Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

  “She wasn’t threatening me,” he said aloud, the idea taking shape, dawning bright and gold. He shook his head, wondering how he’d been so foolish. His own fear of death had painted the worst possible outcome in his mind, but all she’d been telling him was what he already knew; what every man already knew:

  That they would, one day, die.

  But between birth and death, there was a whole lot of time that needed to be filled. Most referred to that time as “life,” but to Falcon it had always felt like an infinite, black space, a countdown. Like the book said, the grains of sand flowing through an hourglass until none were left at the top.

  The truth was, Falcon had never loved his life, despite the riches and status that came with it. No, it’s more than that, he thought, his fingers tracing the letters printed in the book. I loathe my life—always have. The word hate rose to his mind so easily—too easily.

  But that single word and the three dots of possibility that followed it—Unless…—seemed to emulate everything that was Shanti. She’d lived her life with purpose, fighting for a cause she believed in, a cause that seemed as hopeless as the plight of the broken people in the book.

  She was no emperor, had no armies, had no wealth to back her efforts. None of the Black Tears did, as far as he knew. And yet the small measure of success they’d had—enough to make his father, the Slave Master himself, curse their names—was the very embodiment of hope.

  And her message to him was clear:

  You can do something.

  The only problem was that he couldn’t, not really.

  But he could tell her the truth about her mother. Maybe then she would see reason. Maybe then she would give up.

  Seventy-Six

  The Southern Empire, Calypso

  Raven Sandes

  “I want to come with you,” Whisper said. “Please.”

  Raven didn’t look at her; couldn’t look at her. Instead, she stayed busy, hastily packing supplies for the short trip she’d be making on dragonback. “No,” she said.

  “Sister.” Whisper grabbed her arm. “Sister.”

  Finally, Raven met Whisper’s eyes, and was ashamed at what she saw there. Love. Need. Fear. “Whisper, I can’t do this right now. I have to know. I have to be certain.”

  “You asked me to speak my mind. This is me speaking my mind. I’m coming with you.” Not a request—not anymore. If Raven didn’t feel so ill, she would’ve been proud of her sister. Whisper was growing in strength by the day, casting away her childhood like all Sandes women did eventually. Yes, she will make a fine ruler once I am gone. Probably a better one than either Fire or I ever did.

  “Thank you for speaking out in the war council,” Raven said. “You have done all I asked for and more. But sending the last two Daughters to the borderlands is too risky. I will not allow it. You must stay here as tradition requires.”

  Whisper’s nose scrunched and her lips knotted together angrily. She shook her head, tears already beading along the bottom half of her eyelids. “Because you might die. Because you might leave me. Just like everyone else.”

  Raven wanted to hug her, to hold her, to tell her she wasn’t going to die. To tell her she would never be alone, not ever again. But those were lies, and Raven couldn’t treat her like a child anymore.

  She turned away.

  “Yes,” she said. “I might die.”

  She turned back. Whisper dashed the unshed tears away with a knuckle. Raven said, “Any of us might die on any day—that is just life. But this is only a scouting mission. We will not engage the enemy unless absolutely necessary. They cannot hurt us in the sky.”

  “Fine,” Whisper said. Her fierceness was back. “I will pray for you on Calyppa.”

  “Thank you, sister.”

  Raven strode away, afraid her resolve would shatter if she looked back.

  As Raven prepared to depart Calypso, she received another stream from Zune, from her Aunt Viper. This was not a profit report. This was a personal message, informing the empress that the Second Daughter would be visiting the City of the Rising Sun within the fortnight.

  Raven felt like crumping the note.

  She didn’t, breathing away her frustration. Of all the times for Viper to want to visit Calypso…this was the worst.

  She froze, scanning the note once more with narrowed eyes. Something about the timing…what with the disaster in the Scarra, the testing of the dragonia, Roan Loren’s sudden appearance…

  Raven’s mother had never believed in coincidences and neither did she. Her aunt was a shrewd woman with a long memory. Quickly, she penned a message using an inkreed harvested from the central stream in Zune. Dear Aunt Viper…

  When she was finished, she found a messenger and sent him scurrying back to the royal stream with the message, which politely requested that her aunt remain in Zune to oversee the fighting pits, and that the empress would visit Zune soon.

