Deathmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4) Read online

  That was true. Goggin had lived his entire life in Calypso, the city of his birth. He’d fought in two other kingdoms and one other empire, but he always returned home.

  “You could come with me. If you wanted.”

  A smile crept back onto Joaquin’s lips. “Thank you. I am sorely tempted, but my place is here too. I will go on surviving, hoping for a day when our curse is lifted.”

  Goggin nodded. He’d suspected the man’s answer before he gave it. “When do I leave?”

  Joaquin’s lips returned to a grim line. “Immediately.”

  Good. This is good. He remembered his dream, shuddering slightly. Still…an army of monsters could come in handy, especially if used against Calyp’s enemies.

  An idea formed in his head. It was like most of his ideas: outlandish, bordering on madness.

  It’s perfect, he thought.

  Twenty-Two

  The Southern Empire, Zune

  Gwendolyn Storm

  Gwendolyn felt like a sideshow act at a Calypsian carnival. If they have carnivals in this Ore-forsaken place, she thought wryly. She considered lunging at the pit masters hanging around the edges of the bars to her cell, but managed to restrain herself. There was no point in wasting energy. She would need it in the arena.

  “Who is running this horrid place?” she said aloud, to no one in particular.

  One of the guards, a beady-eyed, bony fellow, answered. “Empress Viper herself.”

  “I heard she’s in Calypso sitting on the dragon throne. I mean the day to day operations. Who decides who fights who—that sort of thing.”

  “Why should I answer your questions?”

  “Because I want to make the empress a lot of coin.”

  “How?”

  “Let me fight against both Raven and Whisper Sandes. They can have weapons and I’ll be empty-handed. Ore, you can tie my hands and feet if you want. Make it the main event, an Orian warrior against the First and Third Daughters. You could charge triple—no, quadruple—for admission. And then use the empire’s treasury to bet a bunch of coin on me. You won’t be sorry.”

  The man closed one eye, seeming to consider the proposition. “I know I’d love to see a fight like that.” He shook his head. “But I can’t do anything without the empress’s permission.”

  “Then send her a stream with my proposition.”

  “I’ll think about it. Anything else, Your Highness.” He said the last with a sarcastic sneer.

  “Aye,” she said. “Tell Raven Sandes I’m going to kill her. And her sister.” And then I’ll escape and head for Calypso to finish off the snake.

  The guard laughed. Said, “I’ll do you one better. You can tell her yourself.”

  Twenty-Three

  The Southern Empire, Zune

  Raven Sandes

  A commotion wrested Raven from a restless sleep.

  From the cell beside her, Whisper hissed, “Someone’s coming.” After that first match, against the lions, the guards had found it amusing to have the sisters in neighboring cells so they could listen to them strategize for the next fight. Since then, Whisper had shown her mettle on half a dozen occasions. Each time they emerged from seemingly insurmountable odds victorious, Raven’s determination grew. She would find a way to save them both, or at least Whisper.

  What now? Raven thought, listening to the approaching footsteps. Was it already time for their next bout?

  She crawled to the bars and peeked through, trying to see down the dark, narrow corridor. One of the pit masters, a squinty-eyed fellow she referred to in her head as Weasel, strode toward her cell, but stopped before he reached it. “Get in,” he said to someone Raven couldn’t see. The adjacent cell creaked open, a shadow passed inside, and Weasel slammed the door shut with a clang that reverberated through the stone wall between the cells. He glanced at Raven, offering a sneer, and then left the way he’d come.

  “Hello?” Raven said. It was the first time they’d imprisoned another fighter within earshot.

  No response.

  Whisper said, “What happened? I can’t see a thing.”

  Raven said, “They brought someone else.”

  “Not someone,” a woman’s voice said. “A nightmare. For you, anyway.”

  “You,” Raven said. “The woman from the pits. The…Orian.” The woman who said she wanted to kill me. Not without reason.

  “Yes. Me. The Orian.” There was a cold undercurrent to her reply.

  Still, Raven remembered how she’d hesitated the night before, eventually surrendering, dragged away by the guards. “Why didn’t you kill us when you had the chance?”

  “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  “Lies are pointless. Truth can be a blade when wielded by one with skill.” It was something her mother had once said. Something that had stuck with her, evidently.

  “How noble of you.” The woman spat the words like they were a vile taste in her mouth. “I didn’t kill you in the pit because there were too many guards. I wouldn’t have been able to escape. They would’ve killed me.”

  “They would’ve applauded you,” Raven said. Then again, something about the Orian’s words rang false. She’d seen how she’d moved, her silver hair swirling, her golden, cat-like eyes flashing with ability. She could’ve killed us both and escaped, she thought. So why didn’t she?

  “Aye. Because Calypsians are bloodthirsty barbarians,” the Orian said. Again, that venom in her tone. That hatred. Despite that, something had stayed her hand.

  Then again, her words weren’t far from the truth. At least, at times. “Some are,” Raven admitted. “Else Zune would’ve ceased to exist years ago. Calypsians enjoy battle, the higher the stakes the better. But that doesn’t make us barbarians. We are against the Phanecian slavers, for example.”

