Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5) Page 4

  Roan looked aghast. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m joking. Lest you forget my personality.”

  A shy laugh slipped from Roan’s mouth. “Sorry, I just—a lot has happened. Not all of it good.”

  “Tell me.”

  Roan did, and by the end of it Gareth wanted to hit something. Or someone. Specifically, the Western Oracle; if she was still alive, that is.

  “She created the man who is leading a horde of barbarians across the Four Kingdoms, slaughtering anyone who stands in their path?”

  Roan nodded.

  “And you’re not angry?”

  “I was,” Roan said. “Very. I felt…betrayed. All this time I thought the Western Oracle was a noble woman with a grand plan for peace.”

  “And now?”

  A faraway look appeared in Roan’s eyes, and Gareth thought perhaps he was remembering something from his time in Teragon. “I think maybe that is still true, but her methods were misguided.”

  “You think?” Gareth couldn’t help the scorn that entered his voice. Finally, for the first time in over a century they were on the verge of peace, and now this?

  “Honestly,” Roan said, raising his eyebrows thoughtfully, “I don’t know anymore. All I know is that she died for something she believed in, which is more than most of us will be able to say in the end.”

  The words weighed heavily on Gareth’s mind, especially because of the note he’d received from Annise Gäric earlier that day. “There’s something I have to do,” he said. “Speak later?”

  “You’ll be at the council?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for peace in the Four Kingdoms.”

  Roan managed a smile, but it vanished quickly. “And Gwen?”

  “She’ll be there too, even if I have to drag her myself.”

  Roan nodded. His eyes drifted shut once more and he leaned into the sunshine.

  Gareth’s gaze lingered on him for a selfish moment longer before he slipped away. He needed to know whether his streams to Sarris had received a response.

  “What?” Gareth said, frowning at the dripping parchment. “Sarris has no inkreeds at all?”

  The Phanecian stream worker took a step back, as if expecting to be hit. “Stream locations all over the Four Kingdoms have experienced the same interruption. It seems those responsible for delivering inkreeds are no longer performing their duties.”

  Gareth couldn’t really blame them. Crossing borders during dangerous times such as these was no easy task. Still, frustration prowled through him, like an ore panther through Ironwood. How was he to help the northerners when he couldn’t even communicate with them or his own capital city?

  He could send a messenger the old-fashioned way, but he was no longer willing to entrust such an important duty to someone he didn’t know. Which left one final option:

  He would have to ride to Ferria himself.

  Six

  The Southern Empire, Phanea

  Bane Gäric

  Bane hovered in an ethereal place between worlds, watching as the delegates from each of kingdoms and empires entered the broad banquet hall now being used as a council room.

  He felt like a ghost, a silent observer.

  It was not so dissimilar to how he’d felt his entire life.

  I should be a ghost, he thought. I should be dead.

  But he wasn’t, if only because Roan Loren, the Peacemaker created and prophesied by the Western Oracle, had healed him from the plague that had afflicted him. He still remembered what Roan had said when Bane had asked why:

  I did it because we need you. Your time is not yet come. I don’t know everything, but I know that. And because your last act should be your best one, not your worst.

  “We need you,” he whispered. No one had ever needed him. All those he’d met had feared him. The only man he’d ever considered his friend, Chavos the plaguemarked, had tried to kill him. The man who’d raised him, Bear Blackboots, had abandoned him.

  But Roan had not. He’d even invited him to this very place, to take part in the proceedings.

  Somehow it only made Bane feel more alone, more pitiful and hated. The first ever fatemarked council was about to begin and he knew he could not be a part of it, not truly.

  For I am not fatemarked, he thought.

  I am deathmarked.

  And he had not yet killed the number of rulers required by the prophecy, by the marking split into ten equal segments on his scalp.

  No.

  There was still work to be done.

