Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) (42 page)

Bray phased through the wall and felt a wave of warmth envelope her like sinking into a tub of hot water. Quade’s voice still sounded in the hall, so she passed through a closet and became tangible only long enough to open the door a crack. Then she waited for Quade to return.
 

She heard his heavy footsteps as he reentered the room and saw the shadow his legs cast across the rug. He sat down at his desk and shuffled through a stack of paper. Bray examined him through the narrow gap, memorizing every line and slope of his handsome face. A quiet rage began to burn in her stomach. This man had killed hundreds of people—families. He had taken scared children, her own brothers and sisters, and turned them into something perverse and distorted.
 

Bray was tempted to spring out of the closet and kill him then and there—and why shouldn’t she? Even Adearre must see the danger this man posed, how much safer the kingdoms would be without him.

The door creaked open. “Master Asher,” a young girl said. “They’ve just arrived.”

“Wonderful,” Quade said with a smile. Bray’s anger washed away at the sound, like chalk in the rain. “Send them in, will you dear?”
 

“Yes, sir.”

Several minutes passed before the door opened and two people entered. Bray could see only their feet, not their faces.
 

“Vendra, my dear.” Quade rose from his seat and offered some kind of physical greeting—a kiss? “How glad I am you are returned. Tell me, are our pesky detectives down in Che Mire?”
 

Bray scowled at the closet door.
Pesky?

“I’m afraid not,” Vendra said. “It would seem I was not sufficiently believable, or alluring.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Quade said, the charm dripping from his words like dew. He sighed and sat back in his chair. “No matter, really. Though Bensell will be disappointed. He did such a wonderful job with those explosives. So should we expect them to be upon us soon?”

“Unless they’ve gotten lost, I imagine they are already here.”

“Oh dear,” Quade said pleasantly. “We’ll have to keep our eyes peeled, won’t we?”

“Aren’t you worried they’ll send a message back?”

“No.” Quade stacked his papers. “I’ve got the telegram office in town under surveillance. Besides, our time for operating in secret is quickly coming to an end.” He turned to address his second visitor. “So, Master Bowlerham,” he said. “What can you tell us about your friends?”

“They aren’t
all
friends,” a familiar drawling voice replied.
 

Recognition startled Bray so profoundly she nearly lost control and phased straight through the floor. She regained her concentration just in time, but her breaths came in short bursts. She glared at the set of gleaming shoes that must belong to Arlow.
 

“Yarrow’s always studied the Fifth—”

“How fascinating,” Quade said. “I should love to pick his brain. I dabbled in the Fifth myself when I was younger. And his gift?”

Arlow shifted in his chair. “He knows how the people he loves are feeling.”

Bray’s stomach clenched and her eyes narrowed. Yarrow
loved
Arlow Bowlerham. The duplicitous bit of scum.

“That’s a curious ability.” Quade sounded genuinely intrigued. “We should all be safe from him at least.”

“Well, he knows my feelings,” Arlow said.

“How touching. I’m sure you are smart enough to keep them regulated, however. And the others?”

“Ko-Jin’s a master of weaponry and martial arts. His gift is strength.”

“Really?” Quade asked. “His
first
gift was physical. How unusual.”

“He had some kind of deformity,” Arlow said.

“Ah, that explains it. No matter, we have plenty of equally gifted youngsters here. And the Chiona?”
 

“Bray Marron,” Arlow said, and for a ludicrous moment Bray thought he’d addressed her. Fortunately, she kept her head and remained silent. “She’s studied crime. I don’t know what her gift is.”
 

Bray said a silent thank-you for that blessed fact.

“The others—Peer Gelson and Adearre…something or other, an Adourran bloke. I don’t know much about either of them, I’m afraid. I think the Adourran detects lies.”

“Very well.” Quade’s seat creaked as he shifted his weight forward. “All in all, not a terribly formidable group, I think.”

