Deathmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4) Page 12

  The impact knocked the air from Raven’s lungs, but she managed to scrabble to her feet, screaming at Whisper to “Run to me! To me!”

  Her sister took off, her long legs kicking beneath her dress, which seemed less tattered and dirty than it should’ve been. The second lion was already upon her.

  Sensing the first lion close behind her, Raven flicked her wrist with practiced precision, watching as the leathery tendril snapped out, cracking just before the second lion’s eye. Surprised, the beast skidded to a stop, snarling.

  Raven, still running, pointed toward the wall. “Climb!” It was the only thing she could think of, though clambering up the sheer wall seemed an impossible feat. Obediently, Whisper cut left, toward the wall.

  Raven knew she was out of time. She feinted right and dove left, hearing the snap of jaws in her wake as the lion missed once more. I need another weapon, she thought as she rolled, shoving back to her feet. Something with a blade.

  To buy time, she spun and snapped her whip, the first lion recoiling from the blow, pawing at its nose.

  Raven bolted for the weapons rack. To her surprise, Whisper was heading in the same direction. “No!” she shouted. “You have to climb!” But Whisper was undeterred, reaching the rack first, using the metal struts as handholds, pulling herself up several feet. Clever girl. She reached for the top of the wall but was well short, even on her tiptoes.

  Her head swiveled and Raven could see the fear in her eyes. But there was something else, too, something Raven had begun to see in Whisper more and more these last months, since Fire had died.

  Determination.

  Raven gritted her teeth, pushing herself to go faster, occasionally turning back to snap her whip at the lions, which were proceeding more cautiously now, realizing that cornering their prey might be the best approach.

  Run. Stop and turn. Snap whip. Run again. Raven repeated this process until she reached her sister. “I’m coming up,” she said. “You can stand on my shoulders.” Perhaps it would be enough for Whisper to reach the top, to pull herself up. Whisper nodded.

  Once more, Raven turned and snapped her whip, stinging the closest lion’s nose. It snarled but backed away. In one swift motion, she hauled herself up and lowered her hands to create a step for her sister. Whisper stepped up, her bare foot small and slender, her weight featherlike next to the adrenaline pumping through Raven’s veins. She lifted her onto her shoulders, training one eye back toward the lions, which were prowling forward cautiously, eyeing the whip dangling from Raven’s fingers.

  “Hurry.”

  Above her, Whisper’s weight shifted as she pushed onto her toes once more, stretching for the lip. “Got it!” And then the weight was gone, throwing Raven off balance. She tumbled from her thin perch, her shoulder slamming into the unforgiving ground.

  Above her, amidst the press of the crowd, Whisper hung, slowly fighting to clamber to safety. Several members of the audience actually seemed to be helping her, which surprised Raven. Perhaps this was a spectacle the likes of which they had never seen, and the thrill of being a part of it had overtaken their desire to witness blood and death.

  Or perhaps seeing Raven—their last empress—mauled by two lions was enough to sate them.

  Either way, Raven didn’t care—her sister would live.

  And she wasn’t done yet. She pushed to her feet, catching a glimpse of fur on the edge of her vision, reached for one of the larger weapons on the rack—a dual-edged axe—and swung it around with reckless abandon.

  The lion crashed into her, its foreclaws sinking deep into her chest, its mouth opened, its teeth snapping.

  A metallic tang filled the air and the lion’s eyes rolled back in its head. The weight was immense and she was exhausted and injured, pinned like a fly on a board.

  Raven’s only thought was: Where is the other one?

  Doesn’t matter. Whisper is safe. Wait…what is she—

  Above her, Whisper had slung her legs back over the side of the wall, dropped to a hang, and then she—

  Let go.

  For a moment, she seemed to hang in the air, even as the second lion pawed its mate’s body off of Raven, releasing that enormous weight, saliva dripping from its maw, its yellow eyes blazing with hunger—

  But no, Whisper, what is she doing?

