another swell of nausea. I’m a brother. I’m Shae’s brother, and I won’t abandon her to the furia.
As those determined thoughts rattled around in his brain, he swore he could see the infection in his stump grow, poisoning his blood, sucking the life from his soul.
He only hoped he would live long enough to find Shae.
Thirty-Nine
The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End
Rhea Loren
The Fury was bound by her own archaic laws, a fact that Rhea couldn’t help but to relish. Her sins had been forgiven by the king, just before he’d died. Therefore, in the eyes of Wrath, she was once more eligible to inherit the throne. An absurd rule—why should a king have the power to forgive sins?—but one that was benefitting her now.
As the Fury dripped holy water on Rhea’s head, the crimson-haired warrior said, “By Wrath’s authority, I anoint you Queen Rhea Loren, ruler of the west and holy symbol for the realm.” As the golden crown was placed atop her head, the water snaked its way into Rhea’s scars, funneling down toward her chin, where it cascaded to her feet.
She didn’t need to hide her face. Never would she hide it again. If she couldn’t be Rhea the Beautiful, she would be Rhea the Beloved, Rhea the Holy, Rhea the Fierce.
Either that or Rhea the Feared. She hadn’t decided yet.
Rhea smiled, as the masses who’d gathered to witness her coronation cheered. For her. “Today is a Day of Forgiveness,” she announced. “Today, all sins shall be forgiven.” As the crowd pushed forward, she bent down and extended her arm. They pressed their lips against the same blue diamond ring she’d kissed to earn her own forgiveness. They looked at the scar on her face not with judgment or disgust, but with adoration.
After the rest of the Lorens learned that Jove had been murdered right in front of Rhea’s eyes, a story had been hastily concocted to explain the ‘W’ on her face. The lie was necessary if the people were to respect her. It was said that she loved Wrath so much, was so dedicated to his righteous cause, that she’d used a holy knife to etch his symbol into her own skin.
“What righteousness!” the people were heard to have said. “Her holiness rises above us all.” Already, the most devout servants of Wrath were following her lead, carving his symbol onto their own faces. She could see several such worshippers in the crowd, their cheeks rent with ragged blood-clotted lines.
Rhea rose from her crouch, stepping purposely in front of the Fury, blocking the holy warrior as she faced the people. Her people. She smiled. She waved. She soaked in their admiration.
A few days earlier she’d pretended to be in shock as the guards had carried her away from Jove’s corpse. She’d refused to eat or speak or leave her room. When her cousins had finally managed to drag the story from her lips—how a demon had appeared in the throne room a mome
nt after she’d kissed King Jove’s holy ring; how the evil creature had killed the king in cold blood, slashed Rhea’s stomach, and then vanished; how she’d tried to put pressure on her cousin’s wound, his blood coating her dress—they’d believed her. Only Ennis seemed unsure, his gaze suspicious, especially when he learned the killing stroke had been dealt using a blade of shattered glass. But he wisely had voiced no concern regarding the truth of her tale.
Even her twin siblings had hugged her, sobbed into her chest, begging her forgiveness for the way they’d treated her. She knew they weren’t being sincere, only playing to the future queen. She’d sobbed along with them, speaking the words they expected, resisting the urge to wring their little necks.
The healers said she’d been lucky the wound to her stomach was only skin-deep. It would heal. Some herbal ointment and a few bandages would do the trick. It might not even scar, not that it mattered—scars meant little to Rhea now.
Not one of her cousins challenged her new claim to the throne. After two dead kings in as many days, she could see the fear in their eyes. Rumors of monsters and demons were being repeated over and over again throughout the city, not only in temples but in shops, cafes and homes. The people were scared, and she would take full advantage.
The people cheered and cheered and cheered some more, showering the dais with handfuls of fragrant rose petals. She picked one up and breathed it in. It was the smell of defiance, of victory. Whatever evil had killed her father, it had not killed her. Her cousin had thrust her aside like a petulant child, using his righteous dog, the Fury, to scar her, to maim her. But he had not had the stomach or foresight to finish her off. That had proved to be a fatal mistake.
Then she’d been a weak, naïve little girl.
Now she was strong and spiteful and angry at the world that had failed her.
She would not fail herself. She would not fail the west.
Later on, when she was back inside the castle and the self-declared Day of Forgiveness was coming to a close, Rhea sat in front of her mirror—which had been replaced, upon her request—brushing the knots out of her hair. Although her reflection in the looking glass continued to shock her, she forced herself to stare at what she’d become.
A monster, she thought.
For once, the thought did not bring her sadness. No, not anymore. Now it brought her anger. But not only anger. Satisfaction, too. For this monster had become a queen.
She pulled her brush through her lustrous golden hair, humming softly to herself. Yes, today she had been the righteous, holy queen that Knight’s End deserved, giving the realm hope for a better future.
With a sudden jerk of her hand, she slammed the hairbrush down on the dressing table, shattering its wooden handle, sending it spinning across the shiny floor. She hissed at her horrifying reflection, her heart racing at how…unhinged she looked.
Staring at herself, she resisted the urge to shatter the mirror once more, this time with her fist. She longed to feel physical pain, a distraction from her inner turmoil.
“Tomorrow the Four Kingdoms will burn,” she growled.
And then she gave into the temptation, thrusting her fist forward, smashing the glass, relishing the tinkle of the broken shards as they rained down upon her dressing table. The tight flesh of her knuckles was broken, smeared with warm blood. She raised her hand to her lips and licked the blood off.
Yes, she thought. I am unhinged. And I like it.