  Seven

  The Southern Empire, Phanea

  Roan Loren

  All eyes were on him, and suddenly Roan’s idea for the first ever Fatemarked Council didn’t feel like such a good idea. After all, who was he to guide kings and queens and emperors and empresses toward peace in a land embroiled in war? Roan could almost hear Gareth’s voice responding in his head: Uh, you’re the Peacemaker, you dolt! Of course it should be you!

  The thought actually helped, as did seeing Gareth enter the grand room through a side door, a hint of amusement crossing his lips as their eyes met.

  Roan wanted to smile back, but then he saw who Gareth was dragging behind him—Gwen. Adorned in the magnificent armor of Ironwood, she looked beautiful and strong and…

  She refused to meet his eyes. Roan had never seen her look so uncomfortable, a fact that would’ve been disquieting in the best of times.

  Roan shook his head slightly, willing himself to focus. Whether she liked it or not, he would talk to Gwen after the council was finished.

  He scanned the area before him, which had once been a grand banquet hall used by the Southron emperor for entertaining the wealthiest and most influential Phanecians. Under the prismatic light from the crystal-studded chandeliers overhead, slaves would’ve served him and his guests, largely unnoticed and ignored.

  Now, however, the space had been converted into a large council room, an enormous circular table brought in and outfitted with a few dozen chairs. Though invitations had been sent to a select group of people—those who were fatemarked or had a direct role in the leadership of their respective nations—the attendees had also been allotted several spots to fill with their counsellors, if desired. As such, almost every seat was now taken.

  From the east there were Gareth and Gwen, as well as a pair of generals who had served the iron realm for more than two decades. From the west were Sai Loren and his siblings, in order of age, Wheaton, Gaia, and Ennis. They were surrounded by several advisors, including the red-garbed, sharp-eyed Furies. Roan’s sister, Rhea, was noticeably absent, having recently given birth to a daughter. Thus far, she’d refused to see anyone, attended only by a pair of stubborn midwives who provided cryptic one-word answers to even the simplest of questions. From the neighboring southern continent of Calyp was Raven Sandes, who never seemed to be far from Gwen’s side these days. The Calypsian empress had requested that a wall be knocked down so her dragon, Siri, could attend the council, but the other councilmembers had voted against it. Now, a giant dark eye stared through the east-facing window. I see you, Peacemaker, the dragon said as its eye met his gaze. Roan couldn’t help himself—he flinched. Though it wasn’t the first time the dragon had spoken directly into his mind, it still unnerved him. Raven only grinned while most of the other attendees shrank back from the dragon’s presence. Representing the Phanecians were Emperor Falcon Hoza and several women from a rebel group known as the Black Tears, including Sonika Vaid and Shanti Laude, both of whom Roan had met in the days since the battle. Even the pirates had representation on the council in the form of a young man who wore a blade for a hand—Grey Arris. His sister, the young halfmarked girl who had helped save numerous lives during the last battle, was next to him, followed by the one-legged pirate king who bore the other half of her marking. Their names were Shae Arris and Erric Clawborn, respectively. Last, and perhaps most surprisingly, were the representatives from the north, a Sir Dietrich who was swordmarked, and the soulmarke
d woman, Lisbeth Lorne. Though several councilmembers had protested their presence—specifically, Sai Loren—because they’d been associated with the ancient army known as the Sleeping Knights who had almost killed them all, Roan could not deny them. No, the decisions they would make today would affect them all.

  Roan was not alone either. He’d invited Windy Sandes and his friend and fellow scholar, Yela, to attend. Though they were Calypsians by birth, he knew them well enough to trust they would favor the interests of the Four Kingdoms as a whole over their country of heritage.

  Only one who’d been invited was missing, and Roan pointedly searched the shadows in the corners, just in case. He shook his head. Bane would not come, and Roan hated that he felt relieved. Adding the volatile young man to the mix might’ve been like creating a spark in a room full of fireroot powder.

  He refocused on the meeting and its purpose: To make a united decision about how to combat the threat they all now faced. Each ruler would receive one vote, as well as each fatemarked, or at least that was what Roan had stated in the invitations. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get a single word out before another voice rang out.