  The lion pounced.

  Whisper slammed into its head, something glinting, bouncing off and falling away, landing hard on her tailbone, her head snapping back and colliding with the ground. She went still.

  Whisper went still.

  The lion, looking confused, toppled over, blood flowing from the top of its head, where a dagger was imbedded in its skull.

  The crowd roared.

  Raven’s heart pounded.

  And Whisper remained still.

  They’d hauled away her sister’s body like a sack of oats. Raven couldn’t tell whether she was breathing.

  And though her heart was in her throat, her vision swamped with unshed tears, she felt only one thing for Whisper in that moment:

  Pride.

  From the day her youngest sister was born, she’d been the underestimated one, living in the shadow of a firemarked sister and a born warrior, both destined to rule the empire ahead of her.

  Yet she came back for me. She saved my life.

  Someone clamped shackles on her feet, her wrists, but she barely felt them. Barely felt the puncture wounds in her chest, which leaked blood, soaking through her tunic. Barely felt the deafening roar of the crowd washing over her.

  She felt only one thing: the will to live.

  Now I live for Whisper.

  Eighteen

  The Southern Empire, Citadel

  Gwendolyn Storm

  She was water. She was molten ore. She was death incarnate for this woman—this Sandes woman. Only one problem: Roan.

  She waited for them to separate, to go their separate ways, but they were talking like coconspirators, their heads pressed close. A third person, a young girl, appeared by their side, listening in to their conversation.

  To Gwendolyn’s horror, the threesome climbed into a carriage pulled by two large guanik.

  What is happening? Gwen thought. Has Roan lost his mind?

  She slid through the crowd, which was beginning to thin out, always staying in Roan’s blind spot, picking up her pace as the carriage began to move, the pedestrians giving the beasts at its head a wide berth.

  The vehicle started to move faster as the scaly creatures accelerated.

  Gwen, feeling her heromark burst to life, raced forward, grabbing the lip at the back of the wagon and throwing herself feetfirst beneath the carriage. Her toes found purchase in a knot in the wooden crossbeams while her fingers continued to grip the edge. Wheels rattled on each side. Voices drifted down from above.

  “…Blackboots should’ve just spoken to me, told me the truth. Why all the secrecy and coded messages?” Roan, his voice full of that contagious fervor that had first attracted Gwen to him.

  Another voice, presumably Windy Sandes. “Long-held secrets are the hardest ones to share,” she said. “If he truly is the son of the Western Oracle, he has been alone in his knowledge for more than a century. Perhaps he is testing your commitment before he brings you into his confidence.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Testing his commitment? How? What test? Gwen glanced to the side as structures began to flash by. They were in an alley now, heading through the city, away from the archives at the center.

  “Is there nothing you can do for Raven and Whisper?” Roan asked a few moments later. So they’re alive, Gwen thought. Deep inside her, she’d always known they were.

  “They’re already in Zune.” Zune. Oh. Viper is indeed a snake if she would send her own nieces to fight in the pits.

  “What about an official stream? You could ask the pit masters to keep them safe, to not make them fight—”

  “Viper owns the pit masters. They will not go against her orders. I’m sorry. I w
ish I had more sway in my own empire, but long have I been away from Calypso. None would recognize me there.”

  Oh, Roan, Gwen thought. Your heart is as soft as ever. It was his best quality, she knew. And his biggest flaw.

  “How far is it to the harbor?” Roan asked.

  The harbor?

  “Not far. The city is set back from the coast a bit, but these beasts will make short work of the distance.”

  “And the boat?”

  “Has been arranged.”

  Ore, Gwen thought. Where is he going now? And why would he include Windy Sandes in his plans? I have to stop him before she destroys everything he’s trying to do.

  The urge to clamber around the edge pulled at her muscles, but she resisted it, biding her time.

  Silence fell for a while, and then the buildings gave way to open air and the cracked earth of the desert. They remained on a path of sorts, though it was only evident by the deep ruts formed by the passage of hundreds of carts and carriages.

