Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) (38 page)

Yarrow decided to stay a while and meandered toward the tree. Perhaps the place that gave him his gift would help him to open it further.
 

Its bark looked strange up close, as smooth as driftwood. The sunshine hit its polished surface in overlapping smears of light, giving the impression of a watercolor painting. Not for the first time, Yarrow wondered what the
Aeght a Seve
really was. Did it truly exist somewhere?

He sank down onto the grass and leaned his weight against the trunk of the tree. Idly, he pricked the palm of his hand against the stiff tips of grass, while he focused his mind—
love
.
 

What is love, really?
Yarrow laughed quietly to himself. What a ridiculous, hackneyed question. One he was utterly unqualified to answer.
 

But he had promised Bray he would make an effort, so make an effort he would. Her prompt had been a good one—Yarrow decided to review in his mind those three significant occasions. The first had been Ko-Jin. Yarrow closed his eyes and tried to relive the moment.

They had been living at the Cape for about a month at the time. Ko-Jin had been in high spirits that day. It had been his fifteenth birthday and he had won a sparring match against a much older Cosanta. They had walked from the library to the dining hall when a telegram boy had entered the hall and given Ko-Jin the familiar slip of paper. Ko-Jin, a smile still on his face, had unrolled the message and read. Yarrow could remember with perfect clarity how his friend’s face had crumpled. He stood stock still, despite the bustle around him, staring at that telegram, as if hoping the words upon it would change.
 

“What’s happened?” Yarrow had asked.

“It’s my step-father.” His voice hitched as he spoke. “He died—his ship foundered in last night’s storm.”

Yarrow had felt such a pang of sympathy for Ko-Jin, imagining how horrible it must be to lose a family member. Then, quite suddenly, he didn’t have to imagine any longer. He could feel Ko-Jin’s pain like a sharp lance through his own heart. He pulled Ko-Jin into a tight embrace and his friend had cried onto his shoulder. Yarrow’s own eyes had not been dry.

Mentally, Yarrow jumped forward nearly a year in his mind, to the day he had first felt Arlow. He, too, had received news about a relative—good news. He’d learned that his uncle had been knighted and asked to remain at court. Arlow had looked as though he would explode with happiness.

“You know what this means, of course?” he had asked, enthusiasm spilling over. “When I turn eighteen, I shall have an introduction to the royal family!”

Arlow had looked into Yarrow’s face with an expression of such wild joy—and despite the fact that the happenings of court were of no interest whatsoever to Yarrow himself—he couldn’t help but feel overjoyed on his friend’s behalf. That had been the moment. Arlow’s exultation drummed in his own mind.

The third case, Yarrow abruptly realized, was much the same. It had been the week before Dedrre’s sixty-fifth birthday. Yarrow had come for tea.

“I’m so glad I’ll finally get to meet Vendra,” Yarrow had said, as Dedrre sliced their cake. “I’ve never heard so much about a person without actually meeting them.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait on that pleasure, lad,” Dedrre had said. Yarrow noticed the way his mustache drooped, the carefully casual tone in his voice. He had been looking forward to seeing his granddaughter with great excitement. She was so continually abroad, he barely ever saw her.

“Work keeping her away?” Yarrow had asked.

“Yes.” Dedrre cleared his throat. “You know how hardworking she is.”
 

Yarrow felt a pang of such pity that—pop!—Dedrre’s emotions burst into his mind.
 

Returning to the present, Yarrow opened his eyes and got to his feet. He began to pace, plowing a groove in the long grass.

Each of these three occasions were prompted not by the person doing something for him, but by him feeling an intense sense of empathy with them. However, the answer could not be that simple. After all, he felt for people all the time. He certainly wasn’t cold-hearted or callous in nature. So what about these three cases were different? Was it merely a matter of intensity?
 

