Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) (15 page)

They progressed with almost painful slowness, clutching to each other, inching feet forward to feel for the edge of each step. The further they descended, the more persuaded Bray grew that they had been mistaken.
 

There were no guards, no illumination coming from below. The air was thick with dust, frigid and stale as a mausoleum. The dark pressed upon her like a physical thing, a slow suffocation. Still, she had to be wholly certain.

Yarrow shuddered and yanked his hand from hers. Her heart thumped in her chest. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” he whispered. She sensed he was still moving, but couldn’t see. “Cobweb.”

They travelled terribly deep into the earth one blind step at a time. Despite the ever increasing chill, she was sweating. The darkness made the air dense, hard to breathe.

Something brushed against her arm, and as she jerked, her foot caught on her petticoat and she tumbled forward. The air exploded from her lungs as she somersaulted downward, body connecting painfully with the lip of each stony step along the way. She landed in a stunned heap.

“Bray!” Yarrow yelled. She could hear him scuffle down the remaining stairs.

“I’m alright,” she called, once she was able. She’d have some interesting looking bruises, no doubt, but thought embarrassment might be her primary ill. “Just not used to these stupid skirts.”

Yarrow joined her on the landing, and after a bit of blind searching, they found each other again. “Are you sure you’re unhurt? Sometimes a fall can—”

“I’m fine,” she said, and when she thought that sounded a bit curt, added, “Really.”

Bray turned her head, scanning her surroundings. She could make out nothing whatsoever. Her hopes plummeted. Surely if the prison were in use, there would be torchlight.

Still, to be positive, she cried out, “Peer!”

“I don’t think he’s here,” Yarrow whispered.

She ignored him. “Peer! Peer!”
 

Her own voice alone bounced back at her, a forlorn echo. Yarrow applied supportive pressure to her shoulder. “Plan B, then?”

She wanted to weep, she was so frustrated. She’d been
sure
he would be here, had imagined the whole scenario. His absence filled her with a leaden, strangling dread.
What if he’s dead? Please,
please
don’t be dead, Peer.

Bray squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, though it didn’t change her perspective—both being equally dark. “Plan B, yes.”

She rose up gingerly, testing her joints. Her left elbow protested with a twinge, but all else seemed merely battered. A blessing, she supposed.
 

“Should we take one of the youths training in the yard?” Yarrow asked.

Bray shook her head, then remembered he wouldn’t see the motion. “I think we’d be best served snagging someone with administrative responsibilities. Quade is no doubt using the king’s quarters as his own.”

“No doubt,” Yarrow agreed.

“He’s liable to have a secretary or something, someone organizing the comings and goings of the Elevated.”

“I can take us to the far side of the grounds, so we can steal in more quietly. Unless, of course, you’d like to take the stairs again.”

Bray heard the humor in his voice and could have punched him, if she weren’t afraid of missing in the darkness. “For Spirits’ sake, just get us out of here already.”

His hand ran down her arm and clasped around her wrist. One moment they were crouched in that black, dank cellar, the next there was sunshine overhead. Bray squinted against the abrupt brightness, but breathed easily once again, even the cold breeze welcome.

Once Yarrow’s eye’s adjusted, he scrutinized her with raised brows. His finger gently probed at her cheek. She winced at the touch. His searching gaze descended, seeking evidence of further injury.

“I’m
fine
,” she said. “It’s just a few bruises. Let’s go.”
 

She tugged on his sleeve and he followed, walking along the outer wall at the back of the palace. “Did Jo-Kwan say which floor?”

“He said the throne room and offices are on the first and the royal living quarters are above.”
 

Bray put a finger to her lips, then pointed to a window. They crept up to the opening. It was too high for her to see into, but Yarrow, on tiptoes, managed to peek inside. “It’s vacant.”

“Good.”

Bray phased and they passed through the wall into an unused meeting room. A large round mahogany table surrounded by padded leather chairs dominated the space. The chairs looked new—however, the table was oddly rough and worn-looking for such a royal office. In fact, there was a large score in the center that appeared to Bray rather like the work of an axe. Above, a chandelier glittered, casting minute patches of gleaming light across the room like speckles.
 

“It’s the Accord Table,” Yarrow said, his voice hushed. She shot a glance up to find his eyes gleaming, a small smile on his lips. He released her hand to run his fingertips along the irregular wood, lovingly. “The treaty that formed Trinitas was signed on this very surface.”

“How interesting,” Bray said, but she wasn’t really listening. Her eyes had latched onto the far wall of the office, where many hundreds of papers were pinned to a massive bulletin board. She approached, and her frown deepened when she understood what she was seeing.
 

Names—all the names, listed alphabetically, of those Chisanta whom Quade had labeled ‘defectors.’ Beneath each, personal information was listed, clearly still in the process of being accumulated, judging by the empty slots and varied handwriting. Bray glided along the wall until she came to the Ms and found her own name.

Bray Marron (Ch) - At large

Occupation: Criminal Justice
 

Gift: (1) Pass through Solid Objects (
✓
)

POB: Mountsend, Daland

DOB: 31/03/0192 (age 24)

Family: Parents deceased (coal miner), no siblings; An uncle living: Rance Marron, 224 Rightwing Court, Mountsend

Bray stared for a long minute, her heart slapping unevenly against her ribs. The mere sight of her uncle’s name on paper, written so boldly in black ink, caused her to break into a sweat. Rage curled in her fists. She made herself look away, swallowing.
 

Yarrow had found his own name during her distraction. “Why?” he asked, still gazing at the bit of paper, his jaw tight. “He’s listed my whole family, every single sibling along with their addresses. Why?”
 

