Deathmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4)

by David Estes

  Gaia was frozen, her cheeks stained with tears, her eyes looking at Rhea but not seeing anything, as sightless as that of the man they’d just watched die.

  Rhea slapped her as hard as she could.

  Gaia’s head snapped one way, but then swiveled back; this time, her eyes focused and she saw Rhea, blinking away the shock and stupor. “Please!” Rhea cried.

  A look of determination crossed her cousin’s face and she fell in beside Rhea. Together they lifted the body, until it rested on its side. Not a second too soon, either, as an arrow thunked into their makeshift shield, penetrating Nod’s chest.

  Beside Rhea, Gaia sobbed silently. “He’s…they…Nod was…” She couldn’t seem to find the words or her breath.

  “Cousin,” Rhea said. “He’s gone. We cannot save him, but we can save ourselves. My baby. Don’t let his death be in vain.”

  Gaia nodded, finally gathering a shuddering breath. She shrieked when another arrow hit. This one split his forearm, which rested heavy against his side. The tip of the arrow came within a breath of Gaia’s nose.

  Rhea said, “We have to get lower,” ducking her head. “Stay behind his chest.”

  Pressed tightly together, they made themselves small as arrow after arrow entered Nod’s body. Finally, they stopped, only the sound of wind moving dust across the terrain to break the silence. That and the sound of their own ragged breaths.

  “Is it over?” Gaia asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “I don’t know. But they won’t let us—”

  The sound of hoofbeats cut her short.

  Rhea hesitated only a moment and then hissed, “Cousin! We have to run!” She fought to her feet, dragging Gaia behind her. “Run!” She spared not a look back at their pursuers, making for the river. Getting to the Spear and crossing over into the east was their only hope.

  Rhea’s pregnant belly slowed her speed, and distantly she wondered whether the child was alive and well after her hard dive to the ground.

  The hoofbeats got closer and closer, until they were right on top of them, a crescendo in their ears.

  Gaia looked back and screamed just as a large net fell over them. At first its grasp was loose and they continued to run, fighting the knots of rope. But then it tightened, cinching around their bodies.

  They fell, a tangled mess of rope and arms and legs. Rhea barely managed to twist her body to land on her shoulder, wrapping her hands around her stomach to protect it. Still, the shockwave ran through her and she released a groan.

  Everything was fuzzy. Something swooped overhead, a dark shape. A bird? If so, it was the largest bird Rhea had ever seen, its wings broad and powerful.

  Another shape materialized, this one a human. A man. A shadow at first, but then coming into focus as she blinked. He wore leather armor and a sneer. His eyes were narrow, his skin brown, but not naturally, like he spent most of his time in the sun. His dark hair was tied back, loosely tied.

  A Phanecian, Rhea thought, her mind spinning. And a soldier at that.

  “Westerners,” he spat. Three other men filled in behind him. Rhea could see the horses they’d used to ride them down, black, majestic stallions at least double the size of any steed she’d ever seen in Knight’s End.

  Not good.

  They were at war, and the Phanecians rarely took prisoners, obtaining plenty of slaves from Teragon and the Dreadnoughts.

  “Please,” she said. “Spare us. We will work the mines. We can—”

  “No,” he barked. “Your purpose is to die.” He stepped forward, something glinting from his wrists. Blades, strapped to his arms. Their edges looked as sharp as razors.

  Gaia whimpered.

  Rhea firmed up her chin. This man might kill her, but she wouldn’t die meek nor mild. Nor at all, if she could help it. She had one card left to play, and now was the time to show it. “You won’t kill us,” she said.

  The man stopped, raising his eyebrows. “Oh? You will defeat me in combat? A woman big with child? Her face so scarred and hideous she should wear a bag rather than a helmet?”

  So he had noticed her condition. And her face. And yet he was still planning to kill her. He is not a good man, Rhea thought. I am going to kill him. Someday.

  “Because I am Queen Rhea Loren, and this is my cousin, Lady Gaia. We have come to offer ourselves into your service.”

