Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

And he hadn’t felt that, even as the feeling of dread lingered all day while he tried to distract himself from it by working his body to its fullest.

  He wasn’t scared for her, not anymore, because she was the strongest woman he knew, a fighter, a survivor, and he believed that, whatever she faced now, she would prevail. She would conquer.

  And so shall you, the voice hissed, slithering from whatever hole in his soul it had been hiding in.

  Twenty-Five

  The Hinterlands

  Annise Gäric

  Before their eyes, the ice began to shred, cracks forming like spider webs, radiating outwards at an alarming rate. The ice beneath Annise’s feet wobbled slightly, and she was forced to drop to a knee to keep from falling.

  Archer, his eyes wide brown orbs, said, “Annise, you have to get off the ice.” She heard the meaning in his tone: You first. Only one can move at a time or we’re all getting wet.

  “He’s right,” Sir Jonius said, his teeth locked. His arms were out to maintain his balance as the ice continued to shift below.

  “Brute strength and queens before beauty and finesse,” Sir Dietrich said.

  In any other situation, Annise would’ve thrown something at the knight for such a remark, but right now she feared the slightest twitch would shatter the ground. “We go together,” Annise said. There was no time to even contemplate how the ice was cracking. The air temperature had only gotten colder as they’d traveled north. If anything, the ice should be thicker, stronger.

  “No,” Arch said. “You are the hell-frozen queen, and you will get to safety.”

  “I am the hell-frozen queen and I command you all to go together,” she growled back. Damn these chivalrous men and their honor. “We’ll move apart, keep our weight spread out. Dietrich left, Jonius right, Arch straight down the center.”

  “And what about you?” Arch said.

  “I’ll head even further south, where the ice should be thicker. Like you said, I’m the queen and I should get special treatment.” She forced a grin onto her face. “Now move!”

  They looked unconvinced, but obeyed. Arch, with his usual grace, practically danced across the ice on his tiptoes. The ice groaned with the first two steps but then he passed the point of true danger, flashing a smile behind him as he made for shore.

  Dietrich had little trouble, too, his movements agile and swift, slipping over the breaches in the ice like wind over bumps on the ground.

  Jonius, however, immediately found himself in trouble. His very first step sank through the ice with a splash. He let out a cry and retracted his foot, but the damage was done. The crack gaped open as the ice tore apart, growing dark, watery arms and legs. He slipped, and when he landed on the floating chunk of ice, it flipped, dumping him headlong into the icy lake.

  Annise hissed a curse. Arch and Dietrich both stopped and turned, and were about to head back, but Annise shouted, “I command you to get to shore.” When they hesitated, she growled. They turned tail and ran.

  Annise stepped as lightly as she could to the edge of the chasm that had opened up in the ice, dropping to her knees to scan the lapping water for signs of movement…

  A hand shot from the water, grasping for something to hang onto. Annise grabbed it, shocked at how…there was no other word for it…warm Jonius’s skin was, despite being in the icy waters.

  She tried to pull him out, but his fingers were wet and slippery and the ice offered little purchase for her feet and knees.

  He sank back in, clawing at the ice.

  Annise went in after him, grabbing for his armor, which shone like a beacon now that the sun was piercing the water.

  The moment she sank beneath the lake’s surface, she thought she’d gone into shock. Where she’d expected water as cold as melted snow, she instead got lukewarm bathwater. Still, it was dangerous, the current threatening to suck them beneath the ice, the water soaking her clothes and pulling her into the depths.

  The knight was in even worse shape, sinking far too fast, his armor like an anchor.

  Her fingers closed around the lip of his chest plate and she kicked as hard as she could, reaching for the sparkling surface with her other hand.

  Crack!

  Her knuckles met ice, pain shooting through her hand. She nearly dropped Jonius, but managed to cling to him, searching the underside of the ice for the breach they’d entered through.

  She saw nothing but a shimmering blue-white ceiling in all directions.

