Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3) Page 2

  Instinctively, she knew she saw the world differently than others. Some would call her blind, but that wasn’t exactly true. She might not be able to see the outward physical nature of her surroundings, but what she saw held far more truth; for she saw the soul of every living thing, pulsing, alive, the truth behind a wall of lies, a single grain of sand amongst billions.

  She relished the joy of dancing across the soul of the world, feeling it breathe beneath her feet.

  Hours later, the night began to fall away, her star-friends fading one by one, and she stopped, tumbling to the snow, breathing ghosts into the lightening sky.

  A wolf howled. Then another.

  She sat up, looking around. They weren’t wolves—for they didn’t have the cool blue souls of wolves, ever stalwart—but something else, something larger, their inner beings red slashes of lightning, hungry, ever hungry. There were ten, twenty, a hundred, a sea of predators racing over the snowy hills, cresting one and descending another, starting up the final slope to where Lisbeth sat catching her breath.

  Riding each beast were other souls, a combination of light and dark, bold and fearless and intense. They were violent shadows that had tasted blood.

  Something pulsed through her: Not fear, exactly; more like curiosity.

  The first of them reached the hill’s apex, skidding to a halt. Though blind in the typical sense, she sensed the weapons: spears raised, shoved forward, their blades surrounding her.

  “Uz nom nath kahlia!” one of them said, a grunt that seemed to come from the deepest part of his throat. You have broken the pact, Lisbeth understood.

  “Iz nom klar,” she spoke, the rough words hurting her throat. I have just arrived.

  The one who spoke, perhaps the leader, cocked his head to the side, his soul displaying the gray tide of confusion. “Uz Gurz hom shuf? Cut?” You speak Garzi? How?

  “I don’t know,” Lisbeth said, instinctively reverting back to the language that felt more comfortable.

  “Filth language,” the creature said. “Now you must die.”

  He raised his spear over his head just as the sun appeared, orange rays reflecting tongues of flame across the blade. This Lisbeth could see, though it was naught but flashes of light on the edge of her vision.

  Lisbeth closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready to die; she had only just arrived.

  Bright blue light burst from her forehead, piercing the vision of the multitude gathered before her, both riders and beasts. The Garzi cried out, their voices raised together, their weapons dropped as they tried to cover their eyes.

  In that moment, she revealed their souls at all their extremes. The darkness. The lightness. The pain. The betrayal. The fear. The joy.

  The light died away, leaving only the mark on Lisbeth’s head: a single, blue eye.

  The Garzi warriors crashed from their mounts, screaming, scrubbing at their ears, at their eyes, at their heads. The beasts fled, abandoning their masters, knocking into each other in their haste to escape.

  Rivulets of blood streamed from noses and ears, streaking the snow.

  Even once it was over, the fallen warriors continued to shake, wracked with shivers though they were not cold.

  Lisbeth opened her eyes. Her other eye, marked on her forehead, vanished, leaving her skin as pristine as freshly fallen snow.

  She saw what she had done—hundreds of souls, cracked, wracked with pain—placed her face in her hands, and wept.

  Two

  The Northern Kingdom, Castle Hill

  Annise Gäric

  The night was a snow-haired queen wearing a crown of stars. The queen’s eyes were the moons, one green, half open, and the other red, just a sliver peeking out from behind a dark eyelid.

  Annise sighed, wishing that being a real queen was as magical as the false one in the sky. Instead it was full of impossible decisions, unbearable sacrifices, and a lifetime’s worth of heartache.

  Frozen Lake stretched out in front of her, disappearing on the horizon, reflecting moon and starlight. What secrets do you hold? Annise wondered to the night.

  The urge to relinquish the crown back to her younger brother, Archer, and depart Castle Hill to find Tarin still arose from time to time, but she tamped it down. That was something the old Annise would do. The new Annise would fight for her people, her kingdom. The new Annise wasn’t selfish.