Bray smirked to herself from her hiding place. She dearly looked forward to the moment she’d make him regret those words.

“Perhaps not, but they could still cause trouble,” Vendra said.

“Remember, Quade,” Arlow said. “You promised me they wouldn’t be harmed.”

“You hurt me, Arlow. Do you have so little faith in my word?” Quade said in a velvet voice. “I assure you, I have no intention of harming any Chisanta. The marked are blessed by the Spirits themselves—I would never dream of such a defilement of destiny.”

Arlow’s boots shifted on the rug. “Turn your charm off, Quade. I won’t be sweet-talked by you on this matter. Yarrow is a good friend of mine. I will not permit him to be hurt in any way. And I’m familiar enough with your
methods
,” he hit the word with no small amount of scorn, “to doubt you. The killing of mothers and children does not exactly engender trust.”

“How dare—” Vendra began, her voice a sharp lash.

Quade cut her off. “Peace, Vendra. Our friend has a right to his opinion.” He turned to Arlow, his tone soft and remorseful. “I took no pleasure in killing those people, but it was a necessity. Until our numbers were greater, we could not risk being discovered by our brothers and sisters across the sea. As a Chisanta, we must understand the nature of sacrifice. Those people died, yes. It is regrettable. But how many people die every day from hunger, from preventable disease, from inhumane working conditions? Allowing the weaker-minded to rule is the greater sin, Arlow.”

“You know full well that I agree with that sentiment. That is why I am here. The King is a fool.”

“I trust then, that we may come to an arrangement?” Quade asked.

“What, exactly, is it that you want me to do?” Arlow asked.

“I should think it obvious.”

Arlow breathed out a long gust of air. “I have no problem killing the King. But his children? They are not nearly so bad, in fact they are—”

Bray thought of the Prince, how kind and earnest he had been, and her jaw tightened.
 

“I’m sure they are quite lovely people,” Quade interjected, “but they are the heirs to the throne. If they survive, so does the monarchy. Do you believe either of them as suited for leadership as a council of Chisanta?”
 

“No, of course—”

“It’s as I said about sacrifice; sometimes you have to give up something that is quite good in order to attain something much better.”

“I suppose…”

“Don’t fret, Arlow,” Vendra said. “We aren’t going to have you kill them yourself. We just need a man on the inside, for information and to help guide them in an advantageous direction.”
 

“The assassination attempt at the ball was your doing, I am guessing?” Arlow asked.

“Yes and no,” Quade answered. “I was behind the event, yes. But I did not intend it to succeed. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“I shall keep my reasoning to myself at this time. I’m sure you understand.” Quade stood. “With your aid, I know we shall have no hiccups when we mean to finish the deed.”
 

Arlow must have nodded in agreement, though Bray could not see his face.

“Good man,” Quade said. “Then you had best be back off to court. We shall be in contact.”

Arlow stood and crossed the room. “Remember what you’ve promised, Quade.”
 

The door clicked shut and Arlow was gone.
 

“I don’t like him,” Vendra said, after Arlow’s footsteps had receded.

“The more Chisanta we can bring to our cause, the better, my love,” Quade said. He rose and Vendra copied him. “I want to show you something.”

The two of them departed, leaving Bray the sole occupant in the room, still crouched in the closet, her head positively swimming. She shook herself—
the others must be informed
—and phased straight through the wall, back out onto the slender, rocky ledge.

Yarrow turned the sizzling fish over on their spit, grateful for the small circle of warmth around the fire. He should be grateful for the fish as well, and that Ko-Jin was so adept at catching them, but after three straight days of nothing but cod, he struggled to summon the gratitude.
 

They had been staying in a small cave on the shore, which offered only moderate shelter from the cold and elements. It had been snowing off and on since they arrived. Sure enough, at that moment, white flakes swirled in the air, dusting the rocks and shore.
 

