Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) (45 page)

He peered over the ledge of the roof, down at the staggeringly large assemblage. The edges of the tile dug, cold and hard, into his knees.
 

He’d never seen so many people in one place before, never half so many. The roar of conversation went quieter as a bell tolled at the capitol building—eleven in the morning.
One more hour
.
 

The town square was packed tightly, people even perched on the ledges of the great fountain at the center of the cobbled square. A platform had been constructed at the head of the plaza days earlier, a wooden stage that supported a line of nine gallows, standing in stiff wooden formation like soldiers. Already fitted with nooses, the ropes swayed in the wind, dancing.
 

Ko-Jin’s gaze lingered on the small missing square of wood beneath the middle scaffold, where Dedrre’s canister of gas was concealed. He bit his lip. He wouldn’t like to make such a shot himself—doable, but hardly a guarantee. She was a far superior archer, he reminded himself for the dozenth time that morning. She could do it. She
would
.

On the stage, a juggler performed to heckles. His nine colorful balls whizzed in a neat circle, unimpressive after hours of better entertainment. The audience, gathered since dawn, had clearly tired of waiting. It would not be long before they began throwing things, he mused.

Amidst those many thousands of people had to be more Chisanta, those others whose families were to be executed. He wondered if Bray and Yarrow were out there. Perhaps they, too, had formed a plan. He hoped so. His mother’s life was at stake, after all.
 

“Are you quite well?” Chae-Na asked from her perch, where she was carefully lining up some dozen arrows.
She needn’t bother
, Ko-Jin thought
. They’d likely have only one shot
.
 

Ko-Jin forced himself to smile. “Better than well. I’ve been itching for a fight.”

She arched a single dark brow. He shrugged in concession. “I admit, I’ll be more at ease once I know my mother’s safe.”

Jo-Kwan and Dedrre crouched on the other side of the roof, out of view, their whispers barely audible over the din of the crowd. The others of their party had taken up positions in the audience.

Chae-Na trimmed the fletching of an arrow with shears, her forehead creased in concentration. “What is she like, your mother?”
 

Ko-Jin sank down next to the princess, joining her in her careful inspection of their missiles. He took his time answering, not sure how to define his mother. She was the sort of person who was so impactful and distinct that words seemed insufficient to capture her.
 

“She’s funny, in a brash kind of way. Always speaks her mind. And strong. When my father left, abandoning her with a deformed baby, she didn’t have the money for rent. Mind, most people wouldn’t keep a child like that—they end up abandoned more often than not. Ma says she never once thought of that, though.” Ko-Jin smiled ruefully. “We lived on the street for a while, and she started doing some sewing in exchange for food; scraps, really. We lived like that for a time—cheap lodgings when we could get them, alleys when we couldn’t. All the while she was saving, though. After a few years, she was able to open up a shop, became popular with the rich women in Chasku for making these gowns that blended Chaskuan-style hanboks with Dalish frocks. By the time she met my step-da, a Dalishman with a fleet of fishing boats, she was already the foremost seamstress in the city.”

“Why did she marry then?” Chae-Na asked. “If she didn’t have to?”
 

Ko-Jin found this an odd response. “She loved him, of course. Why shouldn’t she?”

The princess shrugged this question off, not meeting his eye. “Do you have a handicapped sibling then?”

Ko-Jin’s brow puckered. “I’m an only child.”

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but was cut off when Dedrre scrambled across the tiled roof. His white mustache bristled as he sucked in his lips. “Lad, we’ve got a problem.” Ko-Jin gestured for him to proceed. “The wind’s shifted.”

The old man stuck a fingertip in his mouth then raised his hand to judge the direction. He nodded, certain.

Ko-Jin closed his eyes to discern the direction of the wind, then groaned. “It’ll blow the gas out into the crowd.”

“Correct,” Dedrre said. “It isn’t dangerous, but we might end up with a lot of unconscious civilians and a lot of very awake Elevated.”
 

Ko-Jin pressed his eyes shut. “Blight it.”

“If Quade and his entourage stand near the canister, it won’t matter much,” Dedrre said.

“Let’s hope they do us that favor,” Ko-Jin said, clenching his jaw.
 

Below, the buzz of the gathering shifted, becoming less idle and more anticipatory. Ko-Jin scuttled back to the edge for a clearer view of the proceedings. Five people mounted the steps.
 

From such a distance, Ko-Jin could not make them out in detail, just enough to know that they were each unfamiliar to him. Elevated, he suspected, based on their youth.
 

He regarded them with mounting confusion as they formed a circle and held hands, bowing their heads forward, as if reverently.
 

A chill swept over him, as if his skin itself were rippling. He tried to slide away from the ledge, but found he could not move. With a sudden, desperate panic, he realized he had been totally immobilized. He couldn’t open his mouth to speak, though within his own consciousness he howled. He could not even move his eyes to look at the people who crouched on either side of him.

A second shiver passed through his body, this one familiar. It was exactly like the cold, stripping sensation of that horrible Sphere. He could not see his own body, but he knew that it had changed—that his gift had been stripped away. He felt his own form crumple in, shrivel—felt all the strength leaving him. He wanted to punch something, to scream in frustration, to do
anything
, but all he could do was stupidly crouch, his eyes still geared towards those five figures.

“Ko-Jin?” Jo-Kwan said in surprise, likely registering his altered appearance. Ko-Jin’s gut twisted within his motionless torso. He
hated
being seen this way. A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him; his body responded in stiff jerks, as if he were no more mobile than a statue. “What’s wrong?”

Chae-Na’s face appeared before him, alarm and worry flashing in her almond-shaped brown eyes. “Ko-Jin, what has happened to you?” she asked. She didn’t recoil, as he half expected. Instead, her hand cradled his face, cool fingers whispering across his cheek.