  I am the empress, she thought. The sooner Viper remembers that, the better.

  Despite the maddening circumstances, Raven felt alive soaring above the clouds. Siri’s leathery wings beat the hot air, creating her own wind. The dragon’s spiked, scaly skin was alive beneath the saddle, cresting and crashing like oceanic waves. A sea in the sky, Raven thought, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

  Rider was on one side, astride Heiron; Shanolin on the other, riding Cronus . Though the dragon masters had offered the entire strength of the dragonia for the mission, Raven had declined. They needed speed and stealth, not strength. The plan was to make the three-day flight to the easternmost edge of the Scarra in two days, perform aerial reconnaissance to determine the situation at present, and then make for Kesh, the desert village from which they’d received the stream.

  At first, Cronus had snapped at Siri, jealous of her position in the center of the formation, but after the tenacious female responded with a slap of her spiked tail in his face, the sleek, gray dragon had grudgingly settled into formation. Heiron, on the other hand, hadn’t put up a fuss, assuming the left flank without so much as batting an eye. Despite his size and strength, the dark-scaled monster was an even-tempered creature.

  This was day two of their journey, and beneath them the clouds looked as fluffy as giant pillows. Between them Raven spotted splashes of brown and white, the alternating sands of the Scarra. And to the east: the blue, diamond-speckled waters of Dragon Bay. Far to the north, the ground turned gray and then bright green, rolling out like a massive rug. Ironclad territory.

  “How far?” Raven shouted over the beating of wings. She was growing more and more anxious as they closed the distance to the borderlands.

  Rider and Shanolin looked past Raven to meet each other’s eyes. “Half a day,” they said at the same time. Though they disagreed on much, when it came to details about dragons—their speed, their abilities, their temperaments—the two masters found common ground.

  Damn, Raven thought. She was hoping to make it before nightfall, when visibility would still be at its best. Instead the sun would be long gone, leaving them to scout by moons and starlight.

  She ducked her head lower and shouted into the wind. “Yah!” Siri shot forward, instinctively searching for the air currents that would further increase her speed. The two larger dragons gave chase, though they swiftly fell behind. Raven could hear her dragon masters’ cries drifting away behind her, lost on the wind.

  Hours later, after the sun had sunk below the horizon, after the purple sky had given way to navy and then an ink-black plain speckled with stars, Raven and Siri descended toward the desert.

  Under the light of Ruahi and Luahi, the two moons casting dueling bands of light across the sand, Raven saw them:

  Dark slashes, some straight as arrows, others curled like question marks. Two dozen perhaps. No, three dozen, Raven remembered. After all, it was she who had given the order to thirty-six of her guanero. Thirty-six souls who had now left their bodies to seek the Halls of the Gods.

  The pit sh
e’d had in her stomach for the last two days grew into a fist, punching the inside of her abdomen.

  Siri swooped lower, and Raven forced herself to look. She owed them that much. Most of the bodies were half-covered by the ever-shifting dunes, the desert trying to claim them before the birds could turn them into carrion. There a leg stuck out. Here an arm. She saw a few bits of leather armor bearing the Calypsian sigil. Several familiar faces, staring blankly toward the night sky.

  The ill feeling continued, but she swallowed it down. She wouldn’t lose her stomach. She would mourn these loyal, capable men and women with her every thought, and then she would clear her head and decide what to do next.

  They deserved better. They deserved to live.

  She brought Siri into a hover over the carnage. Her voice barely above a whisper, Raven spoke each of their names, for she knew every member of her guanero by name and face.

  “Scarab, Jorg, Valia….”

  About halfway through the list, Shanolin and Rider arrived, settling their own dragons into a hover. They didn’t speak, listening to Raven’s accounting of the dead in silence.

