The King's Marked

by Terina Adams

  He turned back to his men. “What do they teach these peasants?”

  He lifted my face again with the whip at my chin. “It seems you get your wish. Your friend here stays with her husband.”

  He snapped the whip away and turned on his heels. “Tie her to the wagon,” he barked as he strode away. One of the soldiers grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him while behind me I heard Morick roar. I looked over my shoulder to see some of the villagers hold him back. His face was screwed up in rage and turning red. My useless tears threatened again, so I bit my lip to steel my emotions and stared into his eyes with a silent plea for him to turn away and leave. But Morick broke free from those holding him back and rushed toward me. I tugged my arm free from the soldier and turned to capture his charge. He tried to sweep me into an embrace, but I pushed against his chest. “No, Morick, no, don’t do this. You have to look after Nellene and Mother. Please, promise me that. Don’t get taken too.” All the while I forced the fear and the pain aside, but with the flood of his tears, my own fought free.

  Morick sandwiched my face between his hands and pressed his lips firmly to mine. “I can’t lose you,” he cried.

  The soldier wrenched us apart, dragging me backward so I stumbled. “Please, Morick, I beg you.”

  By now the two soldiers grabbed Morick by the arms and threw him back into the crowd. I turned away and allowed the soldier to take me the rest of the way to the wagon. My life was over. There was no point in looking any longer, no point in losing myself in seeing Morick’s pain and allowing him to see mine. The soldier drew my hands out in front as he yanked a rope from inside the back of the wagon and wrapped it tight around my wrists.

  “That ought to keep you still, my lovely.”

  Sensing possible trouble, the captain ordered the crowd to disperse. I didn’t watch who took Morick away, nor did I watch everyone I knew leave the market square. Instead I slid down next to the wheel and closed my eyes. Larissa was spared. At least that was something.

  I wasn’t huddled long when I heard a soft crunching sound coming from under the wagon. I opened my eyes and saw Peeta creeping across the dirt toward me.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered. “Go back to your mother.”

  She continued on toward me, moving like a cat. When she was close, she dipped into her dirty dress and pulled out the half-eaten loaf of bread I’d bought her earlier and came closer to shove it into the pocket of my dress.

  “That was for you and your mother. You keep it.”

  She shook her head. “When will you be fed?”

  “It doesn’t matter. They will give me something on the road. Your mother needs it more than I do.”

  “My mother is dead.”

  I pressed my head on the wheel of the wagon and looked at her. “Oh, Peeta, I’m sorry.”

  She rubbed at her mark. “Did you see the soldier had one too?”

  “They are bad men. You must stay away from them. They will do bad things.”

  Her eyes were somber. “Maybe I’ll see you again,” she said, then scuttled out from under the wagon and away.

  5

  A soldier stood watch over me while the rest of the king’s men took care of the king’s business. With the crowds gone, a solemnity settled over the proceedings. The sky dulled and a chilled breeze brushed past my cheek. I huddled closer to the wagon, curling my legs up for warmth as I watched the farmers hand over their taxes in the form of valuable stock. The line had dwindled, which meant soon we would be on our way. Since there was no way out of my enslavement now, I wanted to be gone before Morick took it into his head to rescue me.

  The villagers handed over their years work without glancing in my direction, sparing me the grief of seeing their pity. I already had enough pain in my heart; I could not carry theirs. It was a relief to see the last farmer leave and the soldiers gather their books and the last of the goods taken as taxes loaded onto the wagon and tied down.

  The captain came around to stand in front of me. His face remained like stone as he looked me over. “Put her in the back with everything else.” I was little more than goods to him.

  A soldier undid my tie from the wagon, not caring if he hurt me or not, but kept the rope around my wrists. Bound still, I was pulled to the back of the wagon. Being jerked about like this, my wound was likely bleeding. God knows it sang a pretty tune of pain. He bent and swept his hand up under my skirt. I kicked out and swung my bound wrists to punch him in the face, but he ducked, then gripped my thigh with his cold hands and hurled me into the back of the wagon. I landed heavily on a sack of grain and my breath whooshed out of me.