He heard the king climb up the roof and slide down the other side. “Dedrre is not moving either.”

Chae-Na gazed into Ko-Jin’s eyes. “What do we do?”

Run!
He thought.
Get out of here!
But his mouth remained stubbornly mute.

“People of Accord,” a female voice called, her tone oddly dead and unanimated. The crowd went abruptly quiet. Chae-Na moved, once again leaving Ko-Jin to stare at the platform. His outlook blackened further when he perceived who graced the stage.
Vendra
.

“Mr. Asher will be arriving shortly.” Many dozens of Elevated entered the plaza, dressed as constables with swords at their hips. Ko-Jin thought they intended to stand guard near the gallows, but instead they, as a unit, leapt down into the space cleared between stage and onlookers. Their collective boots thumped against the stone ominously. “Do not be alarmed, for you are all perfectly safe. It has come to our attention that some of the rebels are here today, with the intention of obstructing our proceedings.” She held up a hand to the five youths holding hands. “To ensure your safety, those Chisanta have been rendered immobile and will be dispatched forthwith. If you notice any person near you who seems incapacitated, please clear a space. This may take a little time, we thank you for your patience.”

The audience positively thundered; individuals swiveling to examine their neighbors. Circles of space cropped up around immobile forms, helpful bystanders calling out to the Elevated to draw their attention.

“Oy, here! There’s one here!”

“This way—the lady next to me!”

The navy-clad Elevated spread out into the crowd, the assembly parting as best it could to make way. Ko-Jin watched in alarm, incapable of looking away even should he wish. A group of three Elevated encircled their first victim, a woman. She stood absolutely still, her head bent to conceal her face. Swords were unsheathed and, without ceremony or hesitation, plunged into chest, side, and back. The woman let out no scream. She tipped over like an overturned figurine, her blood creeping between the stones of the plaza. Applause sounded, ringing in Ko-Jin’s ears discordantly.
 

“Spirits!” Chae-Na exclaimed. “Jo-Kwan, should I shoot now? I know we were to wait for Quade, but we must do something, mustn’t we?”

The king paused. Ko-Jin wished he could speak, so that he could agree. The gas would not touch the five Elevated on the stage, but it might halt those who had merged with the assembly. At the very least it would be a distraction.

“I don’t—yes,” Jo-Kwan said. “Yes, do it.”

Ko-Jin couldn’t see her take up the bow or aim her shot. He could only gaze down at the scene below, watch a second Chisanta die silently, while the masses hooted and cheered.
 

He heard the twang of the arrow being released. There was a long moment of suspense, in which they could not know if the missile had hit its mark. Then, vapor began to rise, a translucent cloud expanding from the wooden platform. Vendra collapsed.

Someone screamed.

Ko-Jin’s heart thundered in his chest as it spread, prayed it would be enough to save his brothers and sisters below. Individuals at the front of the gathering, those closest to the gallows, slumped.

A young Elevated woman charged up the stage from the palace grounds, long blonde hair streaming behind her. She skidded to a stop on the planking and raised her arms. She began beckoning with her hands, like she was tugging at something unseen.
 

Ko-Jin mutely bellowed in disbelief as the cloud of gas began to pull back, to recede towards the canister as if time were moving in reverse.
 

“No,” Chae-Na said. “No!”

“How?” Jo-Kwan asked, his tone dumbfounded.

When all of the vapor had been returned, the young woman plucked the canister from its hiding place, Chae-Na’s well-aimed arrow still sticking triumphantly from the smooth metal tube. She pranced away, holding Dedrre’s hard work before her, away from her body, as if it might explode.

Ko-Jin couldn’t believe it—what gift could work in such a way? It shouldn’t be possible.
 

Dread coursed through his veins.
 

Their plan had failed, he could not move, and Quade meant to hang his mother.
His mother
.

Peer had remained motionless for so long, crouched beneath the platform, waiting, that he did not immediately notice the invisible bindings that immobilized him.
 

Then a familiar cold shiver passed through his form, that sense of loss, of a missing piece. And moments later he heard Vendra’s voice. The sound of it sent icy dread surging through his blood. Once, he would have boiled with hate, but time—time and understanding—had stolen from him the simplicity of anger. To hate her would be akin to hating the gun that killed Adearre, rather than the conscious being who had pulled the trigger. Still, she was an instrument of death, and her presence made him fear what more he could lose.

Sunlight painted stripes through the slots in the boards above them, offering Peer enough light to discern that Bray and Su-Hwan were also paralyzed. Peer heard the march of boots across the stage and the thump of people jumping the short distance from platform to cobblestone ground. Then he heard cheers—intermittent bursts of applause that, for a reason he could not name, magnified his panic.
 

A gas of some kind seeped through the gaps in the wood, a semi-transparent cloud. The air, abruptly, tasted sweet, like a festered wound.
Poison?
Terror seized his lungs.
 

He struggled—or tried to—wrenching and jerking mentally against whatever restrained him, but to no avail. He could lift not even a finger. The thud of a body hitting the stage above did little to alleviate his fright.

The cloying flavor intensified and his wits began to drift—a well-known, blissful lack of focus. His eyelids turned leaden, but were incapable of closing.
 

A set of light feet darted over his head, and in another moment the air cleared, the thick vapor whisking back up through the stage above him. His mind sharpened again, like rousing from a nap upon hearing a sharp sound.
 

He wished he could, at the very least, make eye contact with Bray, but she had been looking away at that critical moment. He trained eyes on the back of her head, knowing how much more desperate she must feel than him. If there was one thing she despised most, it was feeling powerless.
Hang in there
.