Yarrow’s throat clenched with a sudden wave of nausea and he was overcome with lightheadedness. He found this puzzling until he remembered that he had not actually eaten much yet that day, or, for that matter, the night before. He decided that the common room would be as good a place as any to continue this contemplation, and perhaps with a full stomach the answer would present itself.

He refocused on his body, still performing the
Ada Chae
in his bedroom, and pulled himself back to reality.
 

The common room bustled, especially considering it was that odd time between lunch and dinner. Yarrow took a seat in the corner.

A sweet-faced girl in a snowy white apron came to take his order.

“The beef stew and an ale,” Yarrow said. He smiled, but the girl was too embarrassed to meet his eye. She curtsied and hustled away, returning with commendable speed bearing a cold mug and a loaf of bread. Yarrow thanked her and took a deep draught, letting the murmur of chatting patrons wash over him.

His thoughts swirled in pointless circles, like a dog chasing its own tail. He had felt wretched for Ko-Jin, pleased for Arlow, and disappointed for Dedrre. But these emotions, in and of themselves, could not possibly be love, could they? No, he had felt all three for other people and not been any the wiser of their emotional state. It must be something else…something more.
 

The serving girl interrupted his introspection with a platter of piping stew. She blushed scarlet and asked the grain in the table if it would be needing anything else.

“No, that’s all, thank you,” Yarrow answered on the table’s behalf.
 

He watched the girl as she scurried off to the other side of the room. She seemed embarrassed—perhaps because he was a Chisanta, or because he was a man. Maybe she thought him intimidating…or handsome? She ran drinks to a group of well-dressed women. Yarrow focused all of his attention on her, trying to empathize. How unpleasant it must be to work such a post, having to serve the wealthy set. He could only imagine the attitude they offered their waitstaff. But these reflections were to no effect. He didn’t know anything about her, not her fears or hopes—Spirits, not even her name.
 

He frowned, and retracted his gaze. She wasn’t his target anyway.

With a mouthful of stew, he focused his mind on Vendra—on the fear that she might now be experiencing. She was in trouble, he knew it deep down. He refused to think that she might be dead. No, certainly not dead.
 

He summoned the full force of his mind, generating a blazing concern for her. He feared, pitied, worried, and lamented with such intensity, he thought his nose might bleed from the effort. But it was to no effect—Vendra’s feelings remained as uncertain as ever.
 

“Yarrow,” Peer’s voice broke in. “What’re you doing, mate?”
 

Based on the amusement in Peer’s voice, Yarrow suspected he’d been making a strange expression.

“Oh, just trying to be more loving,” Yarrow said. He looked up to find not only Peer, but Adearre as well. They took seats at the table with him.
 

“Not going to finish that?” Peer took Yarrow’s plate and began to eat the lukewarm remainders without permission.
 

“So, what happened?” Yarrow asked.

“The telegram was from Easterly Point.” Adearre slid his chair in closer. “We finished going through the last of the newspapers. The map shows a dramatic cluster in Eastern Daland, which leads Bray to believe our anonymous tip is sound.”

“Where is she now?” Yarrow looked over Adearre’s shoulder to the entrance.

“She wanted to question someone or other. I didn’t pay much mind,” Peer said, scraping the plate with the side of Yarrow’s fork to get at the last of the gravy. He motioned the serving girl to bring two more plates and mugs of ale.

“How fares your quest to love?” Adearre asked.
 

Yarrow’s shoulders slumped. “Not great.”
 

“I think I can help,” Adearre said.

Peer snorted. “What qualifies you?”

Adearre feigned indignity. “I happen to be a very loving person.”

“And what am I?” Peer asked, as he took a swig of Yarrow’s ale. “Some unfeeling lout?”
 

Adearre offered Peer a closed-lipped smile and leaned back in his chair. “By all means,” he said with an inviting gesture, “teach us.”

Yarrow laughed as Peer sat up straight and assumed his most teacherly expression.

“Well, Yarrow—” he paused, leaned back to allow the serving girl room to deposit two more stews on the table. “The thing about love is this: it’s selfless. All love is one-sided—it might, you know, be one-sided on two sides, but on your part love is all giving and no taking.”

