Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) (38 page)

Su-Hwan faced the sea once again, a hint of amusement in her dark eyes. “A cottage atop a mountain. Nearly impossible to get to, but nice once you are there.”

“And you?”

“If people were houses, I would be a tree.”
 

Bray shook her head with a smile, thinking this might be the most inane conversation she’d ever had. “Well, I hope your tree is on my mountain. It sounds like I’d need the company.”
 

Su-Hwan smiled, though it looked more as if she were parroting the expression rather than forming it naturally. “I would like that. Thank you.”

The sound of scampering feet on the wooden walkway made them both turn. Tenny, his copper hair bouncing and face pink, toddled up the walkway and, without slowing his momentum, threw himself into Bray’s lap. She tousled his hair and repositioned him so that his little feet sat flush with her knees.

“Aunt Bray?” he whispered.
 

She had only heard him speak a few times, as he was apparently shy of speech, so she leaned down with interest. “Yes, nephew?”

“Are you really leaving?” He stared up at her with large green eyes, making her heart ache. She’d never had any cousins or siblings. This sudden addition felt like such a blessing, it was hard to admit she was walking away.

“Yes, dear, we’re leaving tomorrow. But I’ve already promised your ma that I’ll visit again. When I come back, will you take me to the secret waterfall?”

His little head nodded a vigorous affirmative.
 

“Promise?” Bray held out her pinky finger.

He, with great solemnity, looped his own tiny finger around hers and shook. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, enjoying the clean scent of his soft hair beneath her chin, the warmth and weight of him on her lap. She’d never thought much about having children, but in that moment she could understand the appeal.
 

Peer jogged up the stair, a flock of youths in tow. “Redge back yet?”

“Not sure,” Bray said.
 

Peer watched her and the boy in her arms with a half-smile. “Mad, how much that boy looks like you.” He took a seat on the bench beside her, the metallic bite of his sweat blending with the brine of the air. He swigged her tea and smacked his lips.

The children dispersed when it became evident that Peer would no longer entertain them. Tenny pushed himself off Bray’s lap to follow, offering her only a quick wave goodbye. She experienced a small loss as he left.

Peer brushed the sand from his legs, sending small grains raining on the boards below.
 

“I dreamt of Adearre last night,” Bray said. She flicked a worried glance at her brother, unsure whether speaking of their loss would be more pleasure or pain.

Peer paused for a moment, then resumed his efforts, moving down to his feet. “What about him?”

“I was in the middle of a crowd but, for some reason, I couldn’t move, like something invisible was holding me down. Adearre was there, but not really there—if that makes any sense—and he kept shouting, ‘Seek the source, love. Seek the source.’”

Peer sat up straight. “I been dreaming of him most nights. Nothing interesting, really, he’s just always there. Usually telling me I’m being an idiot.”

“This Adearre,” Su-Hwan said, tone careful, “I never asked—who killed him?” There was a long pause, a silence only broken by the caw of the gulls and the rush of the sea.

“Vendra,” Bray answered, the name sounding like a curse on her lips.

Peer shook his head. “Vendra’s just the weapon.” His hand formed a fist. “Quade is the killer. It all comes back to him.”

Su-Hwan bit her lip. “I am sorry that happened.”
 

Bray patted the girl’s hand, not trusting her voice. When Redge Lolling strode up the walkway, she was grateful for the intrusion, not wanting to linger on painful thoughts any longer.
 

Peer waved a greeting. “How was your—?”
 

“You lot’ll want to see this,” Redge said, jogging the last few paces. He held out a newspaper, his face pale and tight. Bray’s gut clenched with dread as he handed her the headline.
 

Accomplices of Rebel Chisanta to be Publicly Executed

Pro Tem
Head of State, Mr. Quade Asher, released a statement early this morning informing the public that known associates of rebel Chisanta have been taken into custody. Amidst fear that these traitors, responsible for the assassination of the late royal family, may resort to violent and desperate actions, Mr. Asher has taken proactive measures to locate and detain all those believed in league with the culprits.
 