  Then why do I have to keep telling myself?

  She turned away from the night, shivering despite the warm blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The temperature had dropped the last few days, ever since that night when Archer finally opened his eyes. With his awakening, it seemed, winter had awakened as well.

  Annise slipped back inside, closing the door to her balcony behind her. Warmth from the hearth instantly unfroze her bones, causing her skin to tingle.

  Archer was sitting up in bed, staring at her.

  She couldn’t help it—she flinched. Though, for the last three days, her brother had been waking up more and more and for longer periods of time, it was still a shock whenever he did. It was like she’d grown so accustomed to his unconsciousness that him sleeping seemed more natural than him being awake.

  “Does my face truly scare you, sister?” Arch said, smiling weakly.

  I remember when his smile used to light up the entire kingdom, Annise thought. Now it doesn’t even light up his face.

  She released a breathy laugh, pulling her blanket tighter against her skin. “Only the awakeness of it.” In truth, his face did scare her a little. His skin was far too pale, save for the dark half-moons under each eye. Worse, his cheeks were too skinny, the bones protruding at sharp angles. The sum of the changes was that he looked even more like their younger brother, Bane, than she’d like to admit. Bane, the same brother who’d sent Archer into unconsciousness in the first place, she reminded herself, not losing the irony.

  He yawned. “Shall I go back to sleep?”

  “No,” Annise said quickly. “Well, yes. That is, if you’re tired, you should sleep.” The healer was strict in her instructions: Archer should continue to sleep for long periods to allow his body to fully recover from the injuries suffered at Raider’s Pass.

  “I’m tired, but I don’t want to sleep ever again,” Arch said. “I’ve got bedsores all over my body—my back, my legs, my—”

  “I’m sure your many admirers will rub a soothing balm on them for you,” Annise cut in.

  “If you’d let me see them,” Arch said, and Annise was glad the quickness was returning to his mind. He’d always been one of the few in the castle who could rival the speed of her tongue.

  “It’s for your own good. We don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

  Archer narrowed his eyes and chewed his lip, not looking convinced. His tone turned serious. “What I really want to know is: How did I get knocked out in Raider’s Pass and wake up in Castle Hill?”

  Annise cringed. It was the question she was hoping he wouldn’t ask for a good long while. She’d received a three-day respite, as he’d been too weak to do more than slurp soup, sip water, and sleep, but now there was no dodging it. She decided to face it head on.

  “Well, there was a horse attached to a cart. And you were in the cart. The horse pulled the cart, and here we are.”

  “I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, sister.”

  “It’s a permanent attachment to my body, lest I fall into despair.”

  “Annise.”

  “Archer.”

  “I’m the king, I need to know what I missed. I’m ready to lead again. To rule.”

  “About that…”

  She was saved by a knock on the door. “You may enter,” Arch said, sounding kinglier than he had since reawakening.

  Sir Metz entered, bowing at the waist. As usual, his silver armor was so well-polished Annise could see her wobbly reflection in it.

  “Good evening, Sir Metz,” Annise said. “Allow me to formally introduce you to my brother, Archer. Archer, this knight was respo
nsible for your protection many times while you slept. May I present Sir Christoff Metz.”

  “Well met, Sir,” Archer said. “Thank you for your service. Now what can we do for you?”

  “Do for me?” Metz asked. “Nothing. I serve the kingdom.”

  Arch cocked his head to the side and glanced at Annise. She shook her head. She could explain the knight’s eccentricities later. “What my brother meant was: Why have you disturbed us so late?”

  “That’s a rude way of putting it,” Arch muttered.

  Metz looked right at Annise when he said, “Apologies, Your Highness, may I have a word?”

  Frozen hell, Annise thought. Could he be any less subtle? The answer, of course, was no. Sir Metz was about as subtle as a stampeding mamoothen trying to enter a castle by a small door.

