Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

  She was breathing, and Grey could feel the strong pulse in Shae’s neck, but he was still concerned. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. In fact, he’d never seen her marking flare up like that unless a torch was shone across it.

  She was changing, and he felt helpless.

  “She’ll be fine,” Kyla said, holding Shae’s hand, stroking her skin. “She is strong. She survived the Dead Isles, remember?”

  Grey knew she was right, but that didn’t help quell his fears. For all he knew, they were sailing right into a trap set by the pirates who came before them, if any had survived an attack by the deadly sea creatures.

  Regardless, it was too late to change their minds now, the currents continuing to pull them into the inlet, straight for the shadowy maw of the cave. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, like enormous teeth. As the ship drifted into the shadows, he had the uneasy sense they were going to crack off and impale him. It was only after they’d passed under them did he manage to breathe normally again.

  Smithers had had three of his surviving sailors light lanterns before they entered the cave, and now these men shone light on either side of the cavern, which was so broad and tall that Grey couldn’t see its walls or ceiling. Instead, the wobbly yellow light only managed to reveal clear, shallow waters. The cave floor beneath it seemed to sparkle.

  “Those are gold coins if I’m a captain,” Smithers said.

  Grey looked more closely, his eyes widening when he realized the captain was right. Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of gold coins covered the bottom. He wondered what kind of pirate would throw that much wealth over the side of his boat. A very rich one, he thought.

  They eased forward, peering into the gloom, trying to see beyond the short arc of the lanternlight. “Dead ahead!” the eagle-eyed scout cried. “Steer to port!”

  The captain didn’t hesitate, trusting his man, spinning the wheel to the left. Sure enough, shadows took shape, emerging from the darkness. Grey’s breath caught. A ship, at least twice as large as The Jewel, bobbing at anchor. They glided past it, so close they could’ve touched it if they’d reached out. The scout’s eyes had saved them from certain collision.

  Grey tried to make out an insignia on the sails, but they were down, the folds of cloth hiding any markings, if there were any to be found.

  “To starboard!” the scout cried.

  “I thought you said to port,” Smithers replied, his hands gripping the wheel.

  “And now to starboard,” the scout insisted.

  Once more, the captain spun the wheel, but this time to the right. Another shape loomed before them, twice as big as the first, a mammoth black-painted vessel with two masts. Their smaller ship was turning, but too slowly, the bow arcing through the black water. Grey had no experience with steering ships in tight quarters, but even his unseasoned eyes could tell a hit was imminent. He dropped to the deck, pulling Kyla with him. He threw his body atop Shae.

  There was a raucous shriek and the ship shuddered, trembling from bow to stern, port to starboard. Everything went still.

  The captain said, “Aye. That was close.”

  Grey stood, offering Kyla a hand. He glanced back. The enormous vessel hadn’t moved, but now a long scrape ran down its side. He swallowed. The owner of the ship wouldn’t be impressed. At least The Jewel was still floating, it could’ve been much, much wors—

  “We’re takin’ on water, Cap’n!” a voice cried.

  All heads turned to find a sailor frantically gesturing down the stairs, below decks.

  “How bad?” Smithers said, his knuckles white on the wheel.

  “’Tis sprayin’ like a summer monsoon!” the seaman said, backing away.

  The captain’s face was grim as he faced forward once more. More shapes passed on either side. Ships of various sizes and shapes, but none as large as the one they’d collided with. Dozens of them.

  Was it Grey’s imagination, or did the water seem slightly closer now?

  The captain nodded. “Always knew this ol’ lady wuld fail me ’ventually,” he said. “Was hopin’ fer a few more good years…” His large, experienced hands seemed to handle the wheel almost lovingly, gently, finding a path through the other vessels. The Jewel continued to dip lower in the water.

  We’re sinking, Grey thought. He glanced back to see water bubbling overtop the last step and onto the deck. “Hurry,” he said. He reached down and scooped up Shae in one arm, careful not to catch her with his blade hand. Kyla helped him sling her over his shoulder.