  “I hereby reject the notion that any of the sinmarked should receive a vote.” All heads turned toward where Sai Loren now stood, one fist set on the table while the other hung at his side, dangerously close to the hilt of his sword. He was dressed in full battle armor, his jaw locked, as if he expected the meeting to end in a fight to the death.

  Sinmarked. That word. It was a term Roan had feared his entire life, when it had been taught to him by Markin Swansea while growing up in Calypso. But he feared it no more.

  A chair screeched across the floor as it was shoved out. Gwendolyn Storm glared at Sai, and Roan knew he was about to lose control before the council had even truly begun. He cleared his throat and her yellow eyes flashed to his, truly meeting his gaze for the first time since they’d been reunited. Something passed between them, though he wasn’t certain what. He gestured for her to sit and after a moment’s hesitation she did.

  “Respectfully,” Roan said, keeping his voice even, “those bearing a mark will hereby be referred to as ‘fatemarked.’”

  “Why? Have the fatemarked done anything but bring greater violence to a world already plagued by it? No, I say. The sinmarked are unnatural creations, and I consider any who support them my mortal enemy.”

  The words were like darts to Roan’s heart. This was the west he’d been taught to fear, a land of ignorance and mistrust, a land where those different were hated simply because they were different. But was there anything salvageable? He wasn’t sure where Rhea stood, but she wasn’t exactly available right now, and any hold she’d had on the throne seemed to be fading fast.

  “The so-called sinmarked saved your life in the Bloody Canyons,” a new voice said. Emperor Falcon Hoza was now standing. He wore a leather vest, his muscular arms tanned and bare. His dark eyes were trained on Sai, a note of challenge in them. “Lisbeth defeated the Sleeping Knights with the help of the halfmarked.”

  The young, willowy blind girl bearing the soulmark shifted uncomfortably at being mentioned. Roan had tried to speak with her several times since the events of that day, but thus far she’d been quiet, as if the memories were more than she could tolerate.

  Sai’s upper lip curled with unmasked disgust. “That thing”—he spared a harsh glance at Lisbeth—“brought annihilation to our very doorstep. Reports have been arriving all week. The Knights sacked Bethany, wiped Restor from the map, destroyed Cleo. My cities. My people. My kingdom. Forgive me if I cannot commend her for her actions in the Bloody Canyons. Do you deny she was responsible for awakening the Sleeping Knights in the first place?”

  Roan could not. She’d admitted that much at the least. She’d done it with good intent—to save the north from defeat at the hand of the easterners—but it was still a bitter truth for someone like Roan to swallow. So much violence spawned by one small act… He shook his head, but not in response. “She lost control, yes, but in the end she stopped them, else we would not be sitting here speaking today.”

  “Ha!” Sai scoffed. “You may be of western descent, cousin, but you are Calypsian through and through. Excuses on top of excuses.”

  Empress Raven Sandes, the only true Calypsian on the council, was on her feet in an instant, whip in hand and at the ready. Her threat was punctuated by the growl of the dragon outside, which rumbled through the wall, rattling the table.

  Sai’s expression blanched. “I’m surrounded by heathens and demons,” he said. “Now it’s time this farce of a council came to an end—at least my part in it.”

  “Wait,” Roan said.

  All went still and silent. “Sit. Please. All of you.”

  Glares were exchanged between those still standing, but slowly, one by one, Falcon, Raven and Sai returned to their seats.

  Roan took a deep breath. “We have our differences, even I can admit that.” Sai huffed out a scornful laugh and looked ready to say something, but Roan raised a hand to silence him. “I’m not finished. We have our history, a history filled with violence, mistrust, and hatred. So much blood has been spilled on these lands. But now we face an evil greater than any we have ever known, greater than the differences that have separated us for centuries. This evil does not seek to conquer, but to annihilate. Their goal is not land or power, but destruction.” Roan paused, and he couldn’t help but remember that it was the Western Oracle who had created the very situation they now faced. The fresh fires of anger rose in his throat, but he swallowed them down. They might not be fully responsible for the evil that beset them, but that didn’t mean they could avoid facing it. His eyes roamed from face to face, meeting each gaze, trying to connect with these people in such a way that they’d be able to feel what he felt. Hope in unity. “We must form an alliance of fatemarked and unmarked, king and queen and emperor and empress and commoner. It is the only way to survive the HORDE. We are all responsible for the fate of the Four Kingdoms.” He paused, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for one of them to understand, to extend an alliance that crossed borders and kingdoms.