  “And yet you attack a city full of children with dragons.”

  “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know—I wasn’t trying to—” Each time Raven started a sentence, she couldn’t bring herself to finish it. Everything sounded like a flimsy excuse in her head. Because they are.

  “Right. As I thought.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So you said. But I guess your gods showed you what they thought of your actions when they stole your dragon throne from beneath you.”

  Finally, she felt a burst of heat in her chest. Harsh words burned on her tongue, but before she could voice them, Whisper snapped, “It was Aunt Viper who usurped the throne, not the gods. And you should know that Raven tried to stop the attack, but her dragon riders mutinied. She almost died. Her most loyal followers, the guanero, did die.”

  “Good riddance.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Raven saw Whisper’s hands wrap around the bars. “You piece of—”

  “Whisper,” Raven said, cutting her off, feeling her own anger fading. “She’s only baiting us.” She turned her attention back toward the other cell, where she spotted a single yellow eye gleaming in the dark. “You are right. I ordered the attack, and though I changed my mind, I failed to stop it. I deserve whatever is coming to me. But Whisper was against it from the start. Try to kill me, get your vengeance, but leave her alone.”

  “No!” Whisper shouted. “If you do, I will hunt you to the ends of—”

  “I will consider your request,” the Orian said. “But can’t make any promises.”

  “Thank you. If you spare her, I won’t fight you. I’ll let you kill me without a struggle.”

  Whisper’s protests grew louder, but Raven blocked them out, listening for a reply.

  “No,” the Orian said. “I want a fight. A fight I will win, but a fight nonetheless. After all, we have to give your bloodthirsty people what they want.”

  “As you wish,” Raven said. Fighting was something she’d always been able to do.

  Whisper had refused to let it go, and eventually Raven grew tired of the argument, resting the back of her head against the unforgiving stone.

  “Eastern legionnaires killed
more than thirty guanero in the Scarra,” Whisper said. “Unprovoked.”

  “Unprovoked?” the Orian said, sounding incredulous. “I know you’re a child, but surely you’ve heard of the Dragon Massacre.”

  “That was what? Fifty years ago?”

  “Some of us have long memories. And it was eighty-four years ago.” The precision of her response made Raven suspect the Orian thought about the event every day of her life. No wonder she is angry.

  “That doesn’t mean you should kill people who were born after it happened,” Whisper said.

  And around and around the argument went. Raven blocked them out, considering what would happen if the three of them did end up in a pit together. She would have to find a way to subdue this new, more tenacious version of Whisper, else the Orian change her mind about sparing her.

  And then I will give her the fight of her life.

  The thought rang empty. This was no ordinary woman. She’d infiltrated the fighting pits, fought through gods knew how many pit masters, found her way into Raven’s pit, and then killed two guanik like they were nothing but feral cats.

  “Who are you, Orian?” she said, cutting off the argument just before it started up again.

  “Like I said—”

  “I know. My worst nightmare, death incarnate, the assassin to end all assassins…”

  “I didn’t say that. Well, not all of it.”

  “I meant, what is your name?” Names had power, Raven knew, and it was about time they stood on equal footing in that regard.

  “Gwendolyn.”

  Nice try. “And your surname?”

  A grunt. “Storm.”

  A bell rang in Raven’s head. Though her sister had preferred art and literature, Raven had been a student of history, spending hours poring over tomes of stories about the Four Kingdoms and the Calypsian’s place in it.

  And that name was familiar. But why?

  “Your great-great-grandfather knew my father,” Gwen said.

  Raven’s heart skipped a beat. There was something hollow about the statement, something unspoken. “Who was your father?” she said slowly.

  “He fought in the Battle of Barrenwood after my bondmate was killed in the Dragon Massacre. My father died at your great-great-grandfather’s hands. Or I should say at his dragon’s breath.”

  Silence. Raven held her breath, afraid to break it. She knew Orian’s lived long lives, but this woman didn’t look or sound more than thirty. My bondmate was killed…my father died at your great-great-grandfather’s hands… And the way she announced this information, so matter-of-factly…she’d disconnected her heart from her past a long time ago.

  Raven knew all about that.

  “Nothing to say, empress?” Gwendolyn said, the mocking back in her tone.

  “No. Like you said, apologies won’t bring back the dead, nor undo the poor decisions that have already been made.”

  “Finally, you speak the truth.”

  That name…Storm…

  Wait. Could it be? Truly?

  It was the only thing that made sense. This woman, this Orian…she’d heard about her. She was a famous enemy, indeed. “You bear a mark of power.” Just like Fire had.

  After that, the silence resumed, even louder than before. But it wasn’t a denial.

  Twenty-Four

  The Southern Empire, Zune

  Gwendolyn Storm

  Gwendolyn wanted to pluck her own heart from her chest, find an iron lockbox to hide it in, and throw away the key.

  Whisper had fought for her sister like a wildcat. She will do the same in the pit. And if she does…

  Gwen would have to kill them both, regardless of what she’d said.

  Ore, why is this so hard?

  Perhaps time and space had quenched the fires of revenge inside her. But that didn’t change the fact that justice was in her hands. Justice for her people, for the legionnaires who’d died defending their homes, their children.