  Her lungs heaved, desperate for air.

  Jonius became her anchor, threatening to pull her below even as he writhed and kicked.

  There! She finally spotted the hole in the ice, slightly brighter than the rest of the surface, like a real diamond in a pile of imposters. The current had pulled them much further than she expected, a sucking force of nature.

  Go! she urged herself, kicking for that diamond, fighting her clothes and the pull of the strangely warm water and the anchor dragging her down, down, down.

  Bubbles burst from her lips, the last of her air expelled as her lungs tried to force her to breathe, not knowing there was nothing for them outside of certain death. Her chest screaming, she reached for that hole in the ice…

  The frozen air was a shock as it met her wet skin, pricking like hundreds of needles. Her face burst from the water, her throat sucking in a tunnel of icy air, burning beautifully the whole way down, filling her lungs. The current tore at her, but she managed to grab the edge of the ice, where two sets of strong hands clutched her, pulling her skyward.

  The fingers on her other hand ached, hooked like claws around the edge of Jonius’s armor, but she refused to let go, refused to weaken, even as his weight truly became an anchor as he emerged from the water. And then her fingers were pried from his armor and she was airborne, slung over a hard back, the world tipping until she could see nothing but a sodden gray sky, webs of sunlight splintering through a crack in the clouds, like a reflection of the shattered ice below.

  Spots dancing before her vision, she was dimly aware of the ice creaking and groaning and the jostling of heavy footsteps made heavier by the weight they carried.

  “Hurry,” a voice said. Archer’s. “We need fire or they’ll freeze to death.”

  “Get her out of these wet clothes,” Dietrich replied, the world spinning once more as she was placed on the ground—the cold, cold, snow-blanketed ground.

  She tried to protest, but her throat felt constricted, only the thinnest stream of air squeezing through. Gentle hands probed at her clothing, peeling them away, one layer at a time. Her eyes found Archer’s, which were haunted but determined.

  She found her voice. “Jonius?” she croaked.

  “He spat up a bunch of water, but now he’s breathing. Dietrich is taking care of him.”

  Good. That is good.

  Another gulp of icy air. The needles in her skin were getting worse, probing into her bones, trying to carve her apart. “You disobeyed my command,” she rasped.

  His eyes were moist. “I disobeyed my sister, and you’re the only one I have, so I wasn’t about to let you die.”

  “I thought…you wanted to be king.”

  “I do,” he said, “but not like this. Not if it meant you wouldn’t be by my side.”

  He was down to the last layer, but as he peeled it away he replaced her underclothes with a warm, dry blanket. So caring, so thoughtful. It almost made her feel ashamed at stealing his throne. Still, the cold pressed in, surrounding her, chasing away her thoughts.

  Her eyelids suddenly felt heavy.

  “Don’t fall asleep,” Arch said, pinching her cheek.

  She barely felt it, because she was so warm now, so warm so warm so warm…

  “Annise?” Annise Annise Annise

  Annise?

  The voice was so distant now that it might have been calling from one of the stars.

  Sleep was good. So good. Annise felt as if she could sleep and never wake up.

  So she did. She slept.


  Twenty-Six

  The Northern Kingdom, Darrin

  Tarin Sheary

  For a while the feeling of dread had intensified, growing stronger and stronger as Tarin tried to sleep. Eventually, he rose, heading for the forge to see if Fay was still awake. He needed a distraction, anything to take his mind off of whatever danger Annise was in. Even if he trusted her capabilities, he still worried.

  He found Fay right where he expected to, except she was asleep on a bench, her hands curled under her head. The largest forge still glowed with molten embers, pulsing like a living, breathing creature in the dark. Several more pieces of huge armor hung cooling on a rack. A gauntlet. A greave. A shin plate.

  He sighed and headed back out into the night. Just because he couldn’t sleep on this night didn’t mean others should be forced to endure the same.