  Sai stood and Roan held his breath. “Bravo. A fine speech. Perhaps it will move the weaker minds in the room, but even with the tip of your sword pressed to my throat I would not agree to such foolishness. My cousin might’ve entered an ill-advised alliance with the east, but that is over. The west owes the Four Kingdoms nothing but vengeance. We will defend our borders against the Horde and the rest of you, for you are all alike in our eyes. Enemies.”

  Roan should’ve felt anger, but the strength of his disappointment outweighed all else. The day had begun with such hope… “Do your brothers and sister share your view?” he asked evenly.

  Sai glanced to the left and right, as if daring his siblings to contradict him. Wheaton met his gaze with a nod of solidarity, while Ennis refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Gaia, however, stood. “I do not,” she said. There was a slight quiver in her voice, but her eyes were full of steel, green and piercing. In some ways, her defiance reminded Roan of Rhea.

  “Traitor,” Sai muttered between locked teeth.

  “No, brother,” Gaia said, turning to face him. “It is you who are the traitor. To your country, to your cousin, to your family. And I will be a part of it no longer.” With that, she stepped past him, shoved her chair beneath the table, and left.

  Sai’s face had turned a dark shade of red, but to his credit he took several deep breaths before speaking. “You can have my sister. My cousin too. It doesn’t change anything. I am the western king. Do you deny it?”

  “Yes,” said a familiar voice. “I deny it.” Surprised, Roan glanced toward the sound. A woman stood where Gaia had departed only a moment earlier. She wore a long blue gown that seemed to trail from the ends of her golden hair. The silky fabric matched her eyes perfectly, which were the color of a clear sky. She cradled a babe in her arms, rocking it gently from side to side.

  It took Roan se
veral speechless seconds to realize the woman was none other than his sister, Rhea Loren. The changes in her were significant. Not just in her appearance, which was softer somehow, but also in the aura that seemed to surround her. She was calm, in control, a stark contradiction to the young fiery woman he’d first met back in Knight’s End when he felt like she was always on the verge of going up in flames, burning the world down with her.

  Sai finally broke the silence. “You have no authority here,” he said. “You lied to your own people. You murdered my brother. You had your pet sea monster kill your own sister. How dare you deny my claim on the very throne you usurped.”

  Rhea’s expression didn’t change during her cousin’s tirade, as if the words were pebbles and she was made of impenetrable armor.

  She has changed, Roan thought. Motherhood has worked wonders on her.

  He had a mind to interject, to defend her, but he knew he didn’t need to. Perhaps at one time Rhea Loren needed defending, but not anymore. She was her own defense.

  She stepped forward defiantly. “Under Western Law, the throne must pass to the eldest primary heir. And that, dear cousin, is Roan.”

  Roan felt the air rush out of his lungs. Though he’d known for a long time that he was the true heir to the west, he’d never thought to exercise those rights; furthermore, he never thought he would hear his sister lend her support to his claim. But did he want the throne? He had no desire for power, or control, but if being king helped achieved peace…

  Sai’s snarled retort broke through his thoughts. “Foolish child! You know nothing of Western Law. Your brother, the primary heir as you put it, is fatemarked. If he steps foot in the west, then he will be tried and executed in accordance with laws enacted almost two hundred years ago.”

  “Brother.” Ennis Loren had finally spoken, his eyes locked on Sai’s. “Enough with the threats. Just tell them.”

  Roan frowned. “Tell us what?”