Yarrow again took up his book and scanned the pages, not certain what he sought. This volume was not a full dictation of the Fifth, but rather an abstract of the most famous prophecies.
 

His eyes lingered on a passage and he frowned.
 

“Yarrow,” Ko-Jin called over the howling wind. “Come, we’re doing swords.”

Ko-Jin had taken his role as trainer more seriously since they witnessed the size and nature of their enemy, and Peer and Adearre had become more attentive pupils.
 

Yarrow sighed as he removed the fish from the fire, stood, and joined the others. He had no great skill in fighting. How could a few extra lessons help?
 

Besides, when Bray was away he couldn’t focus. Her emotions had been, for a while now, twanging with shock and anger. He hoped she had not run into trouble.

“Here.” Ko-Jin handed him a waster. “You work with Adearre. He’s decent with a blade. I’ll work with Peer.”
 

Peer’s eyes narrowed, clearly not pleased with the arrangement. Yarrow supposed he did not relish the clobbering he was liable to receive at Ko-Jin’s hands.
 

Adearre led the way to a level patch of shore, or as level as the coast could offer. Yarrow’s shoes sunk into the wet sand, leaving a trail of stark imprints.

He readied himself, bent his knees and held his wooden blade up before him, prepared for the first blow.

“You have already lost, my friend,” Adearre said.

“What do you mean?” The wind whipped his braid from his back and tugged at his civilian clothes.
 

“You tell me you have no skill by your expression and stance. You immediately poise yourself against a strike—it is obvious you have no intention of striking yourself. Your feet are prepared to back up, not move forward. Your mouth is turned down, your eyes defeated. You have let me win, and we have not even begun.”

Yarrow let his sword arm fall to his side, his shoulders sagged. “I’m rubbish at this, Adearre.”

“You are Chisanta. You cannot be rubbish. But even if you are, you need to make me believe you a worthy foe. You need to make me hesitant. Convince me you are a threat.”
 

Yarrow tried to arrange his features into an expression of confidence.
 

Adearre laughed. “You look like you are trying to pass a gallstone.”
 

He walked forward and began to move Yarrow’s limbs like a doll. Once he was pleased, he came around to look Yarrow in the eye.

“Do you remember, on our way to Accord, when you challenged Peer to knock you over?”

“Yes.”

“You knew that he could not. I could see it on your face that night. You were utterly confident. That is the expression you need to assume.”
 

Adearre placed his fingertips lightly on Yarrow’s brow. “Here is where your strength derives.”
 

“Bray!” Ko-Jin called.
 

Yarrow turned to see Bray’s lithe form climbing down the rocky shelf. A wave of relief washed over him at the sight of her. Without thinking, he strode across the shore, closing the distance between them, and pulled her into his chest. She wrapped an arm around him and held on for a moment before pulling away.

“Learn anything new?” Peer asked, his tone biting.
 

Yarrow focused on Peer and heard a clamor of white-hot jealousy. It was such an intense emotion that Yarrow physically stepped back, as if slapped.
 

“Yes,” Bray said, her tone grim. “Let’s get into the cave and I’ll tell you about it.”
 

Yarrow and the others followed her. Their temporary abode might not be terribly comfortable, but the reprieve from the wind whistling in Yarrow’s ears was wonderful nonetheless.
 

He listened intently as Bray recounted how she had finally found Quade’s office, and how she had hidden in his closet.
 

“Two people came in. At first I couldn’t tell who they were, but,” Bray looked sympathetically at Yarrow before she plunged on, “it was Vendra and Arlow.”

“Arlow?” Ko-Jin asked. “Surely not.”

“I’m afraid so,” Bray said.
 

Yarrow was staggered. He couldn’t process this information. It was too strange and unbelievable. Arlow was an old, dear friend. He couldn’t possibly be responsible for such atrocities. As Bray continued her story, however, recollections started to fall into place. Arlow’s scathing comments about the King, his general disdain for the unmarked…it did make a kind of sense.