She spun around to face the Fury who had carved her face like a butcher. The strong woman was bound to a chair, a dirty rag stuffed into her mouth. She’d had several of her most trusted guards abduct the red-cloaked warrior shortly after the coronation.
The Fury tried to scream at her through the gag, but it came out as nothing more than a muffled growl. Her face turned as red as her cloak as she struggled against the ropes, which chafed against her muscular body.
Rhea smiled wickedly, idly resting her hand on a silver platter that contained several freshly sharpened knives, gleaming under the light of the wall sconces. “Is something the matter?” Rhea asked, cocking her head to the side. “Surely a Fury would want to follow the holy lead of the queen. Am I mistaken?”
The Fury stopped moving, her cheeks paling.
“No?” Rhea said. “No matter. You will thank me later.” She kicked out, her bare foot catching the Fury in the chest. The chair rocked backwards, landing with a rough thud on the hard floor.
After selecting the longest, sharpest knife from the tray, Rhea sauntered over, taking her time, relishing the moment. After a brief hesitation, she knelt down and tightened her grip on the blade’s handle.
And then she began to carve, ripping the rag from the Fury’s mouth so she could hear her screams.
Want to know more about your favorite characters from Fatemarked? Grab Fatemarked Origins Volume I for six short stories from the Four Kingdoms, featuring the origin stories of Gwendolyn Storm and Tarin Sheary!
And keep reading for a sample of Truthmarked, Book 2 in the Fatemarked Epic, available NOW!
A personal note from David…
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a positive review on Amazon.com. Without reviews on Amazon.com, I wouldn’t be able to write for a living, which is what I love to do! Thanks for all your incredible support and I look forward to reading your reviews.
The Fatemarked
***For a complete online listing of sigils, symbols and fatemarks from The Fatemarked Epic: http://davidestesbooks.blogspot.com/p/fatemarked-sigils-symbols-and-fatemarks.html
Lifemarked- Roan Loren (the Peacemaker)
Deathmarked- Bane Gäric (the Kings’ Bane)
Halfmarked- Shae Arris
Icemarked- the Ice Lord
Ironmarked- Beorn Stonesledge
Heromarked- Gwendolyn Storm
Firemarked- Fire Sandes
Plaguemarked- the Beggar
Slavemarked- Vin Hoza
Royal Genealogy of the Four Kingdoms (three generations)
(d)= deceased
The Northern Kingdom (capital city: Castle Hill)
(d) Wilhelm Gäric (the Undefeated King)
(d) Ida Gäric
Born to Wilhelm and Ida:
Helmuth Gäric (the Maimed Prince)
(d) Wolfric Gäric (the Dread King, political marriage to western princess, Sabria Loren)
Griswold Gäric (usurper)
Zelda Gäric (childless)
Born to Griswold:
Dirk Gäric
Born to Wolfric and Sabria:
Annise Gäric
Archer Gäric
Bane Gäric (The Kings’ Bane)
The Western Kingdom (capital city: Knight’s End)
(d) Ennis Loren
(d) Mira Loren
Born to Ennis and Mira:
(d) Gill Loren (married to Cecilia Thorne Loren)
(d) Ty Loren
(d) Sabria Loren (political marriage to Wolfric Gäric)
Born to Ty:
(d) Jove Loren
Sai Loren
Wheaton Loren
Gaia Loren
Ennis Loren
Born to Gill and Cecilia:
Roan Loren
Rhea Loren
Bea Loren
Leo Loren
The Eastern Kingdom (capital city: Ferria in Ironwood)
(d) Hamworth Ironclad
(d) Lydia Ironclad
Born to Hamworth and Lydia:
(d) Coren Ironclad (Thunder)
(d) Oren Ironclad (the Juggernaut, married to Henna Redfern Ironclad)
Born to Coren:
Hardy Ironclad
Born to Oren and Henna:
Gareth Ironclad (the Shield)
(d) Guy Ironclad
Grian Ironclad
The Southern Empires
Empire of Calyp (capital city: Calypso)
(d) Jak Sandes
(d) Riza Sandes
Born to Jak and Riza:
Sun Sandes (th
e First Daughter, marriage union to Vin Hoza, emperor of Phanes, now severed)
Windy Sandes (the Second Daughter, childless)
Viper Sandes (the Third Daughter, childless)
Born to Sun and Vin:
Raven Sandes (the First Daughter)
Fire Sandes (the Second Daughter)
Whisper Sandes (the Third Daughter)
Empire of Phanes (capital city: Phanea)
(d) Jin Hoza
(d) Dai Hoza
Born to Jin and Dai:
Vin Hoza (marriage union to Sun Sandes, empress of Calyp, now severed)
(d) Rin Hoza
(d) Shin Hoza
Also born to Vin and Sun:
Falcon Hoza
Fang Hoza
Fox Hoza
Acknowledgments
Whew. It’s been a long road to publishing Fatemarked, both for myself and my family. Doing justice to a high fantasy novel requires full immersion in the world, which meant sometimes my family had to deal with me “disappearing” into the world of the Four Kingdoms for long stretches of time. Endless thanks and hugs to my lovely wife, Adele, for letting me escape into my writing cave to craft this book and series. I couldn’t have done it without you.
A special thanks to Andrea Hurst’s team of expert readers, particularly Jordan Nettles and Leslie Murray, you helped make Fatemarked the best it could be.
To my cover artist, map designer, and crafter of sigils, Piero, WOW. You bring my world of words to life with the most beautiful hand-drawn images I could possibly imagine. I can’t wait to see your future depictions of my characters!
