Deathmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4)

by David Estes

  Bane touched Roan’s arm and he finally turned to meet his stare. His hand was shaking. His eyes darting back and forth. There was something wrong with him, as he’d thought before. “You’re dying,” Roan said.

  Instead of answering, Bane looked away and said, “Killing warmongering rulers was only making things worse. I thought if I ruled the kingdoms myself…”

  A gear of truth clicked into place. “You could force the people into peace.”

  Bane nodded absently. There was something sad in his expression.

  Roan said, “Before…when you tried to convince me to work with you, why didn’t you ask me to heal you?”

  Bane shook his head. “I was going to. But then…I don’t know. You hated me.”

  “You’re a murderer.”

  Roan expected excuses, about how he’d been created to be a killer by the Oracle. Instead, however, Bane just sat down, defeated. “I thought it would all be worth it if only we reached the glorious end the Oracle promised. Instead, it all ends in pain.” Roan tried to say something, but Bane continued. “You know, I killed one of the fatemarked today. He was a good man, I could feel it, and yet he was killing too, forced into this by”—he waved his arms around—“this place. If I could take it back, I would.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “Not even you can bring back the dead.”

  “No. There must be a spark of life for me to catch hold of.”

  Bane cocked his head toward Roan. “Why aren’t you down there healing?”

  A shred of fatigue cut through him, laced with helplessness. “There are too many. I cannot save them all. How do I choose?”

  Bane said, “Sounds like the opposite to my problem. I always struggle with who to kill.”

  There was someone screaming now, a woman by the sounds of it, her howls carrying above all other sounds. The dragon’s cries had gone quiet. Roan didn’t want to think about what that meant.

  “You should go to her,” Bane said. “You should help her.”

  “Who is she?”

  Bane looked at him, his eyes dark. “Your sister.”

  Roan snapped out of his fugue. “What? Rhea is here?”

  “Of course she is. She is a ruler of the Four Kingdoms. They go where the violence is.”

  Roan grabbed his arm. “Please. Take me to her.”

  Bane started to shake his head. “I am too weak, I cann—”

  “I’ll heal you if you do this. I swear it.”

  Bane blinked. The world went dark for a moment and then reappeared.

  It was darker now, the canyons cast in shadow. A group of people were hovering around a fallen form. Bane was gone.

  Roan said, “Rhea?”

  The form turned her head toward him. His sister’s eyes were half-lidded, but when she saw him a small smile creased her lips. “Brother? You came back to me. I always knew you would.” Her voice was warm but hollow; he could feel the life slipping out of her.

  A strong young man with a blade attached to one wrist where his hand should’ve been said, “You are her…brother?” Roan could see the confusion in the man’s eyes.

  He nodded, moving toward them. “Not Leo. Roan. I was gone for a long time, but now I have returned.”

  With a start, Roan saw the wound, a deep cut into Rhea’s belly. A belly that was round and pregnant. Her eyes found his. “I don’t expect you to save me, brother. I don’t deserve that. But, please, save my baby.”

  The man with the blade-hand grabbed his shoulder with his real hand. “Please listen to her. Please save our child.”

  “Do it,” another voice said. By the gods…

  It was Gareth, his soft features mired with dirt and blood. Beside him stood Gwendolyn, her silvery hair knotted and limp. She refused to meet his gaze. They’re alive… Gwen nodded her agreement, still not looking at him. “Save the child.”

  None spoke for Rhea. None at all, not even herself.

  “If you are weary, we can help you,” someone else said. A young girl, sitting on a cart, her hand knitted with that of another man, one of his legs severed above the knee.

  Roan didn’t know them, but he felt a kinship with them immediately. “How?”

  They didn’t speak, but a glow appeared in their hands, the light drifting toward him. They are fatemarked. The light shifted its aim, reaching for a specific spot, where Roan’s chest was already beginning to brighten through his shirt. He laid his hands on Rhea’s wound, closed his eyes, and let the power flow forth.

  Raven

  She cradled Siri’s huge chin in her hands, feeling the dragon’s warm exhalations on her cheek. They were weakening. The beast’s neck was a quarter severed, its head too heavy for it to hold up now.

  Blood flowed freely from the wound.

  My soul, Raven thought, the tears starting. My sweet, sweet soul.

  The dragon purred. I shall miss you, Raven.

  And I, you. You have given me a lifetime of joy.

  Tears dripped from her chin, landing on the dragon’s foreclaws. To see one so mighty in such pain was like a lance through Raven’s heart. She didn’t know if she would ever recover from the loss. She didn’t know if she even wanted to.

  Life has no meaning. Not anymore.

  You are the meaning, the dragon said. And Whisper. Protect Calyp. Make the peace your heart so desires. Give a better life to your children than you have had.

  Newfound strength seemed to flow from the dragon to her. It was the last of the dragon’s might, given freely, she realized. A final gift. I will, she promised. I will do it all for you.

  The dragon moaned, her breath shuddering, her body shaking.

  Light poured across her, and Raven flinched. What is that? Are her flames burning through her?

  But no, the light was coming from the outside, washing across the landscape like morning sunlight cresting the western horizon, painting the world with its warmth.