  Her heromark pulsed dully on her cheek. She hated that name: heromark. Like it only allowed her to do heroic things. An Orian legionnaire, after seeing her use her mark in battle to save a man’s life, had coined the name and it stuck. Was assassinating each of the Sandes heroic? Her people might think so, but still, something about using her power to kill in cold blood felt wrong.

  Thankfully, her anger and desire for revenge burned hotter than her doubt.

  Gwen waited several long moments, until they were clear of the eyes of the city, and then made her move. She was behind them in a heartbeat, her arrow already strung and pressed against Windy’s head, which was a nest of brown-gray swirls of hair.

  “I was wondering when you would show yourself,” Windy said nonchalantly, as if just exchanging pleasantries. “You’ve been hounding us since I spotted you near the archives.”

  Gwen was surprised she’d been spotted, but it was no matter. Nothing had changed.

  Roan said, “Gwen? What are you—how did you—why are you pointing that at Lady Windy?”

  Just in front of the other two, the young scholar girl said, “Roan, you know this woman?”

  “Yes. I thought I did.”

  Gwen’s eyes met Roan’s, and she hated the way he looked at her—with horror. “Lady Sandes, you mean. I’m saving you from yourself.”

  He shook his head. “If you’ll just listen, I can explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain. You were there. The Calypsians attacked us, they brought dragons into our lands, slaughtered our people, tried to kill Gareth. Me.” She was surprised that her voice cracked on the last word.

  She’d been avoiding her true feelings for a while now. Because they were selfish. Unimportant in the grander scheme of things. It shouldn’t matter that Roan hadn’t come back to find her after the battle was over, to make certain she was okay. It didn’t matter.

  But it did, the hurt running deep, feelings Gwen hadn’t felt in a long time, feelings she didn’t want to feel ever again.

  But she did.

  “Gwen, I’m sorry. I thought it best to—”

  “I know. And you were right to leave quickly, else you mightn’t have left at all. You did what you had to do for your noble vision of peace.” She hated the venom in the last four words, but she couldn’t help it. He’d been blind for too long. “Peace cannot be achieved until people like this woman—this Sandes woman—are stopped. Then you can do your Peacemaker thing and save the world.”

  “You sound like Bane,” Roan said.

  Gwen cringed away like she’d been slapped. And yet…hadn’t she thought the same thing on the journey here? Hadn’t she rationalized her actions by Roan’s naivete and the truth behind Bane’s actions—that he was, in fact, ridding the Four Kingdoms of those who sought destruction and war?

  “Maybe you should listen to what he has to say. After all, he bears a fatemark, too, just like you.”

  To her surprise, Roan nodded. “You’re right. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There’s some greater purpose to all of this, to the fatemarked, to my life, to yours. Bear Blackboots left a message, asked me to travel to Teragon, to show me—”

  “Teragon?”

  “Yes. That’s where it all started, I think. That’s where the Oracle had the visions. You can come with us if you—”

  “Us? Ore. First Gareth and now you? I see you’re still the fools I always knew you were.”

  Roan frowned. “Wait, what about Gareth? What are you talking about?”

  “He tried to ally with Empress Viper. Tried to trade gold for her dragon as a sign of good faith. Guess what? The dragon escaped.” She released a mirthless ha! “I’m certain the war will burn as hot as ever now.”

  Roan said, “Please. Forget about all of that. What we’re doing is more important. It could change everything. Just come with us. I want you to come—”

  “No.” She spoke that word quickly, cutting him off before she could hear more of the excitement in his tone, before his belief could seep into her and divert her from the course she knew she had to take.

  “Why not?” His question hung in the air, another frown dragging his expression down. “Wait. Why are you here?” His eyes darted from the arrowhead—still pressed to Windy’s skull—and then back to her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “The Sandes are a plague on these lands. They need to be stopped. If no one else will, then I will do it. Perhaps that is my role to play.”

