Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure Sword and Highland Magic

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  They hadn’t dared bring Ghrenna in the front of the guesthouse with everyone dressed in thieves' garb. So Elohl carried her up the side of the inn and through the window of the thieves’ rooms, as no one else could climb it with the burden. But Ghrenna keened in pain the entire time, shivering and shuddering atop Elohl’s back. It was pandemonium for a moment, Elohl rushing her to the bed as she thrashed again, her screaming whenever he touched her face, trying to soothe.

  Elohl stepped back in tortured frustration as the lanky man in thieves’ blacks ripped off his gloves and threw them at the bureau with a murderous glance at Elohl. Sliding to the bed in haste, he laid his long-fingered hands carefully to Ghrenna’s temples, just as he had done before in the deep shadows of the hedge. She was hardly breathing, deathly pale, still thrashing violently. Elohl’s heart twisted as he watched, helpless. Something inside him gasped for life, too raw, too open, in agony every time she thrashed, every time she keened. Here she was at last, and he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t soothe her as he’d once done so well. Couldn’t even lift fingers to her beautiful white skin. Couldn’t cup her face into his hands and stare into those mesmerizing eyes that haunted him.

  Because every time he did, she seized.

  The other two had made it in the open window and were now lighting the lamps as Elohl knelt on the bare boards by Ghrenna’s bedside, allowing the healer his charge. Clearly, whatever he was doing was having a positive effect. Her jerking was quieting; her color was returning. Her breathing had steadied, and her face wasn’t a rictus of pain anymore. As the tall man worked, her eyelids started to flutter. And finally opened.

  Her gaze fixed upon Elohl, penetrating, ancient with gravitas. Her eyes were a darker blue than they had ever been, twin pools of midnight, and his mouth ran dry. Eyes that knew too much, that had seen too much, they bored into Elohl's soul. Tingling lanced through him, spreading over his skin like the humming of bees, over his shoulders, down his chest and spine, collecting in the center of his back. From the moment their eyes had first connected tonight, it had risen, drumming in his skin, searing through his muscles and sinews, a counter-reaction to whatever was happening to Ghrenna. His goldenmarks were alive with flame, surging whenever he looked at her, blistering whenever they touched, running like lightning through his limbs now as they stared at each other in the sallow lamplight.

  Unearthly in her intensity, Ghrenna drew him, yet also made him want to run, to climb, to leave, to be anywhere but in her presence. It was as if her eyes knew things, things Ghrenna herself didn’t even know, as if they waited for something. Drawing a future into place that was only just set in motion. And now they pinned him, laid him bare, as if to accuse him that he was supposed to be doing more. Doing something, starting something.

  Finishing something.

  And looking at her now, wanting her, Elohl could feel them both shivering with the connection like they stood upon the topmost peak of the Eleskis during the height of a thunderstorm. Her beauty in this moment was terrible, even more than he remembered. Luminous, her tundra-pale allure was like a full-moon night over snowfields, something ethereal that didn't belong upon this earth. Twin spots of color barely brushed her cheeks, like the first rise of dawn over ice. Her full, pale lips breathed with a dire chill that wraiths promised, seductive and destroying.

  “Aeon! I thought I lost you, woman!” For a moment Elohl was confused, having thought the words came from his own lips. But then he saw Ghrenna’s attention shift. Felt her gaze leave him with a sudden destruction of their connection, taking in the golden-maned Luc, who had his hands still gently wound in her cascade of white-blonde waves. A wisp of a smile lifted Ghrenna's lips for the rogue.

  Elohl's gut clenched in sudden anger.

  “I’m alright, Luc. The pain’s down.” She pawed at his hand weakly. “You can stop.”

  “You’re not all right.” The man glared over his shoulder at Elohl. “If my hands weren’t busy right now I’d be throttling you, Kingsman. What the fuck did you do to her?!”

  Elohl had no words. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His golden Inkings had quieted some. But now that Ghrenna fixed her attention back upon him, they surged with renewed vigor, searing, almost violent.

  “He didn’t do anything, Luc.” Ghrenna spoke. “It’s just… I was triggered again.”

  “Bullshit! He touches you and you start keening like your head is being split by spears.”

  “That never used to happen.”

  “Never…?” Luc glanced over his shoulder at Elohl, then back to Ghrenna. “You two? You used to be lovers?!”

