Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

  Bea giggled. Leo didn’t make a noise, but Rhea could sense his amusement, too.

  Nothing happened. And yet the still waters seemed even calmer now, like a sheet of ice…and Rhea couldn’t so much as see but feel a presence approaching.

  Yes, she thought. Oh yes.

  Wrathos exploded from the water in a spray of moisture, salty rain pouring upon their heads. Bea screamed. Leo gasped. And Rhea continued to stand, soaked to the skin, her arms raised to the monster rising before her. My monster, she thought. Mine to command.

  The giant squid’s skin was red, dotted with algae and slime and barnacles, a hundred tentacles writhing from the center. A single giant eye stared out from the bulbous body as it snapped its beaklike maw.

  Rhea looked back at her siblings, who were frozen in terror. Bea tried to take a step back, but stumbled, falling. “Do you believe me now?” Rhea said, her lip curled.

  Turning back to Wrathos, she said, “I shall have need of you soon. Your hunger shall be sated and Wrath shall smile upon you.”

  The squid seemed to bob its head in understanding. “Now go, return to the depths from whence you came, I shall call upon you in my time of need.”

  Slowly, the squid began to descend, slipping beneath the surface.

  However, just as Rhea began to turn her back so she could steal another look at her sister’s fear, a lone tentacle snapped out like a whip, slithering past Rhea.

  No, Rhea thought, ice coating her skin.

  Her sister’s scream was a bright flame as Bea was dragged through the air, her purity dress flapping like a bird’s broken wing. A flame that was snuffed out only when Wrathos crunched its beak down on her slender, lithe body, swallowing her before vanishing into the bay.

  Rhea couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could do nothing but sink to her knees and stare at her hands—the hands that had helped command the squid. She felt numb, like she was stuck in a nightmare, the air thick and heavy. No, this isn’t real, isn’t real, isn’t—

  I didn’t mean for this to happen, for her to…I’d only meant to scare her into obedience.

  Right?

  Or was that my true command, deep inside my core? Is that what I am, a monster, the very same Bea accused me of?

  Will my child have a monster for a mother?

  Leo’s gasping sobs startled her; she’d forgotten he was here. Slowly, she stood, blinking away tears. She turned, plastering on the face of an emotionally distant queen.

  Leo looked shattered as he stared at her, his red eyes brimming with tears, streaming like rivers down his cheeks. His hair was plastered to his head from when Wrathos had soaked them. In this state, he really did appear as a child, and not thirteen name days old, almost a man grown by the reckoning of the west.

  She was vaguely aware of the Three, each turned in her direction, staring—just staring. She ignored them.

  “Will you keep my secrets, brother?” Rhea asked, her voice as even as she could make it, though it trembled on the edges. Her bottom lip shook, but she clamped her teeth upon it until it stopped.

  Leo nodded, his head collapsing into his hands.

  Eighteen

  The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End

  Ennis Loren

  Ennis paced the gardens in the dark, his shadowy form hidden by the thick branches of a juniper tree, blotting out a sky full of stars.

  He’d just received the news: Princess Bea was dead. Two had gone down to meet Rhea by the seaside, and only one had returned. The castle was buzzing with rumors and gossip:

  The queen executed her for treason, just as she did Ennis.

  No, I heard it was an accident, the girl stumbled on the rocks and drowned.

  You’re both wrong! Wrathos emerged from the sea and swallowed the girl whole. I swear it!

  Ennis didn’t know what to believe, only that there were no coincidences anymore. Bea came out of the dungeons only this morning, and now she was dead? Sure, he’d never felt the closeness to the twins he’d felt for Rhea as a child. They were bratty, insolent, conniving little urchins, but that didn’t mean he wanted them to die.

  And Rhea wasn’t Rhea anymore, not the princess he once knew. She’d been broken by terrible circumstances out of her control, and when she’d been put back together she was a different woman entirely.

