Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

  Any possibility of sleep was vanquished the moment he felt the danger. Not to him, but to her, channeled through him by whatever dark magic the monster had conjured.

  Tarin sat up sharply in bed, all weariness chased away in an instant, his muscles flexing, his body urging him to Find Her.

  She is out of reach, the monster hissed.

  It was a truth he already knew, but still, it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over his head. Tarin had never felt so helpless in his life, save perhaps for when he’d contracted the bone disease that had eventually led him to this very place. Everything comes full circle, he thought, even as he concentrated on that feeling inside him, that connection to Annise.

  He could feel her action, her fear, her desperation. Something was trying to hurt her, maybe even kill her, but she wasn’t dead yet.

  For a long time, Tarin just sat there, ragged breaths pushing between his clenched teeth, blood pumping through his veins, his heart pounding as if he was the one in grave peril.

  And then, abruptly, the feeling passed, leaving him exhausted and breathless, though he’d barely moved.

  At first, he thought, No. No no no… Because the emptiness he felt could only mean one thing…

  She lives, the monster purred.

  Upon hearing those two words, he collapsed on the ground, the sense of relief as powerful an emotion as he’d ever felt before.

  But then—

  Like a hot knife shoved into his heart, the rush of danger, of fear, returned in an instant.

  Annise was under attack once more.

  Lisbeth Lorne

  Lisbeth crested the cliff, which was packed full of Garzi nestled shoulder to shoulder, spears shoved forward. Their tall spokesperson was barking in their rough language, spitting the words like darts through a blow gun. “You have broken the pact. There is only one sentence: death.”

  The chant went up through the crowd. “Death! Death! Death!”

  Somewhere beyond the warriors, a voice spoke in the common tongue, calm and placating. “We don’t understand what you’re saying. We come to your lands in peace.”

  The Garzi reverted to the common tongue. “Filth language. I make understand. Pact broken. Now die.”

  “No!” Lisbeth shouted in Garzi.

  Several heads turned, but not all. Instead of shoving through the crowd, she spoke to those in her direct path, where only they could hear her. Their souls were like soft clay to the invisible hands she molded them with. The precision of her power was improving; rather than collapsing, they simply moved aside, pressing closer against their brethren.

  A path was opened, and through it Lisbeth saw the exhausted, bedraggled souls of four strangers, three men and a woman.

  Lisbeth moved through the Garzi toward them, her eyes cast forward.

  The tall Garzi leader stepped across her path, for she had not yet touched his soul. If he was surprised at her sudden appearance, his soul—a roiling mixture of black and gray, almost like smoke—didn’t show it. He spoke to her in the common tongue. “Leave us. This not your concern.”

  “My concern is my own,” she said.

  “Leave us!” the Garzi repeated. “The pact broken! Punishment death!” At that, dozens of warriors pointed their spears at the strangers once more.

  One of the humans, a tall man wearing dented armor, his face scarred, said, “Let’s dance.”

  “No!” Lisbeth said again, louder. “There shall be no violence on this night.”

  In reply, the warriors screamed “Death!” and attacked.

  Annise Gäric

  Annise’s head was still spinning from the turn of events. Evidently they’d stumbled from the fire and into the maw of an even greater danger. After she’d heard the beat of their drums, the strange-looking warriors had rushed up the incline toward them. Jonius had danced back, Dietrich had found his feet, and the four of them had knotted together, weapons at the ready. As the enemy had approached, Annise had taken in their unusual appearance: They were hairy, their exposed arms hidden beneath dark bristly fur. Over their broad chests they wore spiked bone armor, long wispy hair falling from their scalps to their shoulders. Their faces were bone-hard and shaped like upside-down triangles, wide at the top and narrow and pointy at the bottom. Their eyes were too far apart, dark and intense, boring into them. More fearsome than any of that, however, were the steeds they rode, wolf-like in appearance, but much larger, with all-white coats and long snouts gaped open in snarls of fangs and dark gums.