  “Brin, Hez, Noura…”

  And on and on, until Raven reached the end of the list, a final name—Goggin’s second in command, a strong woman, an honorable Calypsian, a valiant warrior.

  “Ponjut,” she whispered. The wind blew, stealing the names. “Burn them.”

  Without so much as a huff, the dragons angled downward, shooting streams of fire at the dead, until they were each burned to ash.

  Raven awoke with a start, trying to make sense of the bright blue world above her.

  I’m flying. She recalled falling asleep astride Siri, who had continued her path across the desert toward Kesh. Dragons had the remarkable ability to sleep for days on end, and then wake up and remain that way for a week straight. As if reading her mind, Siri huffed out a hot breath. About time you got up, she seemed to be saying. I’m hungry.

  “Sorry,” Raven said, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t just feel tired, but exhausted, like she’d walked across the desert rather than been carried by the fastest creatures on earth. The names she’d spoken the night before echoed through her head, silent memories of why she was here. She glanced to either side; both Shanolin and Rider continued to slumber, their chins resting against their chests.

  “Oi,” she said.

  Rider’s eyes fluttered open and she stretched. “Morning,” she mumbled.

  “The dragons have flown all night.”

  “They’ll be hungry,” Shanolin said, yawning.

  “Down,” Raven commanded.

  On command, the dragons angled toward the desert, which stretched in every direction. As they approached the ground, their wings beat the sand into a frenzy, shifting the dunes slightly. The moment Raven dismounted, Siri rolled over and jerked her head toward her belly, demanding a scratch. Raven complied, using her opposite hand to untie a satchel of salted beef from Siri’s underside. She tossed each chunk in the air, and her dragon seared them with a thin stream of fire before snapping her jaws around them.

  Nearby, Heiron’s towering form waited patiently as Rider added a sprinkle of the dragon’s favorite spice, mixa, to each piece of bacon.

  A further distance away, Cronus drank greedily from a bowl of water until it was gone. Then, instead of eating, he slumped down on his forepaws and went right to sleep.

  Shanolin made his way over. “Kesh is close now,” he said, glancing at the position of the sun.

  “What will we find there?” Rider asked no one in particular.

  “Information,” Raven said. Despite how she’d mourned and honored all thirty-six guanero the night before, she knew one of them must have survived. It was the only way a stream could’ve been sent from Kesh with the news. She was anxious to meet the survivor, to hear the full story behind the attack on the borderlands.

  Rider and Shanolin sat in the sand to eat and drink, but Raven couldn’t; her blood felt supercharged with energy. She barely ate anything, the food tasting like dust in her mouth. She did, however, swallow an entire canteen of water—it could be refilled when they reached the desert oasis.

  She clapped her hands and said, “We must move on.”

  Cronus burst from his haunches at the sound, looking as refreshed as if he’d slept for hours and not just a few minutes.

  Siri lowered her head so Raven could climb on.

  As the desert flowed under them like a white ocean, Raven scanned the area ahead for any signs of life.

  Before anything else, she saw the smoke.

  Her heart was exploding in her chest, her blood rushing like raging rivers through her veins. The second Siri landed, she leapt from her mount, racing toward the grove of palms, most of which had been felled, lying prone on the ground. They were charred and smoking, their leaves burned away. The sweet, delicious fruit they once bore littered the path, cracked, burnt husks. They crunched under Raven’s heavy trod as she sprinted into Kesh, coughing as smoke poured into her lungs, her eyes burning.

  Covering her mouth and nose with the top of her shirt, she dove low to the ground, whirling her head around in shock at the scene before her. Every structure was afire, some already having collapsed. There, the large tent she’d once slept in with her sister, Fire—now a desolation of burnt poles and smoking canvas. There, the table she’d dined at with their soldiers, with Goggin—now an inferno, shooting flames into the air, licking at the sun shades she’d once enjoyed so much.

  There were no people, at least none she could see, neither enemy nor friend.