  “It was a long time ago.” Elohl murmured.

  Ghrenna looked at him again with that fathomless blue gaze. Elohl’s Inkings roared, liquid flame rippling across his skin, diving deep inside him. Ten years hadn't been long enough to forget those eyes. Eyes that haunted him when the wind howled outside his dugout, when blizzards raged five days long. Eyes that reflected in the ice when his hands were numb and his iceaxe dull and every movement was agony. Eyes that blinked him awake from his dreams into a nightmare where an assassin’s knife was at his throat and the cut had begun, and he had nothing but his hands to fight with.

  Eyes that ruined his heart, that terrified him. He felt them upon him, no matter what he was doing. Whenever he was alone, they were there. There was no place in the world where he could outrun them. And now they were here, and she was watching him. And all he wanted to do was touch her, to drink her in, to surrender beneath her and give himself up entire. Elohl couldn’t break away from that pull, those fathomless pools that had somehow become stronger through all their years apart. The tingling in his limbs seared, like every nerve had been lit on fire.

  “A long time ago.” Ghrenna finally echoed, showing Elohl all the agony in her soul before she suddenly wrapped it up into stillness. Closing her eyes, she sighed. As if their connection was too much, too hurtful, too aching to maintain, as much as she wanted to. Elohl felt her relief, his Inkings quieting also.

  Pushing herself up to sitting, Ghrenna kept her eyes closed, the thief Luc and the woman Shara helping her. At last, she seemed to be doing better, propped up against the headboard of the rickety bed. Shara bustled about, fetching water and hustling downstairs after she had slung on a plain-cut dress, to wake the harried innkeeper to fetch everyone a late supper. The young cur who had thrown a knife at Elohl was lingering by the window, pacing. But though Elohl sensed the lad had a short fuse, he was strangely respectful, keeping his distance.

  Luc still shot Elohl vicious glowers. And even when his hands fell from Ghrenna’s head at her insistence that she was better, Elohl noticed his fingers would still stray to the back of her neck, possessive. At last, Ghrenna took a deep breath, her midnight-deep eyes seeking him again.

  “Elohl… the last time I saw you, you were on the road in the mountains.”

  “You’ve been having visions of me?” Elohl wanted to reach out, to take her hand. But he held himself immaculately still, knowing what would happen if he gave in to the temptation. Luc blustered, glowering, his fingers straying to Ghrenna’s neck again. She didn’t shrug him off. Elohl heard a cough from the young dark-haired man near the window.

  Ghrenna ignored them, her fathomless gaze fixed upon Elohl. “I saw you almost die in an avalanche, once. And then there was an assassin who tried to slit your throat. I saw you a few times on ice-climbs. And then on the road. And then…on top of that Stone.”

  “You saw me up there?” Something trembled through Elohl, a fae wind whispering in his goldenmarks.

  “You seemed asleep, but there was a man with you.” She eyed Elohl's greys, which were done up tight, not showing much of his golden Inkings except the smallest bit at the neck. But her gaze traced his chest, his shoulders, as if seeing them anyways. “He had the Kingsmount upon him, but it was different. And he had Inkings of red and white, like Elsthemi fire-opals, all over his shoulders, chest, and down his spine. He was
speaking to you.”

  “Could you hear what he was saying?” Elohl leaned forward, wondering if Ghrenna could illumine what the man had said to him.

  But Ghrenna shook her head. “I heard nothing. Just glimpsed the scene.”

  Disappointment hollowed Elohl’s gut. A bitter taste rose in his mouth, not the same burning he’d used to endure, but akin to it. Here again, even with all Ghrenna’s abilities, was a dead end as far as what had been done to him atop that Stone. And now it was worse, these golden Inkings triggering a dire reaction between himself and Ghrenna. Something neither of them understood. Something that split them apart.

  “Did you come here… looking for me?” Elohl murmured, needing the answer.

  Ghrenna blushed, looked down. “No. We came looking for Olea. I didn’t know you were here.”

  Elohl’s heart chilled. A seeping sensation filled him, like cold lake water. Something he’d thought gone since he’d sat atop that pillar. He set his jaw, fighting it, willing it to retreat, something about the burning in his golden Inkings able to push it back just a little. Ghrenna hadn’t meant her words to be hurtful. But she’d also not been looking for him.

