Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

  It was also the only seat occupied, its resident studying an unfurled sheet of parchment intently, her blue-black hair cut short.

  The guanero cleared his throat, and the woman looked up, her dark eyes darting to Roan. For the briefest of moments, Empress Raven Sandes looked deeply perturbed. The moment passed as she sat up, straightening her back, rolling the scroll and tucking it away at her side. “Who is this?” she asked. She studied him with interest, as one might inspect an unusual insect alighting on a flower. Her eyes were intelligent, and Roan noticed how she picked out details: the guanero’s grip on Roan’s elbow; his lack of belongings, other than a small satchel; the dust on his boots and trousers, evidence of a long journey.

  The guanero spoke: “He crossed the bridge early this morning. I was tempted to toss him in the dungeons, but he claims to have information you might be interested in.”

  “What information?”

  “He was unwilling to share the details with anyone save you, but it’s in regards to the eastern defenses at Ferria. I don’t know whether to believe him, but I didn’t want to risk it given the present…situation.”

  “You’ve done well in bringing him to me. Thank you.” Her gaze drifted back to Roan. “Approach.”

  In tandem, they moved forward, the short distance feeling like a great journey under the shrewd stare of the empress. A few steps before the dais, they stopped. “Your name?” the empress asked.

  In the unpredictable manner of memories, Roan was unexpectedly taken back to the first time he encountered Gareth Ironclad, how he’d dodged the very same question with quips and ridiculous banter. It almost made him laugh. Instinctively, however, he knew that such a tactic would not be nearly as effective with this ruler. The Sandes were known to be serious women, quick to anger and action. “May we speak alone?” Roan asked.

  Raven Sandes’ eyebrows slowly stretched toward her brow. “You would leave me without the protection of my man?”

  “I am unarmed and not prone to violence—in fact, I abhor it. And, from what I hear, you are more than capable of defending yourself.”

  “True, but I am also no fool. If you prefer to speak in privacy, there are other ways. He will stopper his ears.” The man didn’t look happy about it, but he marched over to a small stone shelf secured to the wall, where a clay dish sat. From it he withdrew two balls of a waxy material, twirling them between his thumb and forefinger. He plugged each ball into his ears, pressing them firmly to flatten them.

  “Does that satisfy you?” Raven asked.

  Roan nodded. “I am Roan Loren,” he said, angling his lips away from his chaperone so they couldn’t be read.

  He’d expected shock, or denial maybe, or even anger. Instead, all Roan got was a thin smile and a raised eyebrow. “Indeed,” Raven said. “You certainly fit the profile. And there have been rumors…”

  “There have?” Roan immediately wished the words back—any control of the conversation he’d begun with was now lost.

  “Of course. With the stream network expanding every day, word travels fast across the realm. You have been missing for a long time, son of Gill.”

  “I was here, in Calypso. Well, for most of my life.”

  “Right under our noses, it seems. And then?”

  He’d have to leave some gaps in the narrative, but hopefully they would go unnoticed. “I decided to see the world. I headed east.”

  “You crossed the Scarra?”

  He shook his head. “Via boat. I ended up in the Barren Marshes, accidentally. It was there I was taken prisoner.”

  “By whom?”

  “Gareth Ironclad.”

  She pursed her lips, as if he’d spoken a vile word. “Go on.”

  He continued with his story, leaving out crucial details, like his fatemark and what he’d done at Raider’s Pass—how he’d saved Gareth. He ended with the same lie about how the easterners had released him to spy for them, first in the west and then the south.

  Raven said, “You lie well. There is truth to your story, but not all of it. Why should I believe anything you say next?”

  “You are a wise empress,” Roan said, trying to mask his surprise at having been discovered so easily. Where was the Sandes’ arrogance he’d been counting on? Thus far he’d seen only a shrewd, reasonable young woman. A different tactic was necessary. “I have no love for the easterners. They are warmongering bastards intent on controlling the land from east to west, north to south.”

