Truthmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 2)

by David Estes

  “No wonder my uncle sent his entire army to Blackstone for the assault on Knight’s End,” Annise said, trying not to sound defeated, though she could hear the tremor in her own voice. “Are all his monsters this strong?”

  “Their levels of strength vary from monster to monster,” Metz said. “As do their skills. Some are fast, some are strong, some more agile. They seem to complement each other.”

  “Fantastic,” Annise muttered.

  The knight frowned. “I fail to see how our current situation could be defined by the word ‘fantastic.’”

  Zelda snorted, but didn’t comment.

  “Sarcasm, Sir,” Annise explained.

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  He looked like he was about to say something else, but just then another soldier came jogging up. He was a foot soldier, still wearing his helm and shield, though his face plate was up, revealing a young, clean-shaven man around Archer’s age. “Sir, you saved my life,” he said to Metz. “I owe you a life debt.” He thrust a hand toward the knight.

  Metz backed away quickly, as if being offered a severed body part as a trophy. “Don’t touch me!” he said, his face aghast with horror.

  The young soldier raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Apologies, Sir, I only meant to thank you.”

  Metz took a deep breath, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. “You’re welcome. Just…just please don’t touch me. I don’t like it when people touch me.”

  Though it was clear the young soldier didn’t understand exactly what was happening, he nodded, and said, “I will repay this debt, one way or another.”

  “I need no gold,” Metz said.

  The man shook his head and departed.

  “You know,” Annise said, “he wasn’t actually offering you coin.”

  Metz frowned. “Then what was all that talk of repayment and debts?”

  Zelda said, “He didn’t mean it literally. Just like when my husband called himself a drunk all the time, he only meant he was clumsy.” She chuckled at this like it was the funniest quip.

  “Then he should’ve said what he meant. People should say what they mean.”

  More and more, Annise was finding herself speechless around the thin, but valiant knight, and yet she welcomed the distraction. “Why did you disobey my command?” she asked him. “You have vowed to serve me.”

  “I did not disobey,” Metz said, unblinking.

  “It’s true,” Zelda said. “I heard your command.”

  Annise massaged her forehead. Her shoulder ached and the pain was radiating into her skull. Metz’s word games were not helping the situation. “I commanded you to lead the retreat and protect my brother and aunt.”

  “Was your brother harmed? Clearly your aunt is safe.” Beside him, Zelda nodded vehemently.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “I apologize for the interruption, Your Highness, but was retreat necessary?”

  “No, because Tarin managed to—”

  “Again, my sincerest apologies for the interruption, my queen, but I followed your command very specifically. You were not specific on what I should do in the event that we were not defeated, only if we were. I was fully prepared to carry out your command if the battle had turned against us.”

  “But how could you carry out my command if you were killed?”

  “I wasn’t killed.”

  Annise groaned. Having a conversation with this knight was like trying to run circles around oneself. “Why did you save that soldier?”

  “He was going to die if I didn’t.”

  “And you always try to save people from dying?”

  His next response came a beat slower, his voice softer. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I refuse to answer unless you command me to. Specifically.”

  Annise stared at him. She’d made a habit of prying secrets from people lately, and she wasn’t exactly fond of it. And, in this case, whatever secret Sir Metz was harboring wouldn’t be likely to affect his performance in battle. “You may go,” she said. “But we’re not done. We’ll need your counsel on how to defeat the rest of my uncle’s army.”

  Metz bowed and departed.

  Sir Dietrich appeared, taking Metz’s place in front of her. “I can explain,” he said.

  Zelda said, “This should be entertaining.”

  Annise sighed. She was tired of explanations and arguments. Was ruling always this difficult? “Explain why, in their hour of greatest need, you were not there to lead your men into battle? Explain why you lost two knights today while you were nowhere to be seen? Please, I would love to hear your explanation.”

  “Me too,” Zelda noted.

  “I was making water,” Dietrich said.