  Years of unserved justice…because of Sandes men and women.

  Gwen listened to the two sisters breathing, deep and even. She wanted to hate them—needed to hate them—but it wasn’t that easy. Roan had ridden behind this very woman on her dragon. Raven had saved Gareth’s life. She’d tried to stop the attack, even if it was she who had ordered it in the first place. That had to count for something.

  Right?

  Why am I here?

  For the first time in Gwen’s long life, she felt completely lost, purposeless. She envied Roan for his sense of truth, having a goal so certain and absolute it might’ve been a mountain in the distance.

  She could’ve gone with him. He’d wanted her to.

  I’m a fool.

  Then again, there was no turning back now. One way or another, the two women sleeping nearby had to die. If she didn’t kill them, they would die in the pits anyway.

  Light footfalls drew her attention to the dimly lit space beyond her bars. A moment later the guard appeared, the same squirrelly man who had transferred her to this cell. “You’re in luck,” he said with a smirk. “The empress said you can have your fight. The three of you will enter the grand arena tomorrow at dusk. Only one shall emerge with their life.”

  He left without another word, leaving Gwen to think about regrets and promises.

  Twenty-Five

  The Southern Empire, Calyp

  Siri

  The sun had grown hotter, more familiar, as she flew southward.

  The landscape had changed, ocean to island to ocean to the big land that stretched to the horizon. She avoided the desert—too many unhappy memories there. Too much ash and death.

  I am Siri.

  The reminder played through her head often. It linked her to the soul she felt pulsing somewhere in the distance. My soul. My Raven. Without the name given to her by Raven, she could feel herself being driven, measure by measure, back to that carnal place of fire and destruction. Her instincts skittered like scorpions, urging her to dive! Dive! To pluck the antlike humans who pointed and screamed from where they ran around the giant glass dome.

  Madness, it was called—what happened to dragons without their souls.

  That call again: Dive! Dive!

  But she didn’t, catching an updraft and rising higher, above the clouds. She’d been to that city once before. With Raven. Always with Raven.

  Her soul wasn’t dead—not yet. Occasionally there was pain, and she clawed at her own leathery flesh until it stopped.

  Now, there was only silence and calm, like the time before a storm. The connection to Raven turned her eastward, and a memory blurred her vision.

  The two-legger was so small, but not weak. Never weak. Even then, she’d been strong and certain. Fearless. Siri was smaller then, too, but still the size of a large guanik, twenty times the size of this child. Her wings were gaining strength day by day, and she longed to fly as her brother Heiron could.

  The two-legger approached, her eyes never leaving Siri’s. ‘You are mine,’ she said. ‘And I am yours. You will be Siri, and one day I will ride you. I am Raven.’

  Siri fought this two-legger for three long years. Every step of the way, she rejected the tasty morsels she brought, burning them to a tasteless crisp. Rejected the name—I have no name—rejected the two-legger’s—Raven’s—attempts to saddle her and ride her like a common four-legger.

  Then came The Night to Change All Nights.

  The day had been glorious, filled with training and victory, a day in which she’d defeated all comers, including both Heiron and Cronus, her strong brothers. Siri had flown like a champion, the air itself her ally, her growing fire an inferno.

  Raven, watching from the steps below, had clapped and whistled for her, but Siri had remained aloof, ignoring her.

  Afterwards, Heiron had congratulated her with a grunt and a swipe of his tongue on her cheek. Cronus had offered nothing but the back end of his spiked tail.

  That night Cronus came for her. She awoke to fangs penetrating the s
oft side of her neck, not yet armored in scales as it would be when she reached adulthood. His claws were fire on her back.

  She screeched, trying to buck him free, but his teeth only sank deeper, his claws rending her flesh. He spoke in her mind. Never again will you make me look weak. Now you die.

  For the first time in her short life, Siri was afraid.

  She felt her blood pouring out, felt her heart slowing in response. Felt her inner fires dwindling. Black smoke poured from her mouth, stinging her eyes.

  Still she fought, twisting her neck to take a bite at him, but he merely dodged the other way, clamping down harder, turning the gush of blood into a geyser. Regardless of her victory during training, he was bigger, stronger, more capable.

  The color of weakness—yellow—flashed before her eyes.

  I am weak. I don’t deserve to live, she thought.

  Something changed. There was a snap! and Cronus released her, rearing back with a roar. He twisted away and Siri fell. Lying on her side, her own blood pouring from her neck and back, she saw a two-legger. A child. Raven. Whip in hand, her eyes flashing with anger and determination, she growled like a lion.

  Cronus shot a jet of flames, but Raven leapt aside, snapping her whip, stinging his nose. He recoiled, his wings beating rapidly. He swung his tail.

  Again, Raven leapt, but was too slow this time, the blow catching her ankles. She flipped, landing awkwardly on her shoulder, sprawling.

  Cronus stalked forward, raising one of his clawed feet to stomp Raven into dust.

  Siri felt something in that moment—a glimmer of something she couldn’t define at the time, but which she later learned was shared strength and love and the connection of two souls separated by the hairsbreadth of the eternities boiled down to a single moment in time.