  She killed Jove. She killed my brother. It was a truth he’d been hiding from for a long time, because he’d wanted to believe in her goodness, wanted to have someone to follow, to give his loyalty to. But all along he’d known.

  Again, Jove and he had never really gotten along, and his brother had deserved to be punished for what he did to Rhea, but still…the fact that Rhea could murder him in cold blood and then act as if she was distraught, a scared little girl…she was as dangerous as a snake.

  So he paced, a shadow amongst shadows, hoping against hope that Gwendolyn Storm would meet him as promised.

  She won’t, he thought. Why would she? She’d escaped from the dungeons and was likely halfway to Restor by now. In a month, she’d be in Ferria, spilling her guts to Grian Ironclad.

  I shall rescue Gareth Ironclad myself. Now more than ever, he knew he needed to do whatever it took to overthrow his cousin before she shattered the Loren name forever.

  “Soon there won’t be any grass left under your feet,” a voice said from behind.

  He whirled around to find Gwendolyn Storm perched on a low-hanging branch, her yellow eyes gleaming like a wildcat staring down its prey.

  “You came.”

  “I came. I assume our plan worked as there has been no announcement of plans for Gareth’s execution?”

  “Yes,” Ennis said. “But something else has happened. Bea is dead.”

  Gwen frowned. “She died in the dungeons?”

  Ennis shook his head. “No, Rhea released her. And then she was dead. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Rhea killed her,” Gwen said with certainty.

  “Probably,” Ennis agreed. He had to face the truths about his cousin he’d avoided for too long.

  “This changes nothing. We rescue Gareth tonight.”

  “Impossible. I’m not on duty in the tower. And even if I was, now there is always one of the furia posted along with a guardsman.”

  “So you’ll kill her,” Gwen said. “The furia are evil.”

  Ennis said, “They are hard women, that much I’ll admit, but they’ve been trained to be that way. They’re only trying to enforce Wrath’s will.”

  “Your god is a narrowminded god,” Gwen said.

  “Wrath is a just god.”

  “Hmm,” Gwen said. “So you believe I am a demon, a witch, a dark sorceress of the forest, worshipping iron idols and seducing human men?”

  “I didn’t say that. I didn’t say the furia are perfect, nor the westerners. Wrath is perfect, but our interpretation of God’s will can be flawed. We are only human, after all.”

  “You are not what I expected for a Loren,” Gwen said, tapping her teeth with long fingernails.

  “Roan is a Loren,” Ennis pointed out.

  “Aye, and he’s not what I expected either, but he also wasn’t raised in Knight’s End. Your lost cousin practically raised himself, from what he’s told me.”

  “But you love him, don’t you?”

  “I love no one.”

  Silence bloomed like a flower, settling in and growing roots. Ennis looked away, unable to hold Gwen’s unfaltering cat-like stare. Finally, he looked back and said, “I’m on duty in a week’s time in the tower. If I handle the furia, what then? It’s not like I’ll be able to just parade Gareth out the front door. There are at least a dozen guards between the tower and the exit. Are we going to kill all of them too?”

  Gwen smiled. “We’re not leaving through the door. The window will suffice.”

  “Unless Gareth grows wings…”

  “I’ll handle that part. You handle the furia. Deal?”

  Ennis looked away, considering. He had a bad feeling
about this, but he didn’t have a better plan. “Deal,” he said, but when he looked back, she was already gone.

  Nineteen

  The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End

  Gwendolyn Storm

  Although Gwen had been alive for nearly nine decades, the week felt even longer, the longest of her life.

  She tried to stay busy, sleeping during the day in the cryptlands, beside embalmed corpses and monuments to lords and ladies, kings and queens, rulers who had despised her people in life, who had, in their hate and ignorance, issued commands to kill them for no reason other than that her people had been born different.

  She didn’t hate these people, however; no, she felt sorry for them. For she knew what it was like to hate, the feeling like a flesh-eating insect devouring her from the inside, gnawing away at everything that made her Gwendolyn Storm, the woman her father had raised.