  As if reading his mind, though, she suddenly spoke. “I didn’t know where to find you, Elohl.” Her blue eyes pinned him, fervent. “If I had, I would have come, I swear it. But all I ever saw were ice-climbs, mountain vistas, you shivering in hovels of snow…”

  Her gaze was wretched. His heart surged for her. It wasn’t her fault. He knew she couldn’t control the visions, couldn’t direct them. She’d been just as helpless as he, feeling their connection all these years, unable to find each other. Elohl felt that ease he recalled from his dream atop the Stone ripple out suddenly, his Inkings glimmering warm and peaceful rather than searing.

  “I forgive you.” He murmured, knowing he meant it.

  Her breath hitched. Her eyes tightened. But Ghrenna held her emotions, just as she always had, and no tears were shed. She only nodded, accepting his reconciliation. “Have you found Olea, here in the city?”

  “I have.” A smile wisped over Elohl’s lips. “She’s well. Captain-General of the Guard. We’ve been meeting when she has moments free, over the past few days.”

  Ghrenna’s answering smile was relieved. But then her smile faded. “Elohl, you should know… Suchinne is dead.”

  There was a long silence between them. At last, Elohl raised his palm to his Inkings. “I suppose it was too much to believe we would all survive ten years. Olea and I have both been hunted, fought off assassination attempts. How did it happen?”

  “Be glad you didn’t see it.” Ghrenna swallowed hard. “She died in battle at the Valenghian border. That’s all I will say.”

  “And Dherran?”

  “Hot-tempered as ever.” A smile flickered over Ghrenna's face. “He’s a prizefighter. He went renegade from his regiment just like I did. After he tracked down and killed Suchinne’s… murderers.”

  Elohl nodded, and the silence stretched, awkward. He leaned back, running a hand through his brush of black hair, then down over his scruff. “Olea’s done well for herself. She’s close to the Dhenra.”

  “Elyasin?” It was Luc who piped up, showing sudden interest. “This Olea is close to the Dhenra? How did she ever manage that? I thought every Kingsman left would be in prison, if not hung. Except for those in hiding like Ghren.”

  Ghrenna gave a small smile. “Olea had a private relationship with the Dhenir.”

  “Forgive me for interrupting such fond remembrances,” Luc growled, “but can I point out the obvious? Your sister was fucking the Dhenir?”

  “Why do you care?” Elohl kept his voice measured, holding back a rising ire with the healer.

  Luc scowled under his golden brows, not one to be subdued. “That’s my business, you fucking Kingsshit! And I don’t think your presence here is doing anyone any favors! Just because you’re a Kingsman and have a sister close to the throne doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone else! And what were you doing skulking around the top of the Penitent’s compound tonight anyway? Not so noble now, are you?”

  Elohl didn’t say a word, just kept the man firmly in his gaze. Authority rolled from his skin in cool waves. At last, the thief before him flinched, his green eyes skittering away. “I was up on the wall tonight trying to find out information from the Jenners.” Elohl murmured at last. “If you have a problem with me, thief, I invite you to challenge me in single combat.”

  Luc’s face grew hot, flushed. “You’re on, whoresshit! I’ll fight you anytime, anywh—”

  But he got no further, Ghrenna’s hand lighting on his arm. “You don’t want to fight Elohl.” Her gaze flicked to Elohl. There was a plea in those depths, that wrapped around his heart, choking it. She and the thief were lovers. It was obvious in the furious set of Luc’s shoulders, the pride in his face. It was there in the way Ghrenna held Elohl’s gaze, willing him to see the depth of her misery. How she had been alone all these years, and lonely, just like Elohl. And her need for the comfort of someone’s arms.

  “Well why the fuck not?” Luc simmered. “He’s a good inch shorter than me, and no more than eighty stone soaking wet!”

  “Because he’ll kill you.” Ghrenna murmured, her attention still upon Elohl.

  “Him?” Luc eyed Elohl dangerously, but with consideration for the first time. “Bullshit. I can take him. I can take Gherris, and I could take him.”

  The slender, dark-haired man lounging at the window stepped forward. “Don’t fight him, Luc. Please.”

  And the plea from this sullen cur eased Luc’s temper more than anything. He seemed to settle, eyeing the young, dark-eyed man curiously. “Never heard you say that before.”