  “Save your fight for when you need it, girlie. Like when you’re on your knees.” His hard laugh iced my heart. I glared out at him, but all he did was make a suggestive gesture with his tongue.

  The captain rode up beside the wagon. “That’s enough playing with the food. We have too many miles to cover.”

  He jabbed his horse’s sides with his heels and shot forward out of view. The driver of the wagon shouted a command and the wagon jolted forward. I positioned myself as best I could in the back amongst the sacks, my back to a barrel and my bound wrists resting between my thighs. Down here I was out of the wind, now picking up, and surrounded by the comforting smells of farm life, of home, like the dust of the wheat and the sweetness of the apples. A few spots of blood had soaked through from my wound, but it was minimal, so I wouldn’t worry.

  Smoke rose from chimneys, chickens scratched in yards, dogs ran alongside us, sniffing the air and barking as we trundled out of town. I was looking at a scene from any day in village life. The people would continue with their lives, forgetting about what had happened, forgetting about me. My cottage was on the other side of the village, hidden to me now. I closed my eyes, but opened them again when the haunt of Morick’s face screwed up in rage flooded in. I imagined him sitting at his table, head in hands, dripping tears of grief onto the wood in front of him. He would remember. His heart would not let go. Not for a long time. And neither would mine. At least Mother and Nellene were safe. Morick would keep his promise.

  The sun had long disappeared by the time the wagon pulled over to the side of the road. We’d entered the woods just before sunset and had yet to reach the other side. Never having traveled before, I was surprised at the sheer size of the forest.

  The soldiers talked amongst themselves as they set up camp. They left me in the back, huddled amongst the supplies, as they lit a fire and laughed at each other’s jokes. Their laughter grated through my ears. Each was pleased with the takings. I bowed my head to my knees when I heard how they’d taxed the farmers extra this time for the problems they’d endured during the day, meaning I had cost each of the villagers a season in grain or goats because I had spoken out against their tyranny. They were likely be glad to see the end of me.

  With the sun gone the cold crept in. A fire blazed and even though I yearned to sit beside it, I huddled farther down amongst the sacks of grain. My stomach grumbled with the rich, fatty aroma of meat sizzling on the fire. The soldiers had slaughtered one of the goats, claiming there was more than plenty that would make their way to the king’s table. And the meat from the slaughtered goat would last us the journey. I had no idea how far we had to travel. But already it felt like we’d crossed the span of the kingdom.

  When the captain appeared at the end of the wagon, my heart jumped a couple of beats. The light from the fire caught the left side of his face. The other was shrouded in the night. Since I was huddled deep within the sacks and barrels, it was likely he could not see me.

  “Are you hungry?”

  I thought of not answering, and eating the bread Peeta gave me instead. I was loathed to share any of their food, especially food pilfered from my village. But this was my life now and it would do me no good to refuse to eat, except for making me sick and weak. Left alone in the back of the wagon for the rest of the afternoon, I’d dreamed of escaping and finding refuge in a neighboring
village and then slowly making my way home, and I could not do that if I was starved.

  Rather than reply, I shuffled forward into the partial firelight. The captain offered his arm for me to grab hold of as I shifted closer to the edge. I ignored it and made an awkward, graceless descent to the ground because my wrists were still tied together.

  “Is that the way it’s going to be?” he said as he grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet.

  “Enemies can never be friends,” I said.

  “I wasn’t aware we were enemies.”

  I huffed a heavy sigh. “Spoken like a true oppressor. Do you not think plundering my village and whipping my friend would not make us enemies?”

  “All of the natural world follows a strict social order. Those with strength and power rule.”

  “And those who don’t are turned to slaves.”

  “It is the way of life. But if you are smart, you will see the advantage in turning your enemies to allies.”