“Those who cooperate will be granted leniency; however, the harboring of traitors is itself treason and shall, in accordance with the law, warrant a traitor’s death,” Mr. Asher told reporters. As many of these accomplices are family members of the rebels, Mr. Asher will stay execution for one month’s time, giving these rogue Chisanta sufficient opportunity to turn themselves in. “Pardons will be offered to all accomplices of a guilty party, should said party surrender themselves.”
 

Mr. Abbort, Head Constable of Accord, called Mr. Asher’s move “a swift, decisive action, necessary to preserve the safety of Trinitas citizens.” He added, “Unpleasant though it be, one must pull the weeds to save the flowers.”

A full list of the 176 individuals taken into custody can be found on A11.
 

Bray tore through the paper, seeking A11. The list filled an entire page, recorded alphabetically in three columns. She bit down on her inner cheek as her eyes flitted up and down, many familiar family names leaping off the page. Her stomach dropped when she came to the long line of Lamharts. But it was a name just slightly further down the list that made her heart stand still in her chest: Rance Marron.
 

Peer’s fingers squeezed her shoulder as she stared in mute horror. “Your uncle?”

She bit her lip. Her heart took up beating again, with force and speed. Sweat bloomed at the back of her neck. She felt, suddenly, dirty, sullied, just by reading the name. The idea of actually
seeing
him again, of looking into those icy eyes. Not just seeing him, but saving him, for that was the choice Quade had presented her. To save her sorry excuse for kin or let him die. She couldn’t say, in that moment, which of them she hated more—Asher or her uncle. Heat suffused her veins.

“I told Benson to hold the ship for you. He’s down at the dock, waiting. He can take you to the port at Ucho Nod. Figured you’d need to cut your trip short,” Redge said.

Bray looked up at his concerned face and some of her anger deflated. “Thank you. Yes, you’re right; we must leave at once.” The words sounded sad even to her own ears. She spared a sweeping glance for the island, the waves lapping rhythmically on the sandy shore. Six of the children had set about building a sand castle, though in its early stage it better resembled a mountain.
 

Brief though it had been, their time in Jedoh had proven a rare respite. She sincerely hoped she could, as she’d promised, return.
 

Their departure was, out of necessity, a hasty one. Their limited belongings were gathered. The Lolling family, along with all of the students, walked with them down to the pier.
 

Bray embraced Ellora and whispered in her ear. “I will not reveal your location, so don’t worry.”

She sensed the woman nod and released her. Tenny tugged on the skirt of Bray’s dress and she gathered the small lad into her arms, stealing one last nose-full of his clean scent. “Don’t forget your promise, nephew,” she said.

He bobbed his head, red curls dancing in the wind. She smiled and lowered him back to his feet. Peer, with difficulty, extracted himself from the horde of children pleading with him to stay, and the three of them walked up the ramp onto the small skiff that looked very much like the one that had borne them to Jedoh in the first place.

With Peer and Su-Hwan on either side, she leaned against the rail and waved a final farewell as the vessel coasted out to sea.
 

“What’re we going to do?” Peer asked, whether as a rhetorical question or to point out their lack of a plan, Bray could not say.
 

“He is drawing us out, all of us,” Su-Hwan said, her black brows drawn down. “He must believe his trap infallible, or he would not risk it.”
 

“We have a month to think of something…” Bray said, cringing at the hopelessness of her own words.

“It is obvious, is it not?” Su-Hwan said. She turned with eyes wide, her straight hair whipping in the wind. “He has given us the perfect opportunity. There will be a massive audience at a public execution. If I can just get close enough to remove his gift, to show the people his true face…”

A grin spread slowly, like a dawning sun, across Bray’s face. “Brilliant!” She grabbed the girl’s shoulder and gave it an approving shake. “Have I mentioned how glad I am Peer brought you along?”

Su-Hwan’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”

Jedoh shrank away in the distance and, as the sun began to set, the chill turned biting. Bray glanced back down at the list of names in the paper, still clutched in her fist. Her eye landed immediately upon the name Allon Lamhart.
 

Her lips compressed. If Yarrow’s family had been attacked, he would have sensed it. He would have gone to them, without hesitation. That was his nature.