  “And what would you call the Calypsians? We don’t exactly have a history of peace either.”

  Time to test the waters. “I choose the lesser of evils whenever I can.”

  His words, as he’d suspected they would, had the intended result. Raven laughed loudly. “An unusual strategy, that one. Insulting the Empress of Calypso.”

  “I only want to save Calypso from utter annihilation.”

  Her laugh dried up. “Speak your mind or be gone!” she said, anger blazing across her face. Ahh, he thought. There you are.

  “You are planning to attack Ferria, correct?” It was a guess, perhaps a longshot, but with the east harassing the Calypsian borders, eventually the empire would have no choice but to hit back, and they weren’t the kind of people to pull punches. They would go for the heart.

  She blinked and he knew his conjecture was on point. Even if the decision to go to war hadn’t been made, it had been discussed. “You know nothing.”

  “I know that an attack on Ferria is the worst decision you can make.” Even as Roan spoke the words he felt the futility of them. Had words ever stopped a war? The violence that had become a part of daily life in the Four Kingdoms felt like a wriggling snake in his grasp.

  “Why?”

  Roan held his breath for a second, then slowly released it. “I’m willing to trade my information.”

  She licked her lips thoughtfully. “I could have you locked up. An enemy prince falls into my lap, what did you expect me to do?”

  “You won’t do that. If you’ve heard rumors of my reappearance in the west, then you also know Rhea’s stranglehold on the throne is complete. I have been away from Knight’s End for too long—I have no power there. And my sister would rather hang herself than pay a ransom for my life. If you lock me up, the information will be locked up with me.”

  “You sound very certain of yourself.”

  The comment gave Roan pause. It was true. When did I become so confident? When I healed Gareth? When, against all odds, Rhea released me to find my destiny in the south? Roan knew there was an unseen hand at work, both in his life and in the broader Four Kingdoms. For some reason, that knowledge calmed the inner storm that had raged inside him from the moment he ran away from the only home he’d ever known. With a start, he realized the empress was staring at him, waiting for a response. She was frowning.

  “I, well, yes. There is little certainty in this world, but I know I have a place in it, just not the one everyone expects from a prince.”

  Her eyes drilled into him, and Roan got the distinct impression she was looking at him like a puzzle to be solved. “What do you desire? Wealth? Land? A position in my empire? Those are mere trifles to an empress of Calyp.”

  Roan shook his head. “I care not for such things. I require nothing so grandiose. Simply safe passage to Citadel and an irrevocable pass to enter the archives, coming and going as I please.”

  Again, that look. “A strange request, prince of the west, but one I can hardly deny. There is nothing in Citadel but dusty, moth-eaten tomes and my dusty, moth-eaten Aunt Windy. It is done. But know one thing: If you cross me, there will be consequences. The Sandes have long memories. Now tell me what you know.”

  Roan paused for effect, clinging to this penultimate moment, where, once again, fate or luck or something greater seemed to push him forward, either toward victory or a great precipice. Then he said, “If you attack Ferria, your entire force will be destroyed.”

  Sixty-Six

  The Southern Empire, Calypso<
br />
  Raven Sandes

  Raven felt like her enemies were encircling her, their blades jabbing for her throat. More concerning was the fact that each of her foes seemed to be cloaked in mist, unidentifiable.

  The second note she’d received had been more specific than the last:

  Renounce the war with the east before the moons kiss or Whisper’s life is forfeit.

  She hid her feelings, however, behind a mask of indifference, flicking a bored hand in Roan Loren’s direction, as if talk of the annihilation of her people was as uninteresting as talk of the weather. “Ever heard of the Dragon Massacre?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Roan said. “More than half a century ago. The Calypsians were defeated in Ferria.”

  “Pushed back, yes. Defeated, no. Our dragonia laid waste to the Iron City. Thousands of easterners—humans and Orians alike—were slaughtered. It was one of the single greatest military victories in modern history.”