  “I’ve never said it before. But I’ll say it again. Please, don’t take his challenge. If he kills you, we lose our livelihood. If you kill him…” The young man looked stricken. A mixture of faint hope and dire woe was plain in his ruined gaze as he and Elohl regarded one another. “If you kill him, I’ll never have anyone I could ever call Rakhan.”

  Elohl blinked at the young man. A beat of silence passed in the room. And then, Elohl put his open palm to his chest. “Alrashemnesh aere veitriya Rennkavi rhavesin. Sin Rakhan. Siere tut me lhin.”

  “You’re not a Rakhan?” The young man was crestfallen. “You seemed so—”

  “My father was Rakhan of Alrashesh. I gained a certain… way… from him.”

  The young thief chewed the inside of his lip, vulnerable. “Then you should be Rakhan, like your father.” It was nearly a plea.

  “Siere tut me lhin. I’m sorry, but I’m not. I’m rennkavi.” Elohl’s palm was still over his Inkings.

  “Rennkavi? What? You should be Rakhan! Why have you turned from your father’s path?” He was shaking now, shivering with a deep inner battle that Elohl knew nothing of. But he knew better than to apologize again. Anything he could say now would only make it worse.

  “What’s your name, Kingskinder?”

  “Gherris. Gherris den’Mal.”

  Elohl understood at last. “My father often had messages from a Rakhan Ghennys den’Mal, from the Second Court of Valdhera. Are you Second Court?”

  The young man swallowed hard, his dark eyes flashing bitter anger. “Yes.”

  A soft inhalation came from the woman Shara, who had returned during their conversations with a basket of food. She walked forward, standing just behind Gherris as if she wanted to reach out to comfort him. But she had better sense, instead hovering just out of reach of the wretched pup. Elohl's gaze roved over the young man, judging him to be no more than twenty-five. Whatever his past, he'd lost his family at fifteen when the Summons came.

  And had been fighting the ghost of his father ever since.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Elohl murmured.

  “You know nothing of it!” The young cur snarled, bitter and wild.

  “You’re right. I don’t.” Elohl sighed. “I only know the desperate l
engths I went to, to protect my own family, and a depression so deep after they disappeared that I tried to kill myself no less than thirteen times.”

  Elohl began unbuckling his charcoal Kingsman jerkin and pulling the laces of his dark grey shirt open. It was time to bare it all. Time to admit it to himself and to others who would understand, just how dark his years had been. And strangely, he felt it was right tonight, a calm suffusing him as he began to roll up his sleeves after the shirt was unlaced.

  “Three failed attempts to slit my wrists.” Elohl murmured, showing the wretched scars on his inner wrists. “One failed attempt to slit my own throat. Two thwarted attempts to leap from the top of a frozen waterfall. Six tries to drink myself to death. I started a riot in a bar, once, to see who could best me to the grave. None of us Kingskinder escaped whole. All of us are damaged, Gherris. It’s just that some scars show more than others. But no scar,” he pulled his shirt down now, baring the black markings of his original Kingsmount and Stars, “Is more important than this. This binds us as family. And I intend to see that family reunited someday. Whole. With your help, and Ghrenna’s, and anyone else here,” his gaze touched on Luc, then Shara, “who might sympathize with our plight, we just might have that again someday. And answers. And justice.”

  “Justice.” Gherris licked his lips like a hungry dog.

  “Justice is found in a court of law. Not by vigilantism.” Elohl admonished sternly, feeling the young man needed a lesson.

  Gherris blinked, startled that Elohl had read him. He swallowed hard. “Tell me of law, and I will find it.”

  “Not me, Gherris. We need my sister Olea for that. Politics, law, and negotiation, those are her strengths. But for now, do you know the Alrashemni code? Do you know what each star means?” Elohl bared his chest, allowing the young man to see the Inking in its entirety.

  The younger man licked his lips nervously. “Strength. Flexibility. Wisdom. Knowledge. Patience.” The young man’s tortured grey eyes flicked up, roiling with an unspoken need.

  “Patience.” Elohl repeated, touching the very leftmost star on his chest. “Patience, Kingskinder. And we will all have justice.”

  Gherris nodded, his gaze alight with a fever Elohl knew all too well. But he seemed mollified for the moment, and Ghrenna’s pull caught Elohl once more. It had been gone for a time, while he was speaking with Gherris. But it had returned, crawling over his skin along the spread of his golden Inkings, digging into his gut. Spearing his heart, demanding that he do something.

  Something far more than he knew how to.