  Annise almost choked. “The whole time?”

  “Impressive,” Zelda chimed in. “He has a strong flow.”

  Dietrich said, “I like to stay well hydrated, and nature was calling something fierce. I heard shouts and tried to…finish up as quickly as I could, but by the time I arrived the monster had already fallen.”

  Annise couldn’t wait for this day to be over, considering the strange turn it had taken. But she couldn’t exactly fault the man for urinating. It wasn’t like they were expecting to be attacked by a monster made of stone. “Please try to be more alert, Sir,” she said. “Just because you saved mine and Arch’s lives doesn’t mean you can shirk your duty.”

  “I’m sorry. I will learn to relieve myself faster.”

  Zelda guffawed. “We should include that skill in our training regimen.”

  Annise didn’t have the energy left to chastise the knight further. Also, she had to turn away quickly to hide her own amusement. Why did he have to be so damn charming all the time?

  However, her smile was quickly obliterated when she saw Tarin stride from the woods. She knew exactly why he’d fled the scene. She’d seen it before, when he closed himself off from her after killing three soldiers.

  She could see it now, in the dark, intense stare radiating through his faceplate.

  He might’ve killed a monster, but another lurked somewhere inside him. And it was one he could not kill.

  “Every monster is different,” Sir Metz explained. Annise had gathered all of her commanders to listen to him, to ask questions, to prepare. Zelda was also included, and was standing near the back gnawing on a chicken wing.

  Annise was pleasantly surprised when Sir Dietrich showed up on time, offering her a huge grin. He was a hard man to stay angry at.

  “But they’re all made from stone?” the commander of the third cavalry asked.

  Sir Metz breathed deeply at having been interrupted. “Please save all questions for the end. But no, they are not all made from stone. There seem to be endless variations, none of them pleasant. Some have claws, others fangs. Although my time while changed by the potion is like a dream, all fuzzy around the edges, one of the other men told me I was a wolf, but ten times the size. They said I tried to escape my cage, but the bars held.”

  Sir Metz paused for that to sink in before continuing. “The other thing I remember is the anger coursing through me. The bloodlust. It was like a monster had taken over my body, my mind. I hated it. Hated it. Losing control is my worst nightmare. But the other soldiers who were a part of the experiment felt differently. They enjoyed it. They spoke of how they couldn’t wait to drink more of the potion, feel that power again.”

  Annise glanced at Tarin, but even under the glow of several torches, his eyes were cast in shadow. She wondered whether he felt the same way Metz had, only all the time. She wished there was something she could say to comfort him. His head turned toward hers for a moment, but then shifted away. “How do we defeat them?” Annise asked, turning her attention back to Metz.

  “By focusing,” he said. “One monster at a time. Every soldier fighting one.”

  Dietrich spoke. “But won’t the other monsters obliterate us while we’re doing that? It will be another massacre.”

 
“I don’t think so,” Metz said.

  “But you’re not certain.”

  “Of course not. Certainty is a fool’s game.”

  “Now hold on just a moment, are you calling me a—”

  Annise raised her hand for silence. “Sir Dietrich. Let him finish.” He closed his mouth, but didn’t look too happy.

  “I meant no offense, Sir,” Metz said politely. “Only that no one—at least until today—has ever fought creatures like these. They’re unnatural, potion-created. We can’t be certain of anything. But I did see the way they reacted to each other, in their cages. They looked like they hated each other as much as the rest of us. Before I was made to drink the potion, I saw four others drink first. They tried to attack each other through the bars. So if we concentrate on one monster, it may only draw the other monsters to fight each other.”

  “That could just give us a chance,” Annise said, nodding. “This is good information. Thank you, Sir Metz.”

  “I am only doing my duty,” he replied stiffly, bowing.

  “How will we coordinate our attack across our forces?” Tarin asked.

  Annise was glad he’d finally spoken. She said, “Sir Dietrich will issue the commands. I will rely on the other commanders to spread the word. But as soon as the attack begins, it should be obvious which monster we’re focusing on first.”