  “I would rather die than call you a friend.”

  The captain smiled. From this angle, the firelight revealed only half of his lips now curved up at the corners. I stared at the scar, then into his eyes.

  “Be careful. Wishes can have a habit of coming true.”

  Signaling the conversation over, he led me to the fire and the rest of the soldiers, now licking their fingers. Their cheeks were smeared with grease and some wiped their hands down their sides to finish their cleaning.

  “Look smart, lads, we have a lady who’s joined us for dinner.”

  The soldier closest to me swept an eye over my body. “Doesn’t look much like a lady to me.”

  The captain laughed as he took his seat on the log beside me. “Looks can be deceiving. Give her a bath, some decent clothes and do something with her hair and she would look half respectable.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t teach refinement. I bet she doesn’t know how to use a spoon.”

  “Neither do you,” another soldier called from across the fire.

  “We’re not savages,” I said. “And we can’t help the way we look when your precious king robs us of any wealth we have.” The soldier’s jutting cheekbones created hard angles with deep shadows underneath while he laughed.

  The leader waved an arm at the roast turning over the fire. “Bring us some meat.”

  One soldier jumped up at his command and cut some meat from the carcass laid out by the fire.

  “Enough for the girl,” the leader barked.

  The soldier cutting the meat glared at me, feeding his loathing of serving a slave girl into the pools of his dark eyes. He handed the captain a metal plate full of meat, then headed back to his seat.

  “She has a lot to learn,” the leader said, glancing sideways at me, “but I’m sure young Cerac is up to the task.” This brought a round of lurid laughter from the rest of them. I held his stare, unwilling to be brought down by his condescension. “And a task it may be.” I felt the challenge in his eyes. I had nothing to prove to him, I simply did not care enough, so looked at the plate of meat in his hands instead. Whatever came for me, whatever my path, I was set upon it. I would have to stay alert and learn, then perhaps at some point, I would find a way to make my own path.

  “You after some meat, girl? It’s going to be difficult with tied hands.”

  “Why ask your soldier to cut me some?” I asked with a flat tone.

  He chuckled and picked up a thick slab, which dripped juices and blood. The smell started another growl in my stomach.

  “Here.” He moved the plate over and dangled the meat in front of me, indicating I was to take a bite, making me eat from the hands of my captor, a demeaning act. There was little further subjugation than forcing submission like this, unless he decided to rape me.

  I still had my bread, and I could live on the barrel of apples I used for a backrest. Instead I took a bite. Not because I feared the outcome if I didn’t, not because I wanted to please him. I did it for me. I could not save myself if I wasn’t strong.

  The soldiers laughed and clapped, believing the captain had broken my back. The captain continued to dangle the meat in front of his smirk. I took another bite, and another, filling my cheeks to bursting. One small portion remained, but it would mean my lips touching his fingers, so I ignored it and turned away, with so much meat in my mouth I could barely chew. But at least I wouldn’t need to take any more. That and some of the bread in my pocket would do me for the night.

  “There, see? That wasn’t hard.” He said it like he was complimenting a small child for completing a complicated task. “Perhaps you will be easily broken.”

  It suited me for him to think I was cowed by him.

  He started his own meal, scooping great slabs of meat into his mouth, ignoring me. The rest of the company fell silent too. The crackle and hiss filled the void left from our conversation. For the first time since I started this journey, my body relaxed. At this point no one seemed interested in me besides as someone they could poke fun at. I could put up with that. I was used to snide whisperings and leaded stares. Verbal insults and innuendo hit skin deep, no more.

  The fire cracked, then shot sparks into the sky in a beautiful display of dotted golden light. At the same time, a long howl reverberated through the air. The soldiers stopped their eating. Everyone froze.

  “They will not come close to the fire,” the captain grunted, then continued to finish the last of the meat on his plate. “They’re drawn by the smell. But wolves are cowards.”