  With no particular purpose in mind, he passed through the quiet, snow-wrapped city streets, marveling at how the night changed everything, almost like a disguise. The stone city had turned from nondescript gray to jet-black. Even the blade-like spires of the castle were as dark as shadows, piercing the sky, which had been granted what would most likely be a brief reprieve from the incessant snowfall.

  Tarin felt like he was wearing a disguise, too. Anyone who saw him now would call him the Lord Commander, bowing slightly, their mannerisms full of reverence. But was that really who he was? Could a title and a few barked commands really chase away the true monster that lived in his core?

  The monster laughed, a sound like knives scraping against stone.

  And yet better than its usual screams of bloodthirsty glee.

  He emerged from the city onto the snowfields, frowning. Not because he disliked what he saw, but because he was surprised how good everything looked. Their preparations were nearly complete. Even the war machines were in place and stocked with ball and oil, torches ready to be lit, projectiles ready to be launched.

  The men had performed remarkably well. “Too bad it won’t be enough,” he murmured aloud, letting the wind steal his words, his doubts, and take them away to another place, where they couldn’t haunt him.

  “If that’s what you think, then why don’tcha leave?” a voice asked, startling him.

  Nearby, a shadow shifted, white teeth grinning in the dark. A tiny pinprick of fire pierced the night, tendrils of wispy gray smoke rising from the end of the pipe.

  “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Tarin said. He approached Creak, who didn’t rise to bow to him, didn’t offer the same reverence and fear most of the other men did.

  Something about the man’s irreverence was refreshing. “Don’t matter,” the man said. “I did hear it, and words are just words, as numerous as flakes of snow. And I can squish them under my boots the same way.”

  “You won’t tell the other men?”

  Creak laughed, breathing out a puff of smoke. “I won’t, not that it makes a difference.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They’re all thinkin’ the same thing!” He laughed again, slapping his knee, eventually having to pull the stem of his pipe from his mouth so he could cough for a minute.

  “Then why are any of you still here?” Tarin asked. “If we all believe the situation is so dire, why don’t we all get the frozen hell out and live to fight another day?” And then I can stop being a fool and go find Annise…

  The old man took another drag from his pipe, contemplating the question. Then said, “I’m not really here for the food.” He shifted position, straightening one leg, the joint popping. “Truth be told, I’m not even much of an eater.”

  Tarin gaped at him. “Then why…”

  “Why do I keep talking about food?”

  Tarin nodded.

  “Because it means something else.” He sighed. “When I talk about food, what I really mean is my wife.”

  “I didn’t know you were married.”

  He nodded, glancing up at the sky. “She was a real beauty, my Greta. Not sure how she picked me, but I wasn’t about to question her decision. We had a good life, even in a world without a lot of goodness. She died five years ago, but it could’ve been yesterday. I can still see her face…”

  “I’m sorry,” Tarin said. He was—he couldn’t imagine the one he loved dying.

  “It’s fine,” Creak said. “I’ll see her again one day.”

  “You believe that?” It was strange talk for a northerner.

  “Aye. Why not? We all need hope, and she’s mine.”

  “And she’s why you stay in a city that’s about to be sacked? She’s your food?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that. It’s not that she’s buried here—though she is—but that we lived our whole life here. My happiest memories are in this city. The day after she passed on, I joined the army. They laughed at me on account of my age, but they needed bodies, so they didn’t refuse me. I would do whatever it took to protect this place.”

  Tarin stared at him.

  “Don’t you be lookin’ at me like that. I ain’t no hero.”

  “There aren’t any heroes,” Tarin said, but just as quickly regretted it. Just because he was the villain in his own story didn’t mean others had to be.

  “Are you good?” Creak asked, tilting his pipe in Tarin’s direction.

  Tarin considered it. The feeling of dread had passed. Whatever had happened to Annise, she was safe again, at least for now. “I’m good.”

  Tarin stood and began to walk away, but stopped on the outskirts of the city. Turned around. “Thank you,” he said.

  Creak only took another drag from his pipe, sending a cloud drifting into the sky. The smoke met the first of thousands of lazy snowflakes descending from the sky.

  For some reason, the scene struck Tarin as utterly beautiful. Beautiful like her.

  A horrifying thought sprang into his head. Wait…

  Does Annise know a part of you is inside her? he asked the monster.

  The monster cackled with glee. She will, it said.

  She will.

  Twenty-Seven

  The Hinterlands

  Annise Gäric

  Annise.

  The voice was a hiss in the dark, long and drawn out—Anniiisssse—and yet as clear as if it was shouted directly into her ear. It was not Sir Jonius or Archer or Sir Dietrich. Then who?

  Anniiisssse. You are alivvvve.

  Good to know, she thought. Something soft and warm whispered against her skin, tucked all the way under her chin. And for a second she was back there, trapped under the ice, being dragged into the abyss by a swift current and the dead weight of a knight in full plate.

  “No!” she shouted, clawing at the warm water, trying to fight through it, to breach the surface, to breathe, please just let me breathe!

  Strong hands grasped hers, and a voice said, “You are safe now, Your Highness.” This voice she knew. She opened her eyes to find Sir Dietrich holding her hands between his, tenderly. He was on his knees, and such was his position that, from afar, he might be mistaken for praying.

  “The water,” she gasped.

  “You escaped,” he confirmed.

  She remembered. The water had pushed at her lips and her lips had wanted to open, had desperately wanted to drink. And Sir Jonius— “Jonius?” she said.

  “He awoke a while ago, but is sleeping again. He is shaken, but well enough.”

  Annise’s eyes found a pile of blankets nearby. They swelled and shrunk as the knight breathed somewhere beneath them. She glanced back at Dietrich and then at their hands clasped together, and he quickly released her. “Thank you,” she said. “For coming back. For comforting me now.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “No.”

  “I suppose I can give you these back then.” He slid her boots toward her.

  She laughed, but then cut off suddenly when she realized what she was wearing:

  Nothing.

  Only a nest of blankets covered her nakedness. A fire crackled
happily nearby, the snow melted in a wet circle around it.

  “Umm…my clothes?”

  “Just about dry by now,” Dietrich said, grinning.

  “Wipe that look off your face.”

  “It’s just my face,” Dietrich said. If anything, his grin grew broader.

  “Then cut it off.”

  The smile vanished.

  “A jape,” Annise said. Then, casually, “Who removed my clothes?”

  Dietrich winked.

  She reached for her boot—

  “Your brother!” the knight said, scooting back and holding up his hands. “He was very respectful about it and I turned away to tend to Sir Jonius. I swear it.”

  She laughed. Something echoed her mirth, but deeper, more snakelike. What the frozen hell?

  Anniiisssse.

  She shook her head, and the voice faded. Had she swallowed too much lake water? Had the loss of oxygen addled her mind?

  No. But now you know.

  “What?” Annise said aloud. “Know what?”

  Dietrich looked at her strangely. “I was just saying how Jonius informed us of the unusual water. How it is warm. That explains the melting ice. The prince is down by the lake feeling it for himself.”

  Annise blinked. Right. The water. “Yes. I felt it, too.” There was snow on the ground, meaning the temperature was freezing, and yet the water had felt as warm as bathwater. “It doesn’t make sense. The Hinterlands are a frozen wasteland. Frozen Lake should be, well, more frozen.”

  Dietrich nodded. His lips moved as he said something else, but Annise didn’t hear it. All she heard was that whisper in her mind.

  You know what Tarin hears.

  Despite the warmth of the fire and the blankets wrapped around her, Annise shivered. And she knew.

  She knew.

  The voice was Tarin’s monster.

  Annise had requested more sleep and Dietrich had gone off to help Arch gather water down by the lake.

  But Annise wasn’t sleeping. No, she was trying to communicate with that voice in her head.

  The voice that had now disappeared, as if it never existed at all.