  “And if I die?” Dietrich asked.

  “Good question!” Zelda offered enthusiastically from the back, holding up a drumstick.

  “You won’t,” Annise said firmly. The strength of her response seemed to surprise the knight, and he nodded. “But if you do, the chain of command shall continue down the line. Most of all, we need to rely on our trained officers to ensure our untrained soldiers don’t retreat at the first sign of violence.”

  “Agreed,” Dietrich said.

  “Did you really call it an ‘ugly stone mutt’ and shout for it to ‘Face the Bear Slayer’?” Tarin asked, his dark lips curling at the corners in amusement.

  As Tarin had requested, they were in a tent large enough for even him to stretch out across. His head was at one end and his feet at the other, brushing the sides. Again, he looked larger than before, like he had grown taller and broader in only a day.

  As Annise had requested, his armor lay in one of the corners, leaving his translucent, black-veined skin bare, save for a thin pair of trousers tied with a rope around his waist. She was having trouble not gawking at the way his broad shoulders met his muscular chest met his brick-wall-like abdomen, as if he was wearing another set of armor, this one made to look like skin. The dark, protruding veins were like ropes, tying everything together.

  “I do not recall,” Annise said.

  “Liar.” Tarin grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, curling a strong hand behind her neck while kissing her deeply.

  She pulled away sharply as images assaulted her mind:

  A man being ripped in half.

  A soldier smashing into a tree.

  Humans crushed. Blood spilt. Bones broken.

  Her people. Her army.

  “What is it?” Tarin asked, concern unraveling across his face.

  “I don’t know if I can do this now.” The words burned in her throat, because she did want to do this, more than anything, more than being a queen and fighting to take back what was rightfully hers. More than anything, she just wanted to love this man the way he deserved to be loved.

  Tarin nodded, pulling her into a hug. He was so warm, so safe. Why couldn’t she stay like this forever, and forget queens and kings, empires and kingdoms, unconscious brothers and evil uncles?

  But she knew her dream of fleeing to the Hinterlands vanished into mist the moment she became queen.

  As if reading her mind, Tarin whispered into her ear. “You are the queen now, and their pain is your pain, their sorrow is your sorrow, their deaths are your grief. I cannot begin to understand how hard today was for you.”

  Annise shook her head, her cheek rubbing against his broad shoulder. How did he know? How did he sense what she was feeling well enough to put into words what she was unable to herself? How are you real?

  She was also having trouble reconciling the two Tarins she knew. The first Tarin, the one who’d fought the monster, unleashing violence like an uncaged beast, who’d stalked into the woods dripping blood, seemed like a stranger sometimes. Even after he’d returned, he hadn’t spoken to her for a long time, going about helping the wounded, setting up camp, collecting firewood, scouting the area for any evidence of other creatures. Then, slowly, little by little, that Tarin had given way to this one, with his quick-witted quips and broad smile and endless chivalry.

  It was like the two versions of him were fighting for control. Sometimes she feared who would emerge victorious. What scared her more, however, was that Tarin seemed to fear the very same thing.

  “You know,” he continued when she didn’t respond. “I could’ve died today. You as well.”

  Annise frowned. Was he falling back into his hole of despair? His dark, twinkling eyes said otherwise. “I am very much aware of the danger we were in. Is there a point to this topic?”

  “Yes,” Tarin said, pulling her face toward his once more. His other hand dropped to her hip, resting there gently, rubbing circles with his thumb. “My point is that we should not waste the precious time that we have. Not one moment of it.”

  And then he kissed her again, and this time she gave herself to it fully, her nightmares chased away as he pulled off her clothes.

  Twenty-One

  The Western Kingdom, The Crimean Sea, somewhere west of the Dead Isles

  Grey Arris

  “What did you do to her?” Grey demanded, his eyes boring into Captain Smithers.