  Another howl ripped through the night, closer than the first. I’d never been so far away from the security of four walls before. But since an experienced traveler like the captain was not alarmed, I settled back and tried to find my peace again. It was short-lived when another howl joined the previous two.

  Some of the soldiers looked about, off into the darkness and then at each other, which twitched my agitation. Maybe they were new to traveling and that was why they seemed uncomfortable.

  “Just relax, boys. They’re letting us know they’re here. That is all,” the captain said, then ran his tongue across the metal plate, not wasting a single drop of his meal.

  The chorus of howls ran prickles up my spine. How many were there? They would surely be no match for armed soldiers. The animals tethered to the side of the wagon bleated and shuffled around nervously, as did the horses hobbled together by the tree.

  The captain rose, stretched out his back, then strode across to the fire. He threw the plate onto the pile of dirty plates, which would likely be my responsibility to clean, dove for a mug and poured himself a cup from the can on the fire. He was silhouetted by the firelight, and I saw his stance stiffen with the sound of a strangled howl. His men glanced at him, then turned and stared into the darkness, some joining the captain on his feet.

  There came another strangled howl. This time I recognized it for what it was. A cry of pain. I looked to the captain, seeing he had turned from the fire and faced the forest. Like stone, he peered into the night, a frown etching heavy ridged lines in his forehead.

  I scrambled to my feet and moved closer to the fire. “Untie my hands and give me a knife,” I demanded. Like this, I was vulnerable.

  The captain swept a single glance my way, then strode from the fire, sweeping his sword from the ground where he’d laid it by the log before he sat to feast.

  “What is it, sir?” a younger soldier asked, a tremor in his voice.

  “Ragool,” another answered instead, then spat on the ground. “Wraith pets,” he growled. “They don’t venture this far from the dead forest so early before Hallow’s Eve.”

  “Take your swords and circle the fire,” the captain said, his calm voice laden with steel.

  I stepped before him. “I can’t fight with hands tied.”

  He glared down at me. “You will not have to.” His shove was hard enough to have me stagger on my feet for a few moments while I threatened to fall over. The young soldier who’d not known what they faced caugh
t my arm and steadied me. “Stay close to the fire so I may see you clearly,” he said with a firm tone in an abrupt turn from being my captor to my protector. He’d swept aside his fear in order to face the unknown and fight. That was why he was a soldier.

  “The ragool seek the fire as much as they seek us. The fire strengthens them. Do what you will to keep them away, and I will take care of the rest,” the captain bellowed.

  A shape burst from the forest, its body appearing to absorb the dark. Its eyes glowed blood red. The smell of decay proceeded its approach. It prowled closer, reaching the perimeter cast by the firelight.

  While it walked on four legs, the creature resembled nothing I’d seen before. A long snout ended in fangs, which protruded from its gums at jagged angles. Its leathery skin stretched taut over bone, and when it breathed, the skin rattled. Giant paws ended with claws the length of my fingers, which dug into the soil as it stalked.

  Another emerged close by, and then another. Soon there were six, one for each man.

  “Stay your ground. Keep tight. Remember, none get through to the fire,” the captain said.

  I glanced around me, then spied the knife used to cut the meat only feet away, yet if I moved, I would attract the beasts’ attention, perhaps encourage them to strike. I inched sideways, although my instinct was to dive for the knife, an effort that took my full control.

  Before I was halfway, the lead beast bunched its haunches and pounced, signaling the other five to do the same. The first leaped higher than any animal I’d seen, so high it looked close to flying. It hoped to go over the top of the circle of swords and into the fire.

  I dived for the knife, jabbing my knees into the dirt. The pain in my knees I ignored, along with the pain from my wound. There was no time to try and saw through the rope. Instead I gripped the handle firmly in both hands and staggered to my feet. Something solid hit me in the back, sending me sprawling to the ground with a groan. My bound arms shot forward, the knife along with them, flinging from my grasp and spearing blade first into the ground.