  The man’s laugh was the only answer she received. And then he raised his blade.

  Rhea whispered a silent prayer to Wrath. Nothing else could’ve stayed his hand. But her words had. She could tell her captor wasn’t convinced she was telling the truth, but at least he was considering the possibility of it.

  The Phanecian soldiers had gathered the women up, thrown them on horses, and led them all the way to the massive stone wall that separated the west from the south. The Southron Gates were even more impressive than Rhea had ever imagined, though she controlled her awe in the practiced manner of a queen. Gaia was less successful, her mouth dropping open and her eyes widening. She looked twenty years younger in her innocence and grief, her dust-blown cheeks streaked with dry tear tracks. Nod might not have been her lover, but he was her friend at the least.

  Rhea knew what it was like to lose both lovers and friends, not that she’d had many of either.

  Eventually, they reached the first of the massive metal gates—except there was no gate, the metal pooled and hardened on the ground, creating an iron floor of sorts. Between the sections of wall was a gaping hole. It was just like the streams had said: The gates had been destroyed by Fire Sandes.

  Now, the posse led them across the flat, dry landscape toward a city.

  Sousa, Rhea thought in her head, remembering the maps she’d studied before departing Knight’s End. She’d been planning a war, and setting foot in Sousa had not been part of it. She’d wanted to bypass Sousa, defeating their enemy at Hemptown before cutting straight to Phanea, the empire’s capital hidden in the canyons.

  “I demand to be taken to your leader,” Rhea said. Which Hoza is in power now? She ticked them off in her head. Vin had been murdered by Bane. According to rumor, Fang had killed Fox, but then had been defeated by Falcon…was that right? “Emperor Hoza,” she said, hedging.

  The man who’d wanted to carve her to pieces laughed, tossing his head back to look at her. “If a Hoza still lives, he is too weak to lead an army of masters of phen ru,” he said. “I am the general in Sousa; I have counterparts in each of the border cities.”

  Fan-rutting-tastic, she thought. This psycho is the man I must convince? Things were looking bleaker and bleaker. Still, so long as her heart beat within her chest there was a chance. Gaia had saved her. She had to do the same. There was too much blood on her hands already, she could not bear more.

  Still, there was something off about his tone when he answered. Something unsaid. He’s lying, or telling half-truths. “If not the Hozas, who commands the generals?” she asked. “Surely you must report to someone, otherwise there would be never ending disputes.”

  He glared at her. “In Sousa, it is me.”

  “Meaning there is another.”

  “If you are who you say you are, you might get to meet the newcomer.” A smug smile found its way onto his lips.

  Newcomer? The Phanecians had a history of hating outsiders. Why would they allow a newcomer to take command? Who would have the power to persuade them?

  A chill rippled down her spine, though she wasn’t certain why.

  Her eyes met Gaia’s, and Rhea offered a reassuring nod, which her cousin managed to return just as the city surrounded them.

  Unlike the towering structures of western cities, Sousa was full of squat buildings constructed of beige stone that seemed to blend into the arid surroundings. Most buildings were jammed so tightly together the alleyways were little more than crawlspaces.

  She couldn’t help but to stare at the foreign world around her. On one side was a snake charmer playing a wooden flute. A cobra’s hooded head bobbed and wea
ved from the edge of a woven basket. Each time the charmer played a high note, the serpent would lash out at one of the children watching. They would recoil, exploding with giggles as the snake pulled up just short of biting anyone.

  On the opposite side was an extraordinarily long spit running the length of an entire building. Pierced by the metal rod was the largest snake Rhea had ever seen, its thick red-scaled body the width of a man’s torso. Its head was propped open wide to reveal enormous fangs and a black gullet. Smoke poured from the dead serpent’s mouth as it cooked.

  A red pyzon, Rhea thought. She’d heard stories, but believed them to be greatly exaggerated. If anything, the pyzon was larger than the stories suggested.