  Aye, that was how much she hated the Calypsians, their dragons, their emperors and empresses. Aye, that was how much she hated the Sandes, they who had taken everything from her, who had turned her into a bitter closed-hearted person.

  Until Roan came along. Grudgingly, she had to admit he’d been slowly bringing her back to life, giving her hope for a better world, a better future. For as long as she’d tried to hold back her feelings for him, he was like ocean waves battering against a shore—relentless.

  In the nights, she kept busy. First she stole twenty long coils of rope. There were many places she could’ve obtained the rope, but she chose to procure it from the castle, which seemed to create a sort of beautiful symmetry to the last few months. Next, she tied ten of the cords together, testing the knots again and again under her own weight plus several large stones while hanging from a thick tree branch. Then she repeated the process with the other ten ropes, until she had two exceptionally long ropes, which she tied together and tested a third time.

  From there she stole supplies: food, water, satchels. It was enough to get all three of them to the Bridge of Triumph, at least. From there they would rely on the kindness of the easterners, who should be more than happy to resupply an Ironclad prince, or king, or whatever Gareth was now.

  On the predetermined night, Gwen slung the three full satchels onto one shoulder, and the heavy coiled rope on the other, and then scaled the castle wall once more. By the time she reached the top, she was sweaty under her armor, but not tired in the least. It might be a different story once she climbed to the top of the tower, but she would make it—that much she knew. Gwen didn’t know how to fail, her determination like a weapon in its own right.

  Silently, she dropped into the gardens, repositioning the rope over both shoulders for balance, while hiding the provisions in a thick bush.

  A scuffle in the typically quiet gardens put her senses on high alert. “Gwen?” a voice hissed.

  Shite. It was Ennis, who was supposed to be high in the tower, guarding Gareth, along with a furia he should be preparing to knock out or kill.

  She stepped out from behind the bush to find him peering into the shadows that surrounded her. “I’m not on duty,” he said, his eyes flicking to the coils of rope on her shoulders.

  “That much is obvious. What I’m trying to discern, is why not.”

  “Rhea has begun changing the schedule at the last moment. I’ve been trying to find you, to tell you. We don’t know who will be guarding the tower until moments before.”

  “She suspects.”

  “Of course she does. You escaped. Even if there weren’t shadows circling her, she’d still see them in every corner.”

  “I’ll rescue him myself,” Gwen said, gritting her teeth. She preferred to work alone, anyway.

  “The window is boarded up. They’ll be alerted the second you try to break through.” She tried to interrupt, but he hurried on. “I know what you are capable of—I don’t doubt that. But you won’t have a chance. One of the Furies are posted tonight. One of the Three.”

  “I don’t care who—”

  “She’ll stab you between the slats in the boards.”

  “I have armor.”

  “It won’t be enough.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I will go to the tower. I will handle the Fury and the guardsman.” The look he gave her was so sharp she felt as if her own determination was being reflected back at her. But—

  “You said it yourself, getting through all the guardsmen between here and the tower is impossible, even if you come up with a good enough excuse. And the Fury won’t fall for some hare-brained trick. You’ll be caught for certain.”

  “Yes,” he said, as if he’d already thought of all that.

  “You would sacrifice yourself for Gareth Ironclad? For me?”

  He raised his fist to his chest. “Aye. I was thinking before you arrived. I’ve lived a long life, a good life, but I’ve never really done anything that matters. For some reason, I think this might matter, might make a difference. It’s a worthy sacrifice.”

  Gwen shook her head, but it wasn’t a denial. “I don’t know what to say, except thank you.”

  “It’s not your thanks I want. Promise me you’ll do what you can to forge peace between our kingdoms.” His eyes shone in the alternating streaks of green and red moonlight filtering through the branches.

  Gwendolyn extended her hand and he clasped it. “I promise,” she said. “May Orion be with you.”

  “And Wrath with you,” he said.