  And then, in stark contrast to the enormous spear-wielding warriors and their beasts, a wisp of a girl had approached like a light in the dark, the sea of death parting for her like flaps of skin split by a sharp knife. A blue eye glowed on her forehead. A third eye, not real, but a marking. A skinmark, Annise immediately recognized.

  The girl had seemed to argue with one of the warriors, the tallest of the bunch, but whatever she’d said had made no difference.

  Now the spears closed in, jabbing toward them from all sides, cutting off any hope of escape, herding them toward the edge of the cliff. Dietrich lashed out with his sword, severing several of the sharp tips. More spear points immediately took their place. Annise shifted back, trying to gain some breathing room. The others retreated as well, though there was nowhere to go but off the cliff or back into the tunnels. Both options felt like certain death. Annise clutched Archer on one side and Jonius on the other.

  As they stumbled back, the spears followed. Annise glanced behind, dizziness swarming as she took in the sheer drop they faced. She tripped as the ice cracked along the edge. Archer grasped her arm, pulling her back from the brink. He nodded, and his expression seemed stripped down, all arrogance and bravado gone; it was the most real look he’d ever given her. In this moment, he was simply her brother, her kin. They’d survived much together, and it felt right that the end would come by his side.

  As if to echo her thoughts, the tall warrior spoke. “Now you die,” he said, meeting her eyes with his, which seemed to burn with dark fire.

  Goodbye, Tarin, Annise thought, hoping the monster was still there to hear, that it would pass her final words to the only man she’d ever truly loved. I will always love you.

  Thirty-Six

  The Northern Kingdom, Darrin

  Tarin Sheary

  Her words tore through him like a thousand knives. Tarin could hear her voice, its richness, its truth, a voice he could listen to all day, a voice with a half a hundred different aspects, each of which he loved for different reasons: her contagious laugh, quick to rise and fall; the sharpness of her “queen voice” as she issued orders that couldn’t not be followed; the dry tone of her quick-witted quips and japes; the rough textured voice that only he knew, whispered in the dark as they melted into each other’s arms. Dozens of others sprang to mind, too, but Tarin swallowed them away.

  He was split in two.

  Tarin dropped to his knees, tears pricking at his eyes. Inside, he felt empty, his innards scooped out, his bones cut away and tossed aside. I am a husk, he thought.

  You are death, the monster purred.

  Tarin didn’t rise to the bait, didn’t try to argue. He had no strength left to do so, no desire to fight. The belief that had driven him these last days was gone, vanquished by Annise’s final words to him, words that would once have sent his spirits flying.

  I love you, he thought back. Annise? Annise? Are you there? I love you. Please don’t leave me. Please come back to me. I will never leave you again. I promise I promise I—

  The monster’s laughter grated inside his head. She cannot hear you. Not anymore.

  Something twisted inside him. Pain. Agony. The knife that had stabbed him awake was now being turned, measure by measure, destroying anything left of his soul. Anything and everything that made him human.

  I hate you, Tarin thought.

  Lies, the monster returned.

  “If I kill myself, I will kill you, too,” he said aloud.

 
You won’t kill yourself.

  Tarin hated that the monster knew him better than he knew himself. Even as lost as he now felt, as alone, the monster was right. Tarin would fight to the bitter end, even if the entirety of the world collapsed around him, which, perhaps, it already had.

  Dashing away tears with his hand, Tarin stood. The enemy was coming—there was no time to waste. Only after the battle was decided would he grieve for the love he had lost.

  Thirty-Seven

  The Hinterlands

  Annise Gäric

  “Stop.”

  That single word was spoken and the world froze. The spears’ progress halted in midair, their wielders’ unblinking stares seeing nothing, though Annise could sense the hate in their eyes.

  They hated the girl who had spoken, the girl who now approached from their midst. They hated that she had the power to halt their violence.

