Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) (25 page)

“She’s talented,” Bray said, spinning in a slow circle to take in the array of images.

“Yes,” Mrs. Asher said reservedly, “though I never could understand why she made everything so gloomy. I always asked her to draw something nice.” She laughed at herself, her eyes darting away from the walls. “I confess, I don’t like to come in this room.”

Peer realized suddenly that this was the first time he and Bray had conducted such an investigation without Adearre, without the use of Adearre’s gift. His brow furrowed and he forced himself to look at the room the way he thought Adearre would, with an eye for the details, for the tiny clues.

The surfaces in this room were all cloaked in a thick layer of dust, motes dancing in the weak light that streamed through the window. Quade’s room had been perfectly clean.
One child missed more than the other? Or did this room make her feel…guilty?

He scanned the drawings and his eyes locked on a picture of a girl—he thought it a portrait of Ellora herself. Only, unlike the other drawings, this one was rendered with light and appreciation. The strokes of charcoal were done with a soft, feathery hand, rather than the hard decisive lines of all the other pieces.

“Who drew this one?” Peer asked, pointing to the drawing.

Mrs. Asher smiled at it. “Oh, it is nice, isn’t it? Ellora’s fiancé did it. He was an art professor at the University.”

“She was engaged when she disappeared?” Bray asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Asher walked out of the room and they followed. She continued to speak as she led them back down the stairway. “To Redge Lolling. They knew each other since they were children. He grew up a few houses down the road. Poor young man, he must have been most distressed. He left town shortly afterwards.”
 

Bray turned and bulged her eyes significantly at Peer. He gave one slight nod.
Find the professor, find the girl
.
 

Bray thanked Mrs. Asher and they took their leave. It was growing late, so they trudged back to the inn where they had taken rooms. Bray seemed fixed on her own thoughts and Su-Hwan was characteristically withdrawn, so they made a quiet party.
 

“Shall we meet for dinner in an hour?” Bray asked, when they arrived.

Peer agreed and stomped up the stair to his private room, thankful for a bit of peace. He kicked off his boots and washed his face with the cool water from the basin.
 

He leaned against the table, staring at his reflection in the looking glass. His beard had grown long and straggly, curling away from his chin in uneven clumps. His eyes set deep and dead in his face, not unlike the young Ellora in that photograph.
 

Had she escaped her tormentor to begin a new, happy life? Happiness was such a foreign concept to him, in that moment. The word rang falsely in his mind. There was no escaping his own torment.
Yes there is
.

For the thousandth time since his escape, his eyes darted to the black leather satchel he had taken from Vendra. With trembling hands he opened the fastenings. Within, in neat rows, were dozens of small vials of the drug he had been forcibly administered.
 

Sweat bloomed along his brow as his fingers ran along the smooth glass vessels. He had no name for the drug, except bliss. Except freedom. Except Adearre.
 

He closed his eyes and licked his lips, knowing he should not, knowing it would be impossible to stop if he started once again.

So what?
 

His eye lids snapped open. If he could breathe without the ever-present ache in his chest, it would be worth it.
 

He withdrew the syringe and loaded one vial into the empty slot, as he had seen done scores of times but never done himself.
 

He placed the tip of the syringe to the inside crook of his arm. With a sigh, the needle pierced him, a sweet pinch of pain. He felt the cold drug surge into his body and he collapsed backward on the bed, a slow smile spreading across his face.
 

A tingling sensation spread out from his core, leaked down his legs and into his toes, up his arms and into his fingers. He laughed to himself and blinked drowsily, until he was no longer alone.

“Hello, love.”

Ko-Jin whistled as yet another arrow thunked to the center of the target. She really was a better shot than him. “Not bad.”

Chae-Na lowered her bow and peered over her shoulder with a smug smile. “Do I detect a challenge?”

He grinned. “Never, Your Highness. My pride wouldn’t recover.”
 

“Are you such a sore loser, then?”

“Oh, yes.” Ko-Jin winked. “I pout. It isn’t pretty.”

A fat raindrop landed on her nose and she darted a look up. Ko-Jin flicked a glance skyward, too—the clouds hung dark and low in the sky, moving uncommonly fast. The air felt electric, hot.

“We may need to end our training early today,” Jo-Kwan said.

Ko-Jin folded his arms before his chest. “Don’t sound so eager about it.”
 

More raindrops fell, pattering on the grass. Beyond their crag, the ocean had taken on a dark, churning aspect. Ko-Jin hoped this was merely a run-of-the-mill thunderstorm, and not something more destructive. Their cottage didn’t exactly look impervious.

“Let’s bring everything inside.”
 

They packed up their supplies and hurried back to the cottage, the rain picking up steadily. Ko-Jin jogged inside just as a loud crack of thunder sounded. He slammed the door shut behind him.

His companions appeared a bit skittish, the thunder seeming to fray already damaged nerves. Fernie, the poor lad, jolted visibly at the sound of each rumble. Ko-Jin had to admit himself on edge as well. He braced his hands on the windowsill and gazed out at the darkening horizon. Out above the sea, lightning flickered and pulsed in the clouds.
 

Storms had a way of making a man feel small, of reminding him that there were much bigger forces than himself, ready to sweep him away at any instant.
 

Ko-Jin clapped his hands together. “Let’s light the hearth and uncork a bottle, shall we?”

This suggestion was met with hearty assent. Soon the space was warm and full of flickering light, and Ko-Jin sat clutching a mug of wine. He drank slowly, knowing that it would be irresponsible to over-imbibe given his responsibilities.
 

They had a leak—rainwater soon began drumming on the floor, just where the floorboards were already warped. Ko-Jin discovered a bucket in one of the kitchen cabinets, and soon the steady drum of water on wood was replaced by a tinny
ping-ping-ping.