  “Of course,” Arch said, sitting up straighter. Annise saw a flash of pain cross his face, but then it was gone, hidden behind her brother’s calm, confident expression. “Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of my sister.”

  Metz looked at Arch, then back at Annise. “Yes,” Annise said, hoping to salvage the situation. “Speak freely in front of both of us.”

  The knight raised an eyebrow, but then said, “A stream has been received from Darrin. There is a storm gathering strength in the east. It looks to hit Castle Hill directly.”

  “We have weathered many storms before,” Arch said. “Why are you telling us this?”

  “Because we have delayed depart—”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Annise said. “That will be all.”

  The knight, seeming almost relieved, bowed again and departed the way he’d come, leaving them alone once more. Annise avoided Archer’s stare as it bore into her from the side.

  “Why did he stop answering my question upon your command?” he asked.

  Annise said, “There is much I need to tell you.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Just like ripping off a bandage…

  “I had a name day, Archer. I’m eighteen now.”

  “And?” He still didn’t get it, still hadn’t thought things through enough to understand. I guess that’s what happens when you’re brought up assuming you will be king someday.

  “And you’ve been unconscious for more than a fortnight.”

  “A fortnight? That long? I suspected, but I couldn’t be certain. I think I understand what you are saying.”

  “You do?” Annise was surprised at the lightness in his tone.

  “Of course, sister, my injury didn’t dim my wits. You’ve been leading my soldiers, haven’t you? Knights like Sir Metz have been obeying your commands while I slept. They’re in the habit now, and we haven’t formally returned the torch to its rightful holder.”

  “Archer—”

  “Tell me everything. The sooner the details are filled in, the sooner I can return to the throne and decide the next course of action.”

  “It has already been decided. I will be going north, into the Hinterlands, along with Sir Metz, Sir Dietrich, Sir Jonius, and maybe some others. We are going to find the Sleeping Knights.”

  Arch frowned. “Enough japes. I’m no longer in the mood.”

  Annise sighed. She could understand why her brother would think it a joke. The one-thousand Sleeping Knights were said to have been the elite soldiers of the early northern kingdom, established shortly after the first Gärics had splintered off from western rule, declaring their independence. Annise’s ancestor, the fourth Gäric ruler, King Brown Gäric, was said to be a strange man, a superstitious recluse who dabbled in sorcery. After his elite squad was formed and trained, he’d supposedly found a way to grant them immortality, so they would always protect the north from invasion. However, what he didn’t know was that once they were made immortal, they would leave him for the Hinterlands. According to legend, they’d left because they were not truly needed, and only when they were called upon in the north’s true time of need would they awake from their slumber. That was hundreds of years ago.

  Annise sighed again. “It was no jest.”

  His frown deepened. “The first thing I will do is revisit this decision. On whose authority was it reached?”

  “On mine,” Annise said, rising to her full height and jutting out her jaw. “Under northern law, you have not yet reached the age of rule. I have. I am the queen now.”

  Three

  The Northern Kingdom, East of Castle Hill

  Tarin Sheary

  Tarin, the man known by most as the Armored Knight, wished he wasn’t so good at killing.

  Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to leave. Maybe then I could’ve been happy.

  “You look like you want to curl up in a ball and sleep,” Fay said.

  He glanced at her sharply, but the blacksmith who’d designed both his armor and weapon, the enormous spiked ball attached to a chain, known as Morningstar, wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she peered forward through the wall of lazy, fat snowflakes that obscured much of their vision.

  Tarin sighed. He should’ve kept his helmet on—he wasn’t used to his emotions being so easily deciphered. But, back at Castle Hill, he’d finally grown used to having it off, to people seeing the real him, the monster.

  Fay, much to his chagrin, was undaunted by his pale, translucent skin, nor the dark, protruding veins filled with blood as black as tar. When he’d removed his helmet, she’d given him the barest of glances before nodding like she’d suspected as much.

  “Sleep does not come easily to me these days,” Tarin admitted.