  Though he tried to hide it, Raven could see the disgust written all over his face. I abhor violence, he’d said. “Exactly,” Roan said, and something about the calm with which he spoke gave her pause. Did he truly know something she did not? “It was because of the Dragon Massacre that Ferria’s defenses were improved.”

  “Improved how?”

  “Traps. Dragon-proofing. That sort of thing.”

  “Dragon-proofing?” This fool had clearly never seen a dragon in action.

  “I can give you all the boring details if you want. But the moral of the story is that attacking Ferria is a bad idea.”

  Whisper’s life is forfeit…renounce the war…before the moons kiss…

  If only it was that easy. “What would you have me do?”

  “Be patient. Let the easterners come to you. Fight them on your terms.” She could see the tension in Roan’s body, like his very existence hinged on her decision. Why was he so intent on delaying war? It felt strange that this western prince’s goals seemed precariously close to aligning with her own. She wanted more than anything to hold back the Calypsian strength, to force the easterners to enter the desert, which would surely become their tomb. But, despite being a Sandes, a Southron empress, sometimes her actions were out of her control.

  “Thank you,” she said evenly. “I shall consider your advice. Now take your leave of Calypso. I shall have orders prepared for your safe arrival in Citadel.”

  Roan looked surprised at her response, almost like he’d expected the entire encounter to be fraught with risk. Let him be surprised. I shall have him watched like a hawk. Whatever he seeks in the City of Wisdom will be mine. “Thank you,” he said, turning stiffly.

  The guanero seemed to realize the private conversation was over, fumbling to retrieve the wax from his ears. He looked disappointed when the empress handed down her orders, but didn’t argue. “As you wish.”

  With that, they departed, Roan offering a final glance over his shoulder before vanishing around the bend.

  Exhausted by her façade of self-control, Raven slumped into the seat, wishing, not for the first time, that the throne was more comfortable. She reached back and plucked the scroll from her side, accidentally chipping away a portion of the bloody wax that was still affixed to its edge. She reread the message, though she’d already memorized it.

  And, for the tenth time, she did the math in her head. The moon god and goddess would kiss soon, in just over a fortnight, sealing Whisper’s fate if she didn’t find a way to stop whomever was sending these messages.

  In the meantime, she would delay the war as long as possible. A difficult task, especially now that the dragonia had passed the testing. The pressure was building; Raven could feel it like a great weight on her chest, forcing the air from her lungs.

  The war council would meet again the following morning, but first Raven needed a distraction, else she would never be able to sleep. She stood, heading for the largest of the great pyramids, known as Calyppa:

  The home of the dragonia.

  With ravenous delight, Siri gobbled up the morsels Raven tossed her. As each rabbit reached its peak, fire burst from the young dragon’s maw, blackening the meat before it slipped between her rows of dark fangs. She stretched her sinewy red-scaled neck appreciatively, crunching loudly.

  Raven smiled at the ease with which she could satisfy the dragon. Later she would give Siri a belly rub to complete her reward for performing so well in the testing. If only humans were as easily placated. Ever since the testing was complete, rallies had been held in the streets, most Calypsians in favor of war, swift and absolute. First the east, they shouted, and then Phanes! Who can defeat the Dragon Empire? None!

  As if winning a war against nations that had stood for hundreds of years was as easily accomplished as crossing the road.

  Rider approached, her day’s work over; most of the dragons were sleeping or on the verge of it, having been fed and watered after a long day. Though the aging dragon master smiled, Raven had known her long enough to tell when it was forced. Lines of worry cut across Rider’s forehead and sprung from the edges of her eyes, as if she’d been frowning for most of the day. She probably had. Raven wondered if she looked just as tired.

  “I’ve been putting in extra time with her,” Rider said, gesturing at Siri.

  “Thank you,” Raven said, genuinely appreciative. “It showed during the testing.”

  “She’s a remarkable creature, as clever as any dragon I’ve ever trained. I’d bet on her against any of the others.”