“What a bleak take on the matter,” Adearre said.

Peer took a great bite and wiped his mouth. “Nah, to love and receive nothing in return is noble. But what I mean, for your little project, is to remember that you don’t need to like the person. Them being likable is what they give you, not what you give them.”

Yarrow nodded thoughtfully. Yes, that made sense. Half the time he didn’t much like Arlow, but he never ceased to love him. “But how am I supposed to feel empathy for a person without knowing what to feel empathetic about?”
 

“You are still thinking about it wrongly,” Adearre said, “and Peer, actually, has a point.” Peer gave a flamboyant bow, as if he were a trapeze artist who had just performed a difficult stunt. “It isn’t about them, their characteristics, or their lives. It has to do with your ability to see their value.”

Yarrow offered them a sour look. From the way they were talking, it was as if they thought him utterly uncaring.

“Let’s practice on Peer,” Adearre said.

Peer turned toward Yarrow and batted his eyelashes. “Alright, but this better not get weird.”
 

Yarrow flushed, but he shifted to better face Peer and waited for the next step.

“What’s going on?” Bray asked. Yarrow jumped in his seat. He hadn’t noticed her enter. She pulled up a chair, sat, and took a swig from Adearre’s mug.

 
“Yarrow’s falling in love with me.” Peer winked.
 

Yarrow sighed—why must he be saddled with such an awkward gift?

Bray laughed. “By all means, proceed.”

“Now, Peer here has many fine qualities,” Adearre pointed to his friend, “charming, intelligent—”

—“Dashingly handsome,” Peer said—

—“Noxiously arrogant,” Bray added—
 

—“But none of that matters, not as far as you are concerned. It is like I told you the other day, you need to look with tender eyes—see a person, and know that they matter immensely to others. That they were born to a mother, that they have friends who care, that they love others themselves. Out from Peer stretches an entire network of connections. He is loved by many, and he loves many. If he were to not exist, just imagine all of those severed strands in the web. Know that Peer matters, that he has value, and feel the immense gratitude that he lives, the gratitude that you know others must feel.”

As Adearre said this, Yarrow heard a burst of feeling from the place in his mind that Bray occupied. When Adearre had asked Yarrow to imagine that Peer no longer existed, Bray had experienced a sharp, deep, wrenching pang. As if she, too, had imagined it, and because Peer was a dear friend, it had been unbearable. Then a surge of affection filled her. Her eyes were on Peer, and Yarrow could see the tenderness in them. It was not a romantic love, but it was intense and deep; it was warm, soft, glowing.
 

And it was this, overlapping with Adearre’s words, which triggered the change in Yarrow. He saw, for the first time, the real nature of love—the face below the mask of friendship, family, and passion. It was an impossible thing to adequately describe. It was universal. It was the acknowledgement that the beating heart in every human chest holds a multitude of feelings, and is therefore so much more valuable than a mere organ.
 

And suddenly, it was as though the network that Adearre described blazed into existence. Yarrow felt Peer; his mixture of self-doubt and happiness. He felt Adearre, whose emotions were indescribably tender.
 

But it did not stop there—he knew that the serving girl was flustered, that the stranger sitting by the window was envious, that the man behind the bar was distraught. He knew the feelings of Britt back at the Cape, of the man who ran the butcher shop in Glans Heath, of the constable of Greystone.
 

As if a thousand stars suddenly burst into existence in his mind, Yarrow became aware of everyone he knew, even people he had only seen in passing. He thought his mind would explode, he was so utterly overwhelmed by the magnitude of this new understanding, this mental invasion.

He called out—called out with a thousand pains that were not his, and a thousand joys he did not feel.

“Yarrow?” Bray’s voice broke through, concerned, before he felt the chair slip out from under him. The world, and its innumerable beating, feeling hearts, blinked into darkness.