  Because of her. Because of what I did to her. Tarin, in his heart, knew Annise would be better off without him. Safer. She was strong, the strongest woman he’d ever met. Stronger than him in a lot of ways, despite the supernatural blood running through his veins. Then again, if harm were to befall her when he could’ve protected her by staying…

  He would never forgive himself. He didn’t know what he would do, the very idea sucking away his breath and spreading poison through his black veins.

  The memory of the last night they’d spent together felt like needles in his skull.

  “Nor to me,” Fay said, washing away his thoughts. Tarin immediately felt bad. Since the moment they’d departed Castle Hill, he’d made this journey all about him. Well, about Annise, too, but mostly about him. About his self-loathing, his anger, his fear.

  His pain.

  But Fay, he knew, had demons, too, else she wouldn’t have left with him.

  “Why can’t you sleep?” he asked.

  “I—” She stopped abruptly, clamping her mouth shut. Tarin stopped, too, watching her, waiting patiently. Her boy-short hair was hidden beneath a woolen cap, her gray eyes darker than usual in the waning light. It was so quiet he could hear the soft rustle of snowflakes landing on the ground. It was the calm before a major storm, he suspected, an unintended metaphor for whatever was to come.

  Fay started walking again, silent.

  Tarin fell in beside her. He knew what it was like to have secrets—he wouldn’t push her to reveal them.

  Though he’d intended to make this journey alone, slipping away from the castle surreptitiously, Fay had caught him on the way out. Without having to ask, she’d known exactly what he was doing. I’m going with you, she’d said, and he didn’t have the energy to argue. It was like the entirety of his reserves had been spent writing his goodbye note to Annise.

  “Where are we going?” Fay asked now. He was surprised she hadn’t asked sooner, but for a while she seemed content with simply knowing they were going away.

  “Darrin,” Tarin said. It was the first time he’d admitted it aloud.

  Fay frowned. “Why? There is nothing there. Most of the soldiers were sent to Blackstone to die. It is an empty city. The easterners will take it, perhaps sooner than anyone thinks. Long have they coveted the Castle of Blades.”

  Tarin didn’t answer, focusing on one trudging step after another.

  “You’re going there to die,” Fay said. />
  “No,” Tarin said quickly. Truthfully, when he’d first made the decision, he had wondered whether this was an attempt to kill himself. But no—“It’s the only way I know how to protect her from afar,” he explained.

  “She doesn’t need protection.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean I can stop trying.” And there it was: the truth of the matter. So long as Annise had breath in her lungs and blood in her veins, he would never stop trying to protect her. I can’t be near her, but I can’t be away from her either. It was an irony he knew he might never make sense of. Thus, they were headed to Darrin, rather than simply disappearing from the face of the earth forever, like Tarin had originally intended.

  “You’re a good man,” Fay said.

  “Not good enough.”

  “For what? For Annise? Did you think to ask her? Did you consider her feelings on the matter?”

  Tarin stopped, whirling around. “She doesn’t know what’s inside me, no one does! I’m dangerous! I hit her! In my bloodlust, the monster raging inside me, I couldn’t recognize her, I hurt her, I could’ve—I might’ve—I couldn’t control…” He sank to his knees, the heat cooling in his chest, the sting of tears pricking his eyes.

  Fay kneeled beside him, roped an arm around his shoulders, and rested her cheek on his armored shoulder. “And yet sometimes you’re as dangerous as a puppy,” she said.

  An exhausted laugh burst from Tarin’s lips. “A rabid puppy perhaps.”

  “Look, Annise isn’t dead and neither are you. In this world, during this time of war, that’s more fortune than most of us get. Don’t give up on yourself when no one else has.”

  With that said, she stood and walked away, into the building storm.

  Her shadow trailed behind her, seeming to darken more with each step.

  Four

  The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End

  Rhea Loren

  Queen Rhea Loren, first of her name, felt as if she’d lived three lives: