Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) (49 page)

Bray ran quivering fingers over her face. Her muscles were taut, her pulse still ticking rapidly, but she forced herself to breathe. To think.

Quade had wanted this,
she remembered bitterly. He had arranged this very dilemma for her, knowing her history. She felt, abruptly, ill—ill and weary.

Ko-Jin’s shouts sounded nearby, his voice seeming to wake her from a spell. “Bray? Did you find—” he cut off, spying her uncle. Keys jangled and the door sprung open. “You’re free to go, sir.”

 
Uncle Rance darted a look in her direction, bloodshot eyes wild.
 

“Go,” she whispered.

She stared at the floor, the space between her hands, pressed flat against the cold. She heard him scramble away, listened to his shuffling retreat until it faded out of hearing. She took steadying breaths.
 

Ko-Jin’s hand appeared before her face, palm up. She slipped her fingers in his and he hauled her to her feet.
 

“No giving up,” he said, knocking his shoulder into hers in a friendly way. “If he isn’t down here, we’ll go talk to Roldon’s new Chiona friend. She’s got a gift for finding people.”

Bray nodded dumbly, eyes still downcast.

“By the way,” he said with a smirk. “You know you smell like shit, right?” She snorted and steadied herself. “We’ll find him,” he added, tone serious. “Quade wouldn’t kill a person he could use, and Spirits know Yarrow’s got a head full of useful facts.”
 

This penetrated the fog in her mind and she straightened, heart seeming to lift in her chest. “Yes,” she said, her voice finally sounding normal in her own ears. “That’s a good point, actually. Let’s keep looking.”

Arlow groaned and prodded at his swollen eye. He felt positively battered. He imagined his back would bear boot-shaped bruises.
 

He forced himself to his feet and observed the square. The crowd had half dispersed—Quade was nowhere to be seen.
 

“Excuse me,” he said to an elderly man who was trying to pass him. “What happened? Where did Quade Asher go?”

The man knit two snowy brows. “What, you didn’t see it?”

“No,” Arlow responded, tone dry.

“Well,” the man said, milky brown eyes alight with wonder. “It’s the blightingest thing I ever did see. I was here, hoping to see some poor folks get hanged, and then I looked up at the man who’s been called the hero of Accord, and I just
know
, you know the way a man sometimes does, that this Quade fellow ain’t no hero. In fact, he’s a real bad element—got nasty, cold eyes, that seem to bore right into you.”

“Yes, yes,” Arlow said. “I caught all of that.”

The man went on, unperturbed. “And he looks like he’s going to kill this little Chaskuan girl, for some Spirits-known reason, and we’re all feeling anxious. And
then
an arrow comes down, as if right from the Spirits Home itself, and he falls down.”

“He died?”

“No, that’s the real wonder of it. Because he weren’t dead, and this yeller-haired fellow—a Chisanta, you know—he swings this great old sword, and I’m thinking I’ll be seeing this Quade fellow’s head come clean off—which I’m not sure he ain’t deserving—but then
bam.”
The elder motioned with his hand in imitation of an explosion, his milky eyes alight.
 

“Bam?”

“That’s right—bam—”

“No, no,” an elderly woman, who Arlow presumed to be the man’s wife, cut in. “It weren’t a bam, more of a pop.”

The older gentleman pondered this for a second. “Right you are, dear. It was a pop.”

Arlow sucked in a beleaguered breath. “A pop, and then what?”

“And then he was just
gone
. Vanished right into the air in a blink.”

Arlow’s expression bleakened. “I see.”

“It was all confusion for a bit, but then none other than the
king takes the stage.”

“The king?” Arlow asked, brow creased. “You mean the Pauper’s King?”

“No, no, young feller. I mean the
true
king, who was the prince. Seems he and his sister ain’t dead. He tells us all—and says it real handsome—”

“He
is
handsome,” the woman adds, unhelpfully.

“Says he and his sister survived, but it was Quade what had the late king and queen assassinated. Says Quade has some magic mojo that makes people confused, and that’s why we might be having a hard time believing it. Said a lot of nice things.”

Arlow wondered how long he had been unconscious, that he should have missed this entire speech. Jo-Kwan Bellra was nowhere in sight, he assured himself with a quick scan.
 

For the best, that. He suspected that his part in deterring Quade would not atone for his having organized the deaths of the late king and queen.
 

 
He opened his mouth to thank the man for his time, but the sound of his own name stole his attention.
 

“Arlow, there you are,” Mae called.
 

The plaza had half cleared, but she still had to weave her way through bystanders to reach him. She appeared unharmed, he ascertained with relief.
 

The elderly couple waved and strolled stiffly past. Mae bounded up to Arlow with apparent high spirits, her cheeks rosy and breath labored.
 

She peered up at him with big eyes. “Who gave you the shiner, then?”

He shrugged. “Old friend.”

She snorted. “Your old friends never seem terrible friendly.” She waved a dismissive hand, brushing this aside. “But, listen to what’s happened. The king—you know, the old prince—he’s heard how my brother helped and he’s asked for a meeting—a
consultation
, in fact.”

Arlow suppressed an approving smile.
Smartly done, Jo-Kwan
. “I think your brother will find this king far more amenable than the last.”

The light had dimmed, what had been a chilly day growing steadily colder. Some few snowflakes swirled in the cyclone of wind that seemed ever to haunt the plaza. Arlow clutched his coat tighter and scanned his surroundings.
Must get out of the public eye
, he thought. By succeeding in ousting Quade from Accord, he had surely made himself a wanted man. Who, save for Mae, would trust him?

Mae, either reading his face or having similar thoughts, said, “Your people, they won’t be accepting you now, huh?”

Arlow heaved a sigh. “Whether I will be persecuted is hard to say, but accepted? No, I should think not.”