  “Truly? Even Heiron?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Don’t get me wrong, sheer size and strength matter, but her intelligence is unmatched.”

  Raven couldn’t argue with that. Her belly full, the magnificent beast lay down, her head resting against Raven’s side. The message was clear: scratch my chin. Raven complied—one did not argue with a dragon—and soon Siri was purring in contentment.

  “Shanolin has been pushing all of the dragons hard,” Rider said. Although the dragon master said it casually, Raven could feel the weight behind her words.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  Rider started to speak, stopped, and then started again. “No. Not exactly. But his bond with the dragons and their masters feels…different than it used to.”

  “Different how?”

  Rider shook her head. “It’s hard to explain. The dragonia favor him—except for Siri and Heiron, of course.”

  Raven’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying? Speak plainly.”

  “Keep him on a short tether,” Rider said. “He’s dangerous.”

  “That’s absurd,” Raven said. “He’s worked for my family for three decades.”

  “Yes. For your mother.”

  “And then my sister. And now me.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Rider said. “The testing has me on edge.”

  Raven sighed and rested her hand on the dragon master’s arm. “I’m sorry. I trust your council. I will tread carefully around Shanolin. You need not fear: He will not pressure me into any decisions I do not want to make.”

  Rider’s body language softened, as if satisfied by the response. “What are we going to do?” she said, a jarring reminder of the next day’s war council.

  Raven glanced around, making certain the other dragon masters had left for the day, especially Shanolin. She lowered her voice. “We delay,” she said. “If the guanero succeed in the border skirmishes, that will give us reason enough to be patient.”

  Rider nodded. “And if they’re not successful?”

  “How long will it take to prepare the dragonia for war?”

  Rider shrugged. “A week perhaps. A fortnight at the most. No one expected them to pass the testing this early, not even Shanolin. Battle armor must be constructed. Even finding enough leather will be a challenge.”

  “Good,” Raven said, nodding. It would have to be enough time. Uncovering her sister’s would-be assassins was her priority. Only then could she deal with Roan Loren’s warning. Not that
she was particularly concerned about the eastern defenses. There was only so much one could do to fortify against dragons.

  Still, prudence told her to be cautious, even when everyone else, save Rider, seemed ready to rush to war.

  Once more, she gave Siri a scratch.

  The animal purred in delight.

  Sixty-Seven

  The Southern Empire, north of Calypso

  Roan Loren

  Truth be told, Roan hadn’t expected his meeting with Raven Sandes to go as smoothly as it had. At best, he’d expected to be thrown into the dungeons, if only because he was a Loren. At worst, he thought he’d be killed on the spot.

  Instead, he was, despite his objections, once again on the back of a guanik, its thick, bony hide adding bruises to his bruises. Unable to take it anymore, he slowly healed the wounds, letting his lifemark pulse slowly on his chest.

  He’d been handed off to another guanero, a giant of a man who’d introduced himself as Goggin. “You must be an important man, indeed,” he’d barked. When Roan had inquired why, the man had only laughed loudly. Goggin rode the most monstrous guanik Roan had ever seen, its clawed feet leaving deep impressions in the hard ground. Anytime the lizard looked at him, he had the distinct impression it was sizing him up, trying to decide whether it could swallow him whole.

  Still, this companion was better than the last one. At least he didn’t aim pointy objects at his eyes nor deal in thinly veiled threats. Instead, Goggin preferred stories and japes, most of which centered around his many failed marriages. “Did I ever tell you about my third wife?” the large man asked now, as if they were two old friends shooting the breeze.

  Roan counted on his fingers, pretending to seriously consider the question. “No. Your second and fourth, yes, but not your third. That’s a story I’d very much like to hear.”

  “Har! Good man!” Goggin bellowed, slapping his guanik’s back. The beast opened its mouth and yawned, as if used to such behavior from its master. “Anyway, here’s how we met…”