  The captain laughed, and the sound made Grey’s blood boil in his veins. How could he laugh when his own daughter was bleeding on the floor? “I see ye’ve taken a likin’ to me daughter, have ye? Get in line, boy! Ye and ever’ other lad ’tween Knight’s End and Talis! Me daughter is a self-admitted whore-child, don’t ye git that? Damaged goods. I dinnit lay a finger on her. No, I dinnit have to. Wrath is only makin’ her pay fer her sins. She’s lucky God dinnit deliver her to the Furies! Now git! She needs time to think ’bout what she’s done.”

  Behind him, Kyla’s moans had turned into choking sobs.

  Grey was seething, every muscle in his body pulled tight like a bowstring ready to release its arrow. He knew what had happened.

  What could he do? A captain was the king of his ship. If he challenged the captain’s authority now, he could be hanged for treason. Or thrown overboard. Shae would have no one left to save her.

  So he took a deep breath, uncurled his fisted fingers, and turned around, leaving Kyla bleeding on the floor behind her father.

  And, as he walked away, Grey hated himself more than he ever had before.

  Grey took a dozen steps before he turned around.

  The captain was watching him with narrowed eyes. “Ya got somethin’ to say, boy?”

  “Aye,” Grey said. “If you won’t help her, let me. And then I’ll never talk to her again, I swear it.”

  The captain blinked rapidly, like there was something in his eyes. “Why wuld ye help her?” he asked.

  The question took Grey by surprise. He’d expected nothing less than an outright rejection. “Because I can,” he said.

  Smithers’ body stiffened. A few moments passed in silence, and then his shoulders slumped. His eyes closed. Opened. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. He said, “Fine. Do as ye will. But don’ let yer work suffer.” He stomped off, his boots disappearing up the stairs to the top deck.

  Grey blinked. Did that really just happen? He’d seen something in the captain’s eyes before he’d left, something he’d never seen before. Grief? Perhaps, but not only. Regret? Yes, that was there, too. But the thing he thought he saw the most was something else.

  Guilt.

  Grey approached the doorway, which was still o
pen. Kyla’s moaning had grown softer, no more than the aching cry of a dying animal. Except Grey didn’t think she was dying.

  No, she was mourning.

  He peeked around the corner. If she was aware of his confrontation with her father, or his presence, she gave no indication. She was completely and utterly focused on her arms, which held something in a bundle of bloody rags. The something wasn’t moving, wasn’t making a sound. Quiet and still.

  “Kyla?” Grey said. “Are you hurt?”

  Her lips pursed together, clamping off the sound. Her voice was a shattered-glass whisper. “It only matters because it hurts.”

  Grey took a step forward, into something wet. Kyla’s blood, sticky, the smell of copper coins flooding his nose.

  Kyla’s head turned toward him. Her brow was sweaty, tendrils of hair sticking to her smooth, brown skin. “Do you want to see my beautiful girl?” she asked.

  A girl. Oh, Wrath. If you exist, fix this. Give her back her child.

  “I—I don’t know,” Grey admitted. The thought of seeing a dead baby made bile creep up his throat.

  “Father wouldn’t even look at her, his own granddaughter,” Kyla said, tears dripping from her chin.

  Grey steeled himself. “Let me see,” he said. He stepped closer, ignoring the blood. Crouching down, he peered at the bundle as Kyla unwrapped it. For a moment he thought he was looking at a doll. Her face was so tiny, her eyes pinched shut, her nose naught but the size of a button, her little lips thin on top and fuller at the bottom. Just like Kyla’s. Her face had been wiped clean, and her skin was a lighter shade of brown than her mother’s, her chin narrower, her eyes closer together. She had a full head of hair, brown and matted with blood and birthing fluid.

  “She’s”—he almost couldn’t believe the truth behind his next word—“beautiful. So beautiful.” And it was true. Even in death, this child—this baby—was the most beautiful thing in the world.