  “We have to get you out of here,” Rider said, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. The dragon master’s eyes were wide, her mouth and nose covered with a wet piece of cloth.

  Raven shrugged her off, twisting away. She darted forward, crawling for the nearest still-standing structure, a small doorless hut. Flames were dancing from the other tents, tiptoeing onto the hut’s roof, climbing down the walls.

  A scream rent the air.

  Raven dove inside, scanning the space, squinting through the smoky haze.

  There! A form lay on the floor, still resting against a toppled over chair. Smoke was pouring through a window and directly into the person’s face.

  Raven scrambled forward on hands and knees, grabbing the person by the legs, pulling. To her surprise, not only did the form slide across the floor, but the chair too. They were tethered together, locked inside a structure that had become an oven.

  She hauled with all her strength, her muscles popping, her skin scraping the floor, the smoke sliding lower and lower. She was forced to use two hands, leaving her mouth and nose unprotected, but still she toiled.

  I will not let another person die. Not today.

  She reached the door, and then a second set of hands were there, helping. And a third, Shanolin having caught up. Between the three of them, they wrestled the chair across the village and down the path, spilling into the sand. They slumped in a pile, the chair falling onto its side, the occupant releasing a grunt.

  Raven’s lungs and throat burned. Her tongue tasted like ash. Her eyes stung. Her head swam, as if filled with saltwater. She rolled over, struggling to her knees, fighting to crawl over to the chair, which was facing away from her. Spots were dancing before her eyes, the world fading.

  No, she thought. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

  She rounded the chair, placing a hand on the person’s chin, leaving a dark handprint before turning him to face her. For, indeed, it was a man. A man she recognized.

  Guta, the proprietor of Kesh and its famed hospitality.

  Her friend.

  He seemed to recognize her, a surprised smile drifting across his lips. And then his eyes slipped closed.

  Seventy-Seven

  The Southern Empire, Citadel

  Roan Loren

  The dead girl was still staring at him; her brother, too. Their eyes seemed to core him like an apple, tearing his heart from his chest.


  Roan opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again.

  The words still wouldn’t come.

  “Do I know you?” the girl said, frowning.

  Yes. Yes yes yes… Roan found the words pouring from his lips before he could stop them. “I’m from Calypso.”

  Her frown deepened for a moment and then, suddenly, vanished, her lips parting, her eyes widening, her eyebrows lifting. “By the gods,” she said. “You can’t be here. We can’t talk to you.”

  Roan felt off-kilter, like he was attached to an invisible pendulum, swinging, swinging, rocking… “Why not?”

  “He’ll kill us. Your guardian will kill us.” As the final word slipped from her lips, the girl turned and raced back up the steps, shepherding her brother before her.

  Roan dropped from his mount, stumbled, and then gave chase, but Goggin blocked his path, holding him back with a single huge hand.

  Roan stared daggers at him. “I need to find that girl,” he said, hoping words could help where his muscles had failed him.

  “No time for chasin’ tail,” Goggin said, “gotta find Lady Windy.”

  “I’m not…” Roan’s words fell away. There was no way to adequately explain the situation. Plus, it seemed the girl and her brother—dead, dead, they were supposed to be dead—worked for Windy anyway. So finding her might help find them.

  Goggin turned to face the gatekeeper, who was looking even more unsettled than before. “We’re going up those steps,” the guanero commander said. “Try to stop us.”

  Though the man protested, they left their mounts in the small entryway. “They’ll sleep all day anyway,” Goggin muttered as they ascended the steps. Roan tried to see past the large man, but he was like a lunar eclipse.

  Eventually, however, they emerged through an arched doorway.

  Roan blinked, his breath hitching. Holy gods…

  The domed structure had been spectacular from the outside. Inside it was simply magnificent. The glass dome shimmered with sunlight, the midafternoon rays angling in and splashing light across one end while casting shadows on the other. At the dome’s peak, a ladder descended to a white-marble platform, connected by a staircase to the highest of a dozen ringed walkways that followed the curving the walls of the immense structure.