  The next thing she noticed were the slaves. The men were garbed in simple brown tunics and britches, while the women wore drab gray dresses that covered their shoulders and ankles. The vast majority of them bore skin with a reddish hue, their eyes blue and wide, unlike the dark narrow eyes of the Phanecians. Terans, Rhea thought. Abducted from their lands by slavers. Forced to work, living in poverty. Mistreated. She knew these slaves were once controlled by magic, Emperor Vin Hoza using his slavemark to force them into bondage. Now that he was dead, however, their masters drove them like cattle with whip and blade. The masters’ faces were powdered white, as if they wanted their skin to look as different to the Teran slaves as the night from day.

  Rhea felt ill at the sight.

  Though her original purpose for bringing an army to Phanes was to find and rescue Ennis, now that she saw the slaves… They are my purpose, too. This is my redemption. If I can save them…

  She let the thought drop, feeling foolish. I have no purpose now. I am a prisoner.

  She scanned the streets as they continued to ride. Everywhere she looked were leather-clad soldiers. By the looks of it they were preparing for war.

  They know we’re coming, she thought. Well, not us. Sai and the western army and—

  Gareth Ironclad.

  She cursed under her breath, having forgotten all about her alliance with the east amidst the turmoil of her ever-changing situation.

  “I would think such language beneath the piety of a western queen,” her captor said, dismounting from his enormous steed.

  “And I would think a barbarian like yourself would’ve grown used to such words from the womb,” she countered.

  “Like your child?” he said, sobering her. She had to be smarter with her words. Both her cousin’s and her unborn child’s lives were at stake.

  She changed the subject. “Are the Calypsians planning another attack? Is that why your men outfit themselves for battle?” Please say yes.

  “Ha! The Calypsians were crushed by the Ironclads. Viper Sandes has usurped the throne, sending the empire into chaos. They have no guanero. No dragons. The Calypsians will hide for another two decades searching for dragons’ eggs. Without their fiery monsters, they are nothing.”

  Rhea tried to hide her thick swallow. She said nothing.

  “If you must know, there has been a slave revolt in Phanea. The masters there have been overthrown.” He stopped his horse at a small building with an iron door. There were several windows with bars. Dirty hands hung from between them.

  “Really,” Rhea said, eyeing the prison. Despite the harsh potential it held for she and Gaia, she was unable to hold back her smug smile. They don’t know about the attack from the west. Not yet. This was better than she could’ve possibly imagined.

  “It is a small matter. We are already testing the rebel forces, which are untrained and ill-prepared for a long-term revolution. We shall squash them like scorpions.” He dismounted, a long fall from the back of his tall horse. He handed his reins to a groom, who began tending to the horse. Another approached Rhea, climbing a set of wooden steps that were pushed over to her horse’s legs. She clambered down.

  Oh, this is too good.

  “Not if you are attacked from the west and east at the same time,” Rhea said nonchalantly.

  The Phanecian’s eyes were molten steel. “There is no attack coming. Our spies in the west would’ve—”

  “Your spies are dead,” Rhea said, cutting him off. It was true. As soon as she’d made the decision to attack Phanes, she’d had the furia monitor all the streams night and day. A dozen men and women had been caught trying to send streams to Phanes with information on the impending attack. Rhea had them executed immediately.

  “You lie.”

  Rhea puffed herself up as much as she could, raising her chin. “I am Queen Rhea Loren. I ordered the attack myself.”

  The Phanecian lunged forward, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her down. Pain spiked between her shoulder blades and she feared for the welfare of her unborn child. “You are no queen, woman. Your life means nothing to me.”

  Rhea’s head was swimming, and tears rose unbidden to her eyes. Somewhere, Gaia screamed. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even gasp, couldn’t—

  A shout rang out. Hoofbeats. More shouts. Voices materializing. “General! We have spotted an army.” The pressure on Rhea’s neck weakened and she managed to suck in half a breath, the air burning her clenched throat.

  “The rebels?” the general asked.

  “No. They are beyond the Gates to the north. There are thousands. They are flying two flags. The rearing stallion of the west and the crossed swords of the east.”