Be safe
, she thought to herself like a prayer.
By all the Spirits, Yarrow, be safe.
 

20

Quade Asher is a cruel man.

“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Arlow,” Quade said, not turning his face from the window as he spoke. Silhouetted against the bright morning light, his mien—wide, erect shoulders, hands clasped at the small of his back—appeared somehow spiritly, indomitable.
 

“Yes, it is,” Arlow agreed, tone light. He sipped his tea and set the cup on the mahogany desk before him.
Quade Asher is a cruel man
.

Quade turned his head just enough to peer in Arlow’s direction. “You brought your own tea?” he asked, and Arlow feared he detected suspicion in the man’s question.

“Mm,” Arlow said. “Doc gave it to me for headaches.” He smacked his lips a few times. “Nasty stuff, I’m afraid.”

“Headaches? Are you unwell?”
 

The concern and warmth in Quade’s tones sent a wave of calm through Arlow’s frame. He braced himself against the sensation and swilled another mouthful of tea.
Quade Asher is a cruel man. “
Nothing serious.”

Quade at last moved from his window, turning the full force of his presence inward. He strode around his desk, his gait slow and predatory, until he came to rest just behind Arlow’s chair. “You are under duress.” Arlow’s stomach muscles clenched as gentle fingertips probed his temples. “It must be taxing—pretending to be something you are not, fearing detection, fearing what should happen should your perfidy be uncovered.” Quade’s fingers moved in soothing circles, his voice humming beautifully in Arlow’s ear. Arlow hoped that it was paranoia alone that heard the double meaning in the man’s words.

“I don’t worry about it much,” Arlow said, summoning every ounce of bravado he could muster. “Nor should you. I’m nothing if not lucky. No, if anything can be said to cause my aching head, it’s the smell. You would simply not believe how filthy these people are.”

Quade let his hands drop and took a seat in his own chair, the leather squeaking as he leaned his weight back. He laughed, though Arlow could not judge if the humor were genuine or not. “How trying.”

“Indeed.” Arlow sipped his tea, grateful for the distance. “Thievery I might forgive, but negligent personal hygiene? Never.”
 

Quade laughed again, his black eyes glinting in his pale face. “You say he smuggled my workers out by boat? That was cleverly done.”

Arlow shrugged. “He
is
clever. That much I must allow.”

“Is he in contact with the disaffected Chisanta?”

“I think he must be,” Arlow said, assuming a look of thoughtfulness. “I know he had someone on the inside at the dig, someone posing as a site director. He must not trust me, yet. I was not offered the position. I have not
seen
any Chisanta, but he does write a great deal of correspondence.”
 

Quade sighed. “I’ve spoken with several eye-witnesses. They say the Chisanta was a young Dalishman with dark hair. A Cosanta. It would seem he did not offer a name and the staff were too in awe to ask.” He said this with a clipped, annoyed tone that made Arlow almost feel badly for Ms. Topher. She likely was not dealt with kindly for that oversight. “Any notions?”
 

Arlow shook his head. “Could be any number of people…sounds a bit like Yarrow.”
 

Quade smirked, sending a chill down Arlow’s back. “If Yarrow Lamhart was involved, I will know for certain quite soon.”

“Oh?”
 

The office door opened and a young Elevated girl entered with a tray of sandwiches and a fresh pot of tea. She bowed to Quade. “Anything else?”

“No, this will do nicely. Thank you, Edina.”

Quade was quiet for a time, as he poured two steaming cups and distributed the lunch things between them. Arlow contemplated the beef sandwich before him with little enthusiasm. His gut seemed to be clamped too tightly for the admittance of food.
 

“I presume the Pauper’s King has seen the news,” Quade said lightly as he squeezed lemon into his cup. He licked his fingers in a languorous way.

“He has.” Arlow took a bite of his sandwich, if only to give himself an excuse to think and not answer.
 

“Does he intend to involve himself?”

Arlow was having a hard time swallowing. The food lodged itself in his throat. When at last his mouth was clear, he said, “I believe he is considering it. In fact, I think he may be close to trusting me. Knowing I was to meet you today, he asked me to wriggle certain information from you—a test of my loyalty, I think.”