  Though the girl’s feet moved toward them, she seemed to float rather than walk, such was the grace of her movements. Her eyes were devoid of color, pale unseeing orbs, while her third eye, the glowing blue skinmark on her forehead, seemed to see right through them. Her skin was unnaturally smooth, like fine porcelain. Her dark hair hung in silken waves upon her shoulders.

  Annise felt a sense of comfort that was remarkable given the precipice upon which they stood.

  “Who are you?” Annise said, unable to hold back the question.

  “I am She Who Brings,” the girl said. She waved a hand and the warriors and their steeds began to shift back, away from them. Annise stepped forward, glad to be free of the cliff’s edge once more.

  “Why did you save us?” Annise asked, watching in awe as those that had threatened their lives a moment earlier moved back and away, down the trail, as easily as one moved pieces on a game board.

  “It was not your time to be taken,” the girl said. Though Annise was certain she was blind, the girl’s white eyes seemed to pierce her directly. She wondered if her companions felt the same way.

  “Thank you.”

  “You have come for the Sleeping Souls,” the girl said.

  “How did you—”

  “I don’t know. I am learning still, as we all are. My time here has been short.”

  By Annise’s estimation, the girl was perhaps eighteen name days old. Maybe nineteen, it was hard to tell because of how sleight she was. Slender and graceful, like a wisp of smoke, but still a woman grown, her small breasts hidden beneath the thick furs she wore.

  “You’re…beautiful,” Dietrich said, and the girl’s cheeks flushed pink.

  Thanks for your contribution, Sir, Annise thought, though she couldn’t argue with the truth of his words. “The Sleeping Knights are dead,” Annise said. “We saw their story. We saw how it ended.”

  “No. They live.”

  That single word: a spark of light in the darkness.

  “How do you know?”

  “I have seen them.”

  Annise’s breath caught. “Where?”

  “Hold on,” Sir Jonius said. “What of the warriors? Those are the Garzi, correct? They seem to want us dead. Thank you for protecting us, for saving us, but you must sleep some time. You cannot defend us forever.”

  A thin smile formed on her lips. “My name is Lisbeth Lorne,” she said. “And I think I was meant to meet you.”

  “Me?” Dietrich said. “I was thinking the same thing.

  “No,” the girl said, which almost made Annise laugh. Until she added, “Her. I was meant to meet the Queen of the North.”

  They didn’t exactly receive a royal welcome into the Garzi village. More like stares tipped with poisoned barbs and mouths filled with disgust. Several of the males, and even one of the females, spat in their general direction.

  Still, it was better than the reception they’d received from the pale, web-fingered cave dwellers. At least no one was trying to gnaw on them—at least not yet. Annise considered it a victory.

  A mob of Garzi blocked their path, headed by the tall warrior who’d made their deaths such a priority atop the cliffs. This time, however, no weapons were drawn, the long spears sheathed on their backs.

  “This wrong,” the male said. “Pact broken. Blood must pay.” Though he spoke the common tongue, his accent was strong, each word short and clipped, like he was clearing his throat.

  “Your traditions must be changed,” Lisbeth said. “A new pact must be forged.”

  “Never.”

  “Step aside.”

  The small, thin girl continued to impress Annise with her mettle. There was something about her, something powerful, despite her small stature. She was a force of nature.

  “I no fear you. Zur might—I do not.”

  “Zur doesn’t fear me, but he does understand me better now. Soon you will, too. Now step aside, or I will make you.”

  The great warrior stepped aside, as did the rest of them. Annise tried not to stare at them as they passed through. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched?” Arch whispered in her ear.

  Annise snorted, but didn’t respond, her eyes taking in the dwellings formed of snow and ice. An ancient-looking woman watched them from outside one of them. “Welcome to true north, Your Highness,” she said with a nod.

  “Thank you,” Annise said, surprised by the genuineness in the woman’s tone.

  “She is a friend,” Lisbeth explained. “Perhaps my only one.”

  “In saving us you earned four more,” Annise said. The girl only nodded, turning her flawless face forward.