  A broad wooden dock appeared. “To oars!” the captain bellowed. There was a moment of confusion, because the crew was missing so many of its members, but the veteran seamen quickly determined the best positioning, six on each side. “Reverse thrust!”

  As one, the men pulled, and the ship slowed. “Pull! Pull! Pull!” they chanted. The ship continued to decrease its speed. “Pull to port!” Smithers cried, simultaneously spinning the wheel hard to the left.

  Less than a stone’s throw from the dock, the ship began to turn, bubbles churning around its sides. Like a tender kiss, the starboard side met the wood.

  Captain Smithers was a lot of things, but he was one helluva captain, Grey thought, his admiration for the man going up several notches.

  “Not a moment to lose,” Smithers said. “Everyone, disembark.” The men scrambled from their positions at the oars, dropping anchor and sliding planks across to the dock. They helped Grey, who was still carrying Shae, across first. Then Kyla. Then, at the captain’s insistence, each sailor clambered over.

  The captain stood alone, water sloshing against his boots. His eyes were steely as he swept his eyes over the deck one last time. He kissed the tips of his fingers and then pressed them against the wheel.

  He climbed across the planks. Behind him, the ship jolted, its prow dipping on a sharp angle, settling into the golden-coin bottom. Along the side beneath the surface of the water was a huge gash, ragged and deep.

  Grey didn’t know if it was fatal, but it certainly looked like it.

  Footsteps pounded along the wood, echoing throughout the cavern. Dozens of blinding lights preceded them. “Who goes there?” a voice drawled.

  Smithers took two steps forward, shielding his eyes from the light with one hand. After the bloodthirsty sea creatures they’d faced, Grey felt no fear. He was ready for a fight if necessary. The rest of the men seemed of similar mind, moving forward to flank their captain.

  “I am Captain Darius Smithers,” the captain said defiantly. “Acclaimed pirate of the Burning Sea.” If Grey hadn’t known the man, he would’ve believed him, such was the fervor in his tone.

  The lights stopped, bobbing slightly, hiding the faces of those who hid behind them.

  That’s when the laughter began.

  “Secure them,” a man said, his voice low but commanding.

  A roar of approval, and then the lights began to move forward once more.

  They were trapped.

  Wisely, Captain Smithers said, “Don’ fight. Drop yer weapons.”

  So they did, all except Grey, who couldn’t—Kyla’s knots were almost impossible to untie. They were surrounded by pirates, who secured their weapons and lashed their hands behind their backs with thick, rough rope. The rogues came in all shapes and sizes, some short and as pot-bellied as pigs, and others tall and lean, the sleeves of their shirts cut off at the shoulders. To Grey’s surprise, several of them were women, and, if anything, they were rougher than the men. Three had eye patches, one a peg for a leg, and two wore broad-brimmed hats and gave the orders. Ship captains, Grey assumed.

  One of them said, “She dead?” pointing at Shae. He was a thickset man with a drooping red mustache and gold hoops in each ear. His head was as large as a watermelon.

  “Just sleeping,” Grey said. “You harm a hair on her head and you’ll be the dead one.”

  The captain barked out a laugh. “Run me through with yer blade arm, will ye? I’ve bettered men twice yer s
ize with twice yer skill.”

  Before Grey could voice a response that would likely get him into even more trouble, one of the pirates who had clambered onto the waterlogged ship, called, “There’re bloodstains on deck, Cap’n.”

  “Been in a fight, have ye?” the man said. He eyed their clothing, which told a similar tale, spattered with blood, both rust-red and vomit-gray.

  He peered closer, his brows knitting together. “Drahma blood,” he breathed.

  Swords shrieked from scabbards, their tips pointed at Grey and his companions.

  “Is there a problem?” Captain Smithers asked.

  The pirate captain’s face had gone white, and for the first time Grey saw fear in his eyes. “You’ve doomed us all,” he said.

  Eighty-Three

  The Southern Empire, Phanes, in a remote part of Phanea

  Bane Gäric

  Chavos was pressed against the hot canyon wall staring at his hands.