  Almost grudgingly, the Phanecian pried his fingers away from Rhea’s neck and she gasped, clutching at her skin. His gaze was filled with hatred. “You better truly be who you say you are or I will finish what I started.”

  “I am,” she croaked. “Take me to the newcomer, the one who commands you.”

  His lip curled into a snarl. “As you wish. Though you may regret it.” His fist came out of nowhere, cracking against her temple.

  Darkness closed in.

  Thirty-Nine

  The Crimean Sea

  Annise Gäric

  Annise officially hated the sea. Well, not looking at it from land, where it was beautiful and blue and majestic; she just didn’t like being on it.

  She leaned over the railing and threw up for the…hundredth? thousandth?...time. She’d lost count. “Breathe, Annise.” Tarin’s voice soothed from behind as he held back her hair. Of course, the big lug had no problems with motion sickness. Other than the demon voice in his head, he never seemed to have a problem with anything.

  “Thank you,” she said as he helped her to a sitting position, her back propped against a salt-stained pillow. A strong tailwind filled the canvas sails above her. “Do you find me repulsive yet?”

  He dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin and offered a water skin. “Not if you grew a second head,” he said lightly. “The Annise I know conquered an ice bear, a usurper monster, and a sellsword murderer. The sea will not defeat you.”

  Smiling wryly, she took a sip and swished the water around her mouth to clean it, spitting into a cup. “I thought a voyage across the sea was meant to be romantic.”

  “It is,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Haven’t you seen Archer? Ever since he went below decks with that western maiden he’s had a huge grin plastered across his face.”

  Annise wasn’t thankful for the reminder, but she was thankful for the support from the west. Rhea had come through, providing a stalwart ship with a full crew of shipmen and quarterstaff. Of course, Archer had flashed his smile at the prettiest one and she’d very nearly fainted on cue. Annise hadn’t seen much of either of them since then.

  “Did my nose itch?” Archer said, climbing the steps to the foredeck.

  “There’s pink on your lips,” Annise said flatly. She wasn’t annoyed that he was having a good time; she was annoyed that it wasn’t she who was having a good time. With Tarin. On her maiden voyage.

  Archer reached up to rub at the corner of his lips.

  “The other side,” Tarin said, gesturing to the offending spot. Archer tried the other corner but only managed to smear the pink lip
shade over more of his mouth.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” Tarin and Annise said at the same time. She had to hold back a chuckle. Archer would be Archer.

  “I thought western women would be more prudish,” he said.

  “I thought you said you were playing a board game below decks,” Annise said.

  “Aye. Yes. Exactly. A board game. It’s the same game Sir Metz and Private Sheary have been playing. Hours of amusement.”

  Tarin’s head jerked up at that. “She’s Tarin’s cousin,” Annise warned. “A little respect.”

  “Tarin’s only just met her. Frozen hell, he didn’t even know he had a cousin until a fortnight ago.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should tease him,” Annise said. “Have you seen his hands? C’mon, Sir, show him.” When Tarin didn’t respond, she lifted one of his meaty hands into the air. It might’ve weighed a stone. The skin was pale and crossed with black, bulging veins. Tarin had wanted to wear his armor during the voyage but Annise had forbidden him—iron plate would make swimming impossible in an emergency.

  Archer gaped. “It’s just a hand,” he said uncertainly. “A big white one, aye, but just a hand.”

  “I’ve seen this hand crush stones and bend iron,” she said.

  “Surely you exaggerate.”

  “Mention Mona Sheary again and you will find out.”

  Archer opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and then said, “The captain says we could make landfall as early as tonight.”

  “Truly?” Annise tried to keep the quiver of relief from her voice but failed miserably. The only good thing about sailing had been the distraction from what she’d witnessed during their travels across the kingdom. Her kingdom. Blackstone had been the worst, a ghost town. The castle was empty and barren, much of the furniture and wealth already looted. As they passed through to the harbor, Annise could feel eyes on her from the buildings. It would be years before the city could be restored to its former self.