Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) (6 page)

“‘Cept all your mums and dads.”

“—citizen is not worthy of a procession?” He seemed to process Peer’s words slowly, as if they required translation. Then the smugness melted from his face, his features taking on an unnatural vacancy. “Nothing great can be achieved without sacrifice,” he recited in a detached tone. “Upon the restoration of balance and justice, the blood on our hands shall be washed free. History forgives.”
 

Then, as suddenly as it came, the blank countenance fled, leaving the young man once again cocky and mischievous-eyed. A tremor swept down Peer’s spine.
 

Kelarre leaned out of the compartment and returned with a newspaper. He tossed it to Peer and exited with a mock bow in the direction of Su-