  Siri was still, her chest unmoving. She looked at peace.

  Her eyes flashed open as she sucked in a gasping breath. The wound in her neck was sealed, the blood already fading away.

  All around Raven, the wounded stood, shaking themselves off, staring at each other in wonderment.

  Rhea

  The pain was gone and she felt like she was floating. She was glad she got to see her brother once more. Grey too. And her child would be safe with them.

  I saved you for something great, she thought, hoping the child would hear her. Would understand.

  She listened, expecting to hear a cry, a wail, something to tell her the baby was alive. Something to give her peace before she drifted away.

  Her eyes opened slowly and she found a ring of familiar faces looking down at her. Grey, his eyes tender and worried. Gwen, her yellow eyes sharp but with a hint of amusement. Gareth, a single eyebrow raised. And Roan, his entire body encased in light, which was flowing from him, expanding outward, so bright she had to squint to look upon it.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “Phanes,” Gareth said with a wink. “You walked here, remember?”

  She did remember, and that was the problem. She was supposed to be dead. But that was the least of her concerns. “My baby?”

  “Still inside you,” Grey said, touching a hand to her stomach. She looked down to find her skin repaired, smooth and bulging once more. Even the blood was gone. And that hand on her skin…shivers ran down her spine.

  This couldn’t be happening. Had to be a dream.

  It wasn’t. After everything, this was the truest moment of her life.

  She vowed not to waste it. Not ever again.

  Lisbeth

  Her legs gave out and she collapsed.

  This time, the exhaustion felt so…good. There was no wall of dark souls left to battle. Every brick and stone was gone, shattered into a billion ancient pieces. The black chasm was filled in.

  She had won.

  No, not me. We. We have won.

  She still
felt the lingering buzz of the added strength afforded her by two people she’d never even met, though she felt their souls in every passing second. And she still felt the blue flames crackling about her, the warmth of the most genuine soul she’d ever touched.

  “Sir Dietrich?” she said, unable to open her eyes.

  “Mmm,” he murmured. She felt his arms wrapped around her chest, her head cradled in the hollow of his throat.

  “You stayed.”

  “Yes. I felt…everything.”

  “Everything?” No wonder he sounded so tired. He’d been fighting right with her the whole time, helping to smash down the wall. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome. I’m going to sleep now. You should too.”

  Oh, how she wanted to, but at that moment she felt another soul on the edge of her periphery, shining as bright as the sun. She felt as if she’d been waiting forever to meet him.

  The Peacemaker was here, and she had one more thing to do before she rested.

  Roan

  I should be dead, Roan thought.

  He could still feel the hundreds, perhaps even thousands, that he’d healed, including a very large dragon and a very small unborn child. Some were on the verge of death, but he’d dragged them back one by one.

  I should be dead.

  But he wasn’t, because of the two fatemarked with the glowing hands. Somehow, they’d strengthened him, given him the power to do something he thought impossible. Thank you, he tried to say to them. If they heard, they did not reply.

  But another did, her voice like a soothing wind rushing through his mind. Peacemaker.

  Who are you?

  I am the soulmarked, but you can call me Lisbeth. Lisbeth Lorne. I have come a long way. A very, very long way.

  Why are you here?

  I have had visions.

  Of what?

  A great Horde. They call themselves The Fall of All Things.

  Roan shuddered slightly, his heart beating slightly faster. He still could not open his eyes, though he heard distant voices encouraging him to do just that. Soon, he thought.

  I know of whom—what—you speak. I, too, have seen the visions. She showed them to me. The Oracle.

  Our Mother, the voice said. I thought the Horde were coming here. I thought this place would be the end. That is why I am here. But I was wrong. The enemy has only just arrived on these shores.

  Oh gods, Roan thought. He was hoping they had more time. More time to convince the others, to unite the kingdoms for a final battle. A battle for their very survival.

  Are you there?

  Yes, Roan said. I was thinking. We don’t have much time. We need to warn the others.

  They are gathered here.

  I will stand atop the cliffs. I will tell them everything.

  No, Lisbeth said. I will show them whatever you want.

  How?

  Just show me.

  Roan focused, breathing deeply. He brought the images from that deep pit of darkness in Teragon to the forefront of his mind. The Oracle’s final truth wasn’t his secret to keep. No, it was for all of them, for all the peoples of the Four Kingdoms.

  The images came together, and he knew they could see them too, for all fell silent:

  Sunlight breaking over the western horizon, the coming dawn.

  Beneath it, the sea, its churning whitecaps highlighted with orange and silver.

  Shadows roaming, backlit by the rising sun.

  Hundreds.

  No, thousands.

  Ships.

  The true enemy is coming, Roan thought. Stand with me. Fight with me. I am the Peacemaker.

  Eighty-Four

  The Southern Empire, Phanea

  Falcon Hoza

  Three days later

  Phanea was a very different place these days. There was still a distinct line between the Phanecians and those who used to be their slaves, mostly the Terans and Dreadnoughters, but there had not been additional violence so far. Everyone seemed to have had enough of violence. They lived separate but equal, burying their dead, grieving, trying to find some semblance of normality. It wasn’t perfect, not by a longshot, but it was a start.