  She slipped past him and headed for the base of the tower.

  Gareth Ironclad

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t stare at me as I slept,” Gareth said, his head stuffed under a pillow. Ever since they’d returned to Knight’s End, Rhea had used a different man to guard him each night. But the guard was always paired with one of the Furies.

  At least I still have my head, Gareth thought wryly. Why, he wasn’t certain. All he knew was that Rhea had glared at him when they’d arrived, muttered, “Useless Ironclad,” and then had him hauled back to the top of the tower, where he’d been bored out of his mind ever since.

  Perhaps she plans to try to sell me to one of my enemies, he thought. The Calypsians or Phanecians…they would pay richly for a living prince of the east.

  “It’s my job,” the guardsman replied gruffly.

  Gareth pushed the pillow away to catch the Fury rolling her eyes.

  “How about you?” he said. “Are you planning to stare at me all night, too?”

  As usual, she didn’t rise to the bait, her eyes on him but not; like the other Three, she wore her indifference like an armor.

  “Do not speak to her,” the guardsman said.

  “Fine. Then I’ll speak to you. What’s the weather been like? Cold. Warm. Wet. Dry.”

  “Don’t talk to me either.”

  Gareth sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to speak to myself then. Cooped up like this, it was always inevitable I’d go mad anyway, I might as well speed up the process. Gareth, how would you rate the food in Knight’s End? Superb! And the service? Superb! And the guards? Lacking.”

  The guard took a step forward. “Just. Go. To. Sleep.”

  “I will if you will.”

  The guard opened his mouth for another retort, but the Fury beat him to it, speaking for the first time since she’d entered. “Fool. The more you talk, the more he’s encouraged to continue talking.”

  The guard went beet-red, but didn’t say another word, stepping back.

  Gareth laughed. “You’re not as dumb as you look,” he said to the Fury, whose eyes pinned him to his bed, before roving away. Disinterested.

  He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

  Gwendolyn Storm

  She was perhaps halfway to the top, a shadow clinging to the exterior stone blocks of the tower. The coils of rope were feeling heavier on her shoulders by the moment, the sweat streaming down her arms and legs and back, her muscles burning…

  It felt good. Like she was doing something other than waiting and preparin
g. If they could pull this off, if both of them could truly escape…

  They could find a way to contact Roan, to let him know that he didn’t need to obey his sister anymore. And then they could continue their quest to discover the origins of the fatemarks, what they meant.

  The thought pushed Gwen higher and higher, the green and red moons a mere handbreadth away from each other in the night sky. The wind picked up, whipping past her, pulling several strands of silver hair from her plait and snapping them across her face.

  Still, she climbed, her strong, nimble fingers finding cracks, her toes burrowing into the smallest of crevices. The ground was far distant, and the slightest misstep would send her hurtling to her death.

  The thought would scare most humans, but Orians were built differently. Gwen had grown up climbing the highest trees, flinging herself from branch to branch, befriending ore cats and ore hawks.

  She felt alive. And free.

  She looked up, gauging the distance she had left. She spotted the boarded-up window, behind which Gareth was likely sleeping. She wondered whether Ennis had made it, whether he’d found a way to defeat the guard and the Fury. The man, she had to admit, had surprised her in a lot of ways. His courage. His dedication to his kingdom. His desire for peace.

  He would make a great king, she thought.

  Resting for a moment, she watched the wooden planks for a moment longer, for any sign of someone breaking through them.

  “Where are you, Ennis?” she said to the wind.

  The wind howled in response, pinning her to the tower.

  Ennis Loren

  Making excuses was easy, though it would’ve been simpler if he was still Ennis Loren, and not Bern Gentry. Regardless, the first several guards bought his lie about a change in plans—that the queen herself had asked him to replace the guard on duty in the tower.

  The three guards positioned in front of the lift and staircase, however, were less stupid.

  “We received no word of a guard change,” one of them said, his hand resting casually on the sword hilted on his hip.