Ko-Jin took a seat on the ground, near the fire, and sighed.
 

“There is room on the couch, if you like,” Chae-Na said, though if he sat between herself and her brother on the sofa, they would likely all be leg-to-leg.

Ko-Jin shook his head. “I’ve never minded the floor.”
 

He winced at a bright flash of light.

Jo-Kwan frowned at the window. “I hope the others are not out of doors.”
 

“Might not even be storming where they are,” Ko-Jin said. He hoped they would all return soon. It would put him at ease to have his brother at his side, and Bray as well. He gulped down another mouthful of wine, then refilled his cup.
 

Chae-Na held her hand out so that the firelight gleamed on her palm. She poked at the blisters there. Her brother grabbed her hand to look more closely. “Mother would be displeased. You won’t have lady’s hands any longer.” He scowled down at Ko-Jin, black eyes accusatory. “Couldn’t you go easier on her?”

Chae-Na snatched her hand back and flushed.
 

“No,” Ko-Jin said. He let his feet slide forward, stretching his legs.

“No?” the king repeated, brows raised.

 
“Earliest lesson I learned from my first sword master, never go easy on a woman. That’s an arrogant error for a man to make.”

Jo-Kwan snorted. “A sword master taught you to fear women. How?”

“Easy, she
was
a woman. Not just a woman, but blind and unmarked to boot. I told her I couldn’t possibly fight her, it wouldn’t be fair. Very principled I was, at sixteen.” He took another swig of wine and the fire crackled loudly in the hearth. “She didn’t answer, just whacked me in the head so hard I blacked out.” Ko-Jin leaned back against the warm stones to the right of the hearth. He smiled at the memory, feeling a bit nostalgic. His thumb idly spun the plain silver ring he wore always on his middle finger. “Quite the woman.”

Chae-Na shook her head. “That cannot possibly be true—a blind, female sword master. It sounds like a tall tale.”
 

Ko-Jin rocked his head from side to side. “Young too, only a few years older than me. Her grandfather is the greatest living swordsman—or was. He died three years ago. It was his school, but he didn’t bother with pupils until she deemed them ready.” He smiled.
 

Fernie, who was clutching his knees, seated at the foot of the couch, smirked. “He fancied her, I think.”

Jo-Kwan grinned. “I think so, too. Look at him.”

Ko-Jin only smiled wider, though a part of him ached a bit—an old pain. “Oh, ‘fancied’ would be an insufficient word. I’d have called myself madly in love—a great, big bleeding heart. I guess first loves are always like that, though, aren’t they?” He swilled his wine and when he glanced up, he found they were all staring. His face turned hot.
 

“So what happened?” Fernie asked.

Ko-Jin shrugged. “The passage of time.”

“Oh, come,” Jo-Kwan prompted. “You cannot leave us so curious.”

 
The wind outside changed directions, sending the rain hammering against the window.

Again, he shrugged. “I wasn’t at liberty for two more years. Until we are eighteen, Cosanta can only leave the Cape under supervision. By then, she’d married. Had a baby on the way.” He wanted to stop talking about it, but didn’t like the way this made her sound. It seemed an unfair characterization. He ran a hand through his hair. “She had good reason to question me; it wasn’t her fault. She was convinced I liked her just because she was blind.” Not an unfounded fear, really.

“Why would that be an enticement?” Jo-Kwan asked. Chae-Na continued to listen silently, unblinkingly.
 

Ko-Jin bit down on his inner cheek.
This
he would not answer, it was far too personal a question. He pushed himself to his feet. “Must see to the necessary, ’scuse me.”
 

He found, upon standing, that it wasn’t even a lie. He trooped out the back door, into the rain.
 

 
The downpour soaked through his shirt in an instant, but it felt refreshingly cool. He leaned against the side of the cottage as he relieved himself, felt the rain gathering in rivulets down his cheeks and cascading from his nose and chin.

As he buttoned his trousers, his skin prickled. His head jerked upward, scanning his surroundings. Between the drear and the rain itself, it was difficult to see. But he knew, knew the way one senses a person standing close at their back, that he was not alone—that there were people, many of them, in the tree line. He was being watched.

He reentered the cottage, rain streaming from him, and strode to the window. He thought he could discern shadows shifting in the yard, but could not be certain.
 

“We’ve been found,” he said over his shoulder. “Arm yourselves.” His three companions gazed up at him blankly. He snapped his fingers. “Quickly!”

They moved at that, scrambling towards the trunk they’d been using for weapon storage.
 

“Fernie,” Ko-Jin said. “I need you to guard the king. Keep your backs to the wall. If I fall, you two run. Do you understand?”

The lad looked pale, his blue eyes as wide and unblinking as a bird. But, at length, he showed he understood.

“Princess,” Ko-Jin continued. He pulled the window open a crack. “I need you up front, bow and arrow. I’ll go out to meet them, you guard my back.” He met her gaze and was reassured to find her expression serious and focused. “Aim to kill.”

“You cannot think to go out there. You do not know how many there are, what sort of weapons they have. It’s madness,” she said.
 

He belted his scabbard around his waist. “No time for discussion.”
 

He marched back out into the yard, unsheathing his sword. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the forms of his opponents for an instant—six of them.
 

“You might as well show yourselves,” he shouted into the gloom. “I know you’re there.”
 

To his surprise, they came forward. They appeared cautious, but were not, by their postures, braced for a fight—merely hunched under cloaks in an effort to remain dry. Ko-Jin wiped wetness from his eyes, not sure what to make of this development.
 

“Ko-Jin,” a male voice called over the drumming of the rain. The figure threw back his hood. “It’s me.”