  But not the end, Falcon thought. A worse enemy is coming.

  While they were doing battle in the Bloody Canyons, a stream had arrived from the north, from Queen Gäric. It was a warning about a deadly foe arriving from across the Crimean Sea. If anything, it only made the threat seem more real.

  A council was being planned, but the exact day and time had not been set. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the one known as Roan Loren, the Peacemaker, to awaken. It was him, after all, who had prevented so much more death than there might’ve been.

  He is fatemarked, Falcon thought. Like Father had been.

  Yet the two men seemed as different as sand and snow.

  He shook away thoughts of the future because of what he saw now, in the present.

  Shanti.

  She wore her pain like a drab cloak, always there but hardly catching the eye. Because of her strength, he thought.

  He watched her from the doorway, feeling like an intruder as she sat on the bed Jai had slept in before…

  Before he marched to war.

  She was beautiful, but not because of her strength, which was a constant, unmoving force, but because of the vulnerable way she looked now. If anything, her loss had made her even more beautiful, though Falcon wished he could take the pain away. She clutched one of Jai’s shirts in her hands, just breathing, staring at the folds of cloth.

  She’s remembering. She can smell him.

  Falcon knew he couldn’t be what—who—she needed, but he could be something else.

  A friend.

  He cleared his throat, but she didn’t respond. She knew I was here the whole time. The realization brought a flush to his cheeks.

  He entered, wondering whether Shanti would’ve grieved for him if he’d been the one to die.

  It was a selfish thought, and he blinked it away.

  As he approached, Shanti’s eyes finally snapped to his. They were sad, but dry. She opened her mouth, but she didn’t say it wasn’t fair or curse the gods for taking Jai from her, and he loved her for it. All she said was, “I miss him.”

  And all Falcon could reply was a surprising truth as he sat down beside her. “I miss him too.”

  They sat there for a long time, saying nothing else, watching the shadows play along the floor as daylight faded to dusk.

  Eventually, Shanti curled up into a ball on the bed, still clutching Jai’s shirt. Falcon felt like an intruder, slipping away the moment her exhalations deepened into sleep.

  The familiar halls of the palace felt empty. Not just because they were, but because of how full he felt in comparison.

  It is wrong to feel this way, he thought. Especially when so many others were feeling lost and alone. But he couldn’t help himself, because for the first time in his life he’d done something worthy of being sung about. Something good. He’d united a people. Yes, it would take years, maybe decades, before the animosity and hate faded, but they’d taken the first step.

  Phanes was ready to heal, become something new and stronger. Better. First they had to survive the enemy that was coming, but even that seemed insignificant next to what they’d overcome so far.

  We can do this. I can do this.

  He heard a sound behind him and his instincts snapped him from his thoughts quickly as he spun, prepared to face a foe.

  Sonika Vaid offered a rare smile. “Thought I was going to hit you? I still could.”

  His body untightened and he released a breath. “I’m not used to a world where my life isn’t always in peril,” he said.

  “You think I am?”

  It was a fair point. “I guess maybe our lives weren’t all that different,” he said. “Whether rebel or emperor.”

  “I guess maybe I was more wrong about you than I was right about you.”

  “Are you apologizing?”

  �
�I wouldn’t go that far. But if it wasn’t for you persuading both the Phanecians and Terans to march to war…”

  “I wouldn’t have been able to do that if you hadn’t saved my skin from Bane,” he pointed out.

  Sonika nodded. “Let’s call it even then. How is Shanti? She and Jai were…close.”

  “They were in love,” Falcon said.

  “Yes. They were. If there is such a thing.”

  The thought that maybe there wasn’t made Falcon sad, though he wasn’t sure why. “She is sleeping. She is grieving, but too strong a woman to let it break her. Nothing could break Shanti Parthena Laude.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Sonika said, and Falcon sensed dozens of stories behind the simple statement. Stories that would keep him reading for hours if they ever found their way into a book.

  Falcon started to turn away, but Sonika stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “There’s a woman. Four doors down. She asked me to find you. She wants to talk to you.”

  “What woman?”

  “I—I don’t know,” she said, walking away. He frowned after her, certain she was lying.

  Falcon was tired. He was ready to fall into bed. But his curiosity pricked at him. Why would some random woman request a clandestine midnight meeting with the emperor of Phanes? He had to know or he’d never be able to sleep. As he paced down the corridor, he counted off the doors. When he reached the fourth, he found it open.

  He froze. A woman stood before him, halfway across the space. She was tall, as wispy as a dragonfly’s wings. Her skin bore a dark reddish hue, her eyes a pale blue, as wide as full moons.

  A Teran, he thought. Once a slave, then. He wondered when he would stop having thoughts like that. Maybe never. She looked familiar, though he could not place her amongst the hundreds of prior slaves that had served the palace.

  “Can I help you?” Falcon asked.

  “My son,” the woman said. “I—I knew he saw me.”

  It is her eyes that are familiar, Falcon realized. Not the color, but the shape, the intensity.