  They continued on, and Annise didn’t need to look back to know the Garzi warriors were following them—their footsteps were the rumble of thunder. The constant threat of peril served only to heighten her senses. Though she should’ve been exhausted from their march through the tunnels and fight for their lives, she wasn’t, the adrenaline continuing to course through her veins.

  I have seen them. Lisbeth’s words from earlier came back to her, sending a buzz of excitement through her chest. Unless there was some sort of miscommunication, the girl had just confirmed the Sleeping Knights not only existed, but were nearby. The north is not lost. Not yet.

  They stopped before an enormous ice structure, at least ten times larger than any others they’d seen so far. “The Hall of War,” Lisbeth said, beckoning them forward.

  “What is inside?” Archer asked, taking a step forward.

  “Truth. Destiny.” Though the words were cryptic, Annise felt the rightness in them, like everything about the girl standing before her was right.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Dietrich said, “but I don’t mind a bit of truth and destiny. Shall we?” He started forward, but Lisbeth suddenly extended her hand and he collapsed to a knee, cradling his head in his hands. A deep groan rumbled from the back of his throat.

  Lisbeth’s eyes widened even as the eye marked on her forehead faded, and she retracted her hand. Dietrich toppled over, still holding his skull. “I’m sorry!” the girl said, bending over to touch him. He shuddered at her touch. “I only meant to say you cannot enter this place. It is forbidden.”

  Dietrich turned his head, wincing. He used a hand to shield his eyes from the moonlight as if it was too bright for him. “What did you do to me? I saw…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “I—I touched your soul. I’m sorry. I’m still learning.”

  Annise had no idea what to make of Lisbeth’s words. Touched his soul? It obviously had something to do with her skinmark, her power. The way she had controlled the Garzi earlier…

  Her power almost seemed godlike.

  “Try throwing a snowball the next time instead,” Annise said. “Are you hurt, Sir?”

  “No, I—no. I don’t think so.” He sat up, massaging his forehead.

  “Then there is no harm.”

  Dietrich nodded, pushing back to his feet, his cheeks slightly pink, either from the cold or whatever the girl had done to him.

  “Who can enter the Hall of War?”
Annise asked.

  “You. The Queen of the North.”

  “Annise,” Jonius warned. “We know nothing of this place or what dangers it contains.”

  Annise turned to the man who’d, at times, felt like a father figure to her. “Thank you for your concern, Sir, but considering we have escaped death’s grasp twice in one night, I’m willing to risk it.” Jonius nodded, duly chastened.

  Archer said, “May I pass inside? I am still a prince of the north.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lisbeth said. “This magic was forged centuries ago.”

  Archer bit his lip, appearing frustrated.

  Sorry, Annise mouthed. “Fine.” She glanced at the Garzi gathered around them. “Will they be safe outside?”

  The girl’s easy, almost childlike, smile was back. “As safe as any of us,” she said.

  The Hall of War, though beautiful in its own way, was a forlorn place, the ice so thick it was almost black under the moonlight. The ceiling was high, vaulted to several points, a marvel of construction Annise couldn’t fathom as being possible from the spear-wielding people outside.

  Her gaze travelled along the angles to the thick walls, passing to the center of the large space, where icy columns rose from floor to ceiling. Not one or two, but dozens, perhaps hundreds. They were spaced an arm’s length from each other, each identical, their glassy surfaces smooth and round.

  Something dark stared out from each of them.

  Annise’s blood curdled.

  “Do you see them, too?” Lisbeth asked. “Do you see the many colors?”

  As they approached, Annise didn’t see anything but darkness, armor as black as midnight, swords of obsidian steel, helmets like carved granite. And then:

  Frozen pale faces, staring out at her with unseeing eyes.

  “Frozen hell,” Annise whispered.

  “A good description, perhaps,” Lisbeth said, seeming to seriously consider her words. “But sometimes hell forges the way for heaven, and the angels are only called upon when demons rise.”