“That ain’t fair,” Mae said. “You were under his influence, you couldn’t help what you did.”

Arlow’s lips thinned and he averted his eyes. It was true that he had, to some degree, been under Quade’s spell. But he knew that his actions were still in part his own. He had wavered, had weighed and measured, and had, in the end, chosen. The degree to which he was culpable could possibly be debated, but he was certainly not innocent.
 

“I’ll have to lay low for a time, I think,” he said at length. “But first I need to look for someone.”
 

He marched through what remained of the crowd, towards the capital building. He bowed his head and drew his lapels up against the wind, hoping to pass unnoticed.

Mae caught up with him. “Who do you need to find?”

“A friend of mine,” Arlow answered. “Likely, his other friends have already seen to him, but I won’t be at ease until I know for certain.”

If Mae found this vague, she said nothing, and simply kept pace. There were a great number of reunions underway in the lawn and lobby—Chisanta reuniting with their families. There was a general aura of relief, of danger being passed.
 

With all of the emotion and chaos, he and Mae were able to walk by undetected. He guided her to the stairway that led to the cells below ground.
 

As they descended, she asked, “So, where do you think we should hide out?”

He paused as his feet hit the landing. His mood abruptly bounced. “You mean to come with me?” he asked in surprise.
 

“Course.”

A peculiar, tight feeling rose in the back of his throat. “Why? Surely your brother would prefer to have your aid here. Besides, what about your shop? Your curtains?”

“You’re real hung up on that curtains comment,” she said, laughingly.

Hope and happiness threatened to take hold of him, but he tamped it down. “And Foy?”

She frowned, her brown eyes slitting. “What about Foy?”

“He proposed, did he not? You indicated that you were undecided whether you should accept.”

“Ah, that,” she said, sounding uncomfortable. “I already told him no, so not a problem.”

“You did, indeed?” Arlow took a step towards her. “Why turn a good man like Foy down? He’d no doubt fill the position admirably.” He couldn’t see her clearly in the dimness, but he thought he detected a blush. “Well-educated, close to your brother, tall enough to hang your curtains without a stoo—”

“Would you shut it with the bleeding curtains, already?”

He leaned in, so close that their noses were nearly touching. His heart throbbed against his rib cage. “So, the question remains, why run off with me when you could marry a man like him?” His head cocked to the side in question. In that dark, quiet place, it seemed they alone existed. It seemed his hopes and fears were not at all foolish.
 

“Do you not want me to stay, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

He wished she hadn’t asked that, not so directly. It gave him no choice but to answer honestly, and he realized all at once how vulnerable such a confession would make him. She had the power to wound him—he had, sometime in the past weeks, given her that power.

“No,” he answered, voice choked. “Please. Please stay.”

Her hands darted out, thumbs hooked round the curve of his jaw. Her lips branded hotly against his before he’d even registered her intent. No coy maiden’s peck—Mae’s kiss was hungry, deep, as if she’d been wanting him for ages. He took hold of her hips and answered her passion with his own, a thousand warring sensations rushing through his body while his mind remained blissfully mute. When they pulled apart, panting, he could not help but grin.

He opened his mouth to speak, but paused when he heard voices and footsteps approaching from the prison.
 

“Trevva will know,” Ko-Jin’s voice sounded. “He must be in Accord.”

“Where is she?” Bray Marron answered.
 

Arlow, thinking a meeting with Ko-Jin at that moment highly ill-advised, guided Mae beneath the stairway and crouched. He put a finger to his lips, so Mae would swallow her question.
 

“Likely still in the plaza,” Ko-Jin said.

Arlow listened to their feet hammer up the stairway and out of earshot. He released a sigh of relief and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank the Spirits for that.”

Mae quirked a sandy brow at him.

“Bray—she’s alive.” When Mae appeared no more enlightened, he added, “The girl you shot on the train.”

Her forehead puckered, and then she too exhaled mightily. She blinked and licked her lips. “Good.”

Arlow squeezed her shoulder, then glanced up at the underside of the stair with a furrowed brow.
They didn’t have Yarrow with them
.
Odd.

“Let’s go. This shouldn’t take long.”
 

Arlow guided Mae into the dimly lit hallway. The cells had been unlocked—most stood ajar. The place resounded with silence. It seemed they were alone.

Still, Arlow strode to the cell that had held Yarrow. The door stood open, but Arlow stepped inside anyway, just to be free of doubt.
 

“Yarrow?” he asked the empty space.
 

Mae crossed her arms. “Not here?”
 

Arlow shook his head. “It would seem not. But he certainly was. Do me a favor and bring one of those torches in here. I’ll sweep for clues.”
 

Really, he intended to search for blood on the floor, but he couldn’t bring himself to say so aloud. That his friend might have been killed was too horrible to contemplate.
 

Mae left for only a moment and returned with a light. Arlow accepted the torch and bent low.
 

“Yar?” he asked, his head tilted to the side. There was definitely someone, crouched, hiding behind the chair that had held his friend. “Is that you?”

The man didn’t respond, so Arlow crept closer. He dragged the chair aside and held the torch aloft. The man held up a hand to shield his eyes from the light. He was nude, covered in filth, bruises, and blood. His hair was shoulder-length, greasy and tangled. But the light gray eyes were certainly his friend’s. “Blight it, Yar, why are you hiding? It’s me. I might have made some mistakes, but you can’t think I’d hurt you.”

Though it clearly was Yarrow Lamhart, Arlow experienced a strange doubt. It looked like his friend, certainly, but his expression, something about his eyes, seemed somehow…other.
 

“We are friends?” Yarrow asked. “You and I?”

From behind him, Mae said. “I’ll go and look for some clothes, alright?”