  Bane stood nearby, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Chavos’s dark hood made it difficult for Bane to see his face, to read the myriad emotions that seemed to be streaming through the young man. All of his plans for Phanes hinged on what happened next.

  Clearly, seeing the slave army had had an impact on Chavos. Hidden in an empty alcove cut into the rock wall high above the canyon floor, they’d watched the slave soldiers go through their daily training routine.

  After an hour, Chavos had sunk back. “Doesn’t make sense,” he’d muttered. He hadn’t said a damn thing since, and Bane hadn’t pushed. He wanted whatever came next to be dictated by Chavos. He’d tried persuasion before, and it had failed. Now he would use a softer touch.

  So he waited, until long after the sun had passed over the canyon and out of sight, finger-like shadows creeping into their alcove, eventually shrouding them in darkness. He could barely make out the pale glow of the uncovered portion of Chavos’s face. His red eyes, however, had vanished into the growing gloom.

  How long can the man just sit there, doing nothing, saying nothing? Bane wondered. He could be patient when necessary, but at this moment he felt antsy, his muscles twitching for something to do.

  I could go kill Falcon Hoza and be back before Chavos gets bored. The thought amused him, but he didn’t act on it. He was no longer frivolous. He was a spider in a web, planning, plotting, weaving intricate formations that would trap his prey before they knew what was happening. One moment they’d be flying along, and the next…

  Thwap!

  Bane smiled. Unable to take it any longer, he spoke. “Do you hunger?”

  Chavos shifted, a slight groan rolling from his throat. “No.”

  “Do you want to stay here?”

  “No.”

  Though Bane still had high hopes for Chavos as a companion, he was turning out to be as interesting as the dust caked on his feet. Beggars can’t be choosers, Bane thought, once more amusing himself.

  He touched Chavos’s arm, which was covered by three thick layers of cloth, awful garb to have to wear in this heat. The man didn’t take any chances though. Bane thought about another place to go, and then they were there.

  Chavos gaped, stumbling back, which was exactly the reaction Bane was hoping for. “By the gods!” he hissed.

  “No. By me,” Bane corrected.

  Beneath them, the sea crashed against the base of the cliffs. The rocks here were rust-red from afar, but almost pink up close. Bane stood on the edge, his balance perfect, unafraid of falling. A man with a fate such as his needn’t worry about mundane things such as accidents. No, when he finally died it would be glorious indeed, his very death perhaps his final act in restoring peace to the Four Kingdoms. Not an unseen fall from a cliff.

  On the other hand, these cliffs would suit Chavos’s death perfectly, if he wanted them to.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Chavos asked. “Why did you show me the slave army earlier?”

  Bane liked a man who got right to the heart of the matter. “I showed you the slave army to prove that the disease running through these lands is deeper than any one man. I killed the Slave Master, and yet still there are slaves. And not just forced slaves, but ones whose minds have been so twisted that they don’t even know they are slaves.” He watched the pain return to Chavos’s face as he spoke. Seeing the slaves had affected him deeply.

  “I don’t understand,” Chavos admitted. “There are thousands of them, and only dozens of their masters. Vin Hoza no longer controls them by magic. Why don’t they rise up? If they did, Phanes would be a different place. A better place.”

  “I agree,” Bane said. “But they won’t. You could tell them all this, and they’d still obey their masters. You see, these slaves have been raised to be Phanecian soldiers since the day they were born. It is the only life they know.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  The look on Chavos’s face made Bane feel a tinge of remorse. This young man had seen so much tragedy, and yet it had not jaded him, had not made him angry and violent. No, it had the opposite effect. He’s the best of us, Bane thought. He is the kind of person I am fighting for.

  “No, it’s not fair,” Bane said. “And I wasn’t being fair when I pulled you from the brink of death—a death you’d chosen—and nursed you back to health. But I don’t regret it. You deserved a second chance to think about your purpose.”

  “I have no purpose,” Chavos said.