  “It’s not. And Windy isn’t the enemy.”

  “No? Where has she been all these years, while her people have warred with the east? Where was she when the dragons burned my people alive in their armor? Just because she wasn’t riding the beasts doesn’t mean she isn’t guilty. She did nothing to stop them either.”

  “So you mean to kill Raven and Whisper, too?”

  “If the pits of Zune haven’t already killed them. I’ll save the viper for last.”

  Roan’s face was stone. “You’re a stranger. This person—this vengeful assassin—it’s not you. It’s not the Gwendolyn Storm I know, the woman who rescued Gareth from my sister, who fought for her people in Ferria, who is known as a hero in the east.”

  “I am the same woman. Just because you don’t like this side of me doesn’t change the fact that it’s who I am.”

  “I reject that.” The sadness in his tone started to break something in her, but she forced the feeling away and tightened her grip on the bow. “Do this, and I will never speak to you again.”

  She drew the arrow back, gritted her teeth, and then released.

  Nineteen

  The Southern Empire, Citadel

  Roan Loren

  Roan could see the moment of decision on her face, his lifemark flaring with heat even though he knew the arrow would pierce Windy’s brain before he could do anything to stop it.

  He crashed into Windy, knocking her to the side, falling on top of her, pouring every ounce of healing power into her, white light blinding him, obscuring his—

  “Roan.”

  His body jolted at the word, for it was not spoken by Gwen or Yela, but by Windy Sandes, her grainy voice cutting through the rush of blood in his ears.

  His lifemark faded to nothing as he looked upon her face. She blinked. Her eyebrows rose. Her chest, too. He could feel her heartbeat between them. She was very much alive.

  “Would you mind getting off me?” she said with a hint of amusement.

  “But Gwen—the arrow…” He craned his neck to look toward the back of the carriage. Citadel receded in the distance, the guanik continuing their jaunt toward the harbor, ignorant to all else but their goal.

  Gwen was gone.

  “The Orian shot wide on purpose. See.” She pointed to the side, where a long metal arrow protruded from the hard-packed earth.

  “Stop the carriage,” Roan whispered.

  Windy uttered a command and the guanik slowed their gait. Roan hopped off before they came to a complete stop, Yela close on h
is heels. “Where are you going? She’s gone. And a good thing too, that woman was half-mad and—”

  Roan wheeled around, thrusting his finger in Yela’s face. “Not another word,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Yela flushed and she took a step back. Immediately, Roan felt bad. This girl from his past had been thrust into a situation she knew nothing about. From her perspective, he could see how a strange silver-haired Orian showing up and pointing an arrow at her mentor would appear crazy. “Look, Yela, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about that woman except that she threatened Lady Windy.”

  “She’s been through a lot.”

  “Fine. But so have I. So have you. And we’re not going around trying to assassinate scholars.”

  It was a fair point, but then again Yela had never felt what it was like to bear a fatemark, to feel the pressure that came along with it. The responsibility of so much power. He turned away, locating the shimmering shaft of the arrow. He moved toward it, bending down to pick it up. It was embedded in the dirt halfway along its length, and it took him a bit of digging to get it out. He inspected it. Half was pristine, polished to a shine, while the other half was marred with dust. Like Gwen. Like me.

  Did I drive her to this dark place when I left Ferria without seeing her? Was it like losing her true love all over again?

  “I’m a fool,” Roan muttered, wondering how he could’ve been so hardheaded. Of course, Gwen would need support. The last time the dragons had attacked her home they’d killed her bondmate. Her father had perished soon after. He couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like to hear their roars again after all these years, feel the heat of their flames, the wind buffeted by their powerful wings.

  “So the fate of the world rests with a fool then,” Windy said, suddenly standing by his side. “Luckily, I’m going with you.”

  A better man would turn back, try to find her. Talk to her. Convince her to go with him.