“He’s collecting weaknesses, I should think,” she said. “What do you think the check marks mean beside the gifts?”
 

He tilted his head. “There’s only a check beside my second. Gifts that can be shared with skin-to-skin contact, perhaps?”
 

Bray nodded, thinking this a likely answer, as she walked along the wall, taking in all of the names. She was happy to see so many question marks in the place of gifts. Clearly, the Chisanta had been wise to keep that information close to the chest, even amongst brothers and sisters.
 

She paused when she caught sight of another dear name.

Peer Gelson (Ch) - Apprehended (uncooperative)

Occupation: Criminal Justice (Inspects Conditions of Orphanages / Foster systems)

Gift: (1) Read in all languages

POB: ?, Daland

DOB: 18/11/0191 (age 24 25)

Family: No known living relatives

Bray closed her eyes and hung her head for a moment.
His birthday…
 

The scrape of a key fitting in the doorknob jerked her head to the right. “Down!”

She and Yarrow scurried under the table—the historically significant table, if Yarrow had the right of it—before the door was thrown open.
 

She watched the lower halves of two individuals, a man and a woman by their dress, enter the room. It felt rather ludicrously infantile, to be hiding in such an obvious place, but unless the Elevated had reason to look she expected they should remain undetected.
 

“Just write it in,” a female voice said. “
Neatly
.”

“Right, right,” a young male voice answered. “I’ve got excellent penmanship, thanks very much.”
 

Bray spied a pair of dusty boots crossing to the bulletin board. The lad still wore a heavy overcoat, had a worn valise slung across his back. All reasonable signs that he served a transitive role of some kind—courier? A good candidate to be informed of what the Elevated did beyond the palace.
 

“You’re writing all of that down from memory? Don’t you have notes to consult or something?”

“I got it all right up here,” he said, and though Bray couldn’t see, she suspected he’d tapped his head. Either he was an arrogant fool, or he had a perfect memory—a useful gift, for her purposes.

She turned to Yarrow, kneeling beside her. He had his head craned at an awkward angle, the table not being tall enough to comfortably accommodate him. She touched his hand to claim his attention and gave a meaningful jerk of the head towards the young man.
 

“Him?” Yarrow soundlessly mouthed.
 

Bray dipped her head.

It was the work of an instant—they sprang up from their hiding spot, knocking two chairs over in the process. The two Elevated barely had time to register surprise. Yarrow grabbed the kid by the back of the neck, and then they were gone.

With a sharp
pop
, the three of them reappeared on their crag in south Daland. Before them, the rundown cottage piped chimney smoke into the late afternoon sky, feeling strangely like home to Bray.

The boy struggled against Yarrow’s grip, his feet clearing the grass. His face had turned a violent shade of red beneath a silky crop of white-blonde hair. “What the—where’ve you brought me?” His voice broke, betraying his youth, and he kicked wildly.

Bray helped Yarrow push the struggling youth up to the cottage. Before they reached it, the door was thrown wide and warm firelight spilled out onto the drive.
 

“Brought a souvenir back, I see,” Ko-Jin said.

The boy swung a punch. Ko-Jin, looking almost bored, grabbed the small fist, twisted it behind the youth’s back, and hauled him into the cottage.

As soon as Yarrow entered the cottage, his shoulders loosened. He sank down onto the couch, lumpy and malodorous though it was, and watched Ko-Jin tie their captive to a spare kitchen chair.
 

 
“They’ll come for me. You better let me go, or you’ll get it for sure,” the lad bellowed.
 

Ko-Jin peeked over his shoulder at Bray, who had meandered to the window facing the backyard. “Run into trouble, did you?”

“No, not really,” she answered, her gaze directed through the window panes.
 

“Oh?” Ko-Jin said, eyeing the bruise blooming high on her cheek.
 

She turned to him, and then understood his meaning. A flush crept up her neck. “This,” she waved dismissively. “Just, ah, tripped a bit. It’s nothing.”

Their captive strained against his bindings, making the chair legs dance. “I’m
warning
you!”

“Down stairs,” Yarrow added, meaning to come to her aid. It wasn’t as if she fell on level ground. She trained a sharp look on him, her mouth thinning.

Ko-Jin nodded solemnly. “Perilous things, stairs.”

She stuck her tongue out in his direction then pointed her thumb out the window. “What are they doing?”

Yarrow presumed ‘they’ must be the royal siblings, by their absence.
 

The Elevated boy threw his blond head back in frustration, a set of light blue eyes wild. “Blight you! Blight you all! Let me go!”
 

“Setting up a little training yard. Figured if we’re going to be here for a while, might as well do something useful. They might need some martial skills in the future.”
 

Bray tilted her head to the side. “Are they deliberately painting those target circles so…oblong?”

“Ah, no. None of us seem capable of painting a proper circle. Yar? Think you could fix it for us? You’re good at that kind of thing.”

Yarrow was feeling decidedly sleepy. He forced his eyes fully open. “I’d be happy to. Tomorrow.”
 

“Quade will kill you all! He will, I ain’t lying. You
better
let me go!”

“Should I gag him?” Ko-Jin asked, jerking his head towards their prisoner.
 

“No,” Bray said. “I’ve some questions for him first.”
 

The lad scowled. “I’m not telling you nothing!”
 

Ko-Jin reached for the door. “Alright. I’m going out back then, if you need me.”
 

He exited through the back door, leaving Yarrow, Bray, and the Elevated alone. The boy quieted, darting looks between Bray and Yarrow like a cornered prey. Then, all at once, he began to struggle again. The veins stood out in his neck as the chair tipped, tottered for a long comical moment, and fell over. The boy grunted as his arm slammed into the ground, but he glared up at them, still defiant.