  “The Western Oracle gave you that mark for a reason—I have to believe that. You have to believe that.”

  Chavos stared at him. “You never told me why you brought me here.” His eyes wandered away, across the sea, as if looking for the better place he spoke of.

  “So you can jump,” Bane said simply.

  Chavos’s eyes snapped back to his. Bane could see the fear in them. Good, he thought. If he still fears death, perhaps he may be able to help me.

  “I—I don’t like heights,” Chavos said, taking another step back from the brink. A particularly large wave exploded against the shore, spraying droplets so high the air filled with mist.

  “I stole death from you!” Bane shouted, over the sound of crashing waves.

  “You saved me,” Chavos said, still backing away.

  “What does that mean?” Bane said. He strode toward him forcefully. Chavos stumbled over his own feet, sprawling onto his rear. Bane grabbed him by the collar of his thick robe and hauled him to his feet, his deathmark pulsing, strengthening him. Slowly, he lifted Chavos into the air, carrying him toward the edge. “What does it mean to save a man with no purpose?”

  “Please,” Chavos said, his voice trembling as he stared down at the churning whitewater. “I don’t want to die.”

  “What?” Bane shouted, thrusting him over the edge, dangling him like a worm on a hook.

  “I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” Chavos bellowed.

  Bane dropped him a bit, and the man yelped. He turned him to face him. If anything, Chavos’s face had grown even paler. “What is your purpose?”

  “I—I don’t—”

  “What is your purpose!?”

  “Peace,” Chavos screeched. “All of the fatemarked were created to bring peace to the Four Kingdoms.”

  Bane took a deep breath and smiled. “Yes,” he said. “You understand at last.” Very carefully, he set Chavos back down on the cliff. The man’s legs collapsed and he lay in a ball for a long, long time, but that didn’t matter. He’d finally gotten through to him.

  Indeed, his methods had become refined, but that didn’t mean that drastic measures weren’t needed sometimes.

  Eighty-Four

  The Southern Empire, Phanes

  Jai Jiroux

  Jai wasn’t about to be left behind. He didn’t know where the emperor and his retinue of slaves were going, only that he needed to go with them. The first three chariots held the Hoza brothers and their drivers, while the fourth was larger, cramped with at least a dozen slaves.

  His back laden with heavy jugs of water bound to him
with rope, Jai clambered awkwardly onto the dented old slave chariot. He grunted and groaned and feigned more difficulty than it truly was—his injured arm and leg were both feeling much stronger now. As usual, he was supposed to be emptying chamber pots, but he could finish that work later.

  Several other slaves shot him surprised looks as he slumped into a sitting position, but he ignored them. The chariot began to move, pulled by three enormous Phanecian stallions, and they soon lost interest, staring sightlessly at the canyon walls as they flashed past. Only one gaze remained fixed firmly on him, and Jai didn’t need to look to know whose it was:

  Shanti.

  But look he did, and when their eyes met it felt much like being struck by a bolt of lightning, as if all the days since they’d last seen each other, all the pain and struggles and anger, were searing through the air, pushing into their bodies.

  And then came the calm, the tenderness, the desire to rush to her, to pull her into his arms. Months ago, as they’d tried to liberate the slave miners of Garadia, they’d formed a connection stitched of shared interest, tragic pasts, and hope.

  Now, as he looked into her fierce blue eyes, their connection seemed forged of fiery determination and unspent violence. She nodded and he nodded back, before they looked away, the connection released but not severed.

  In another world, Jai thought wistfully, wondering what life they could’ve had.

  Just as quickly, he tempered such dreams, for they floated on the clouds and he rode through a boiling canyon in an empire built on the backs of slaves.

  Soon the busy thoroughfares of Phanea were behind them, the canyons narrower and darker, full of shadows. Jai frowned. He’d never been in this part of the canyons. Where were they going?

  The journey took nearly half a day, and Jai’s cramped muscles were screaming when they finally made a last turn, the narrow canyon spilling into a huge area nestled between the high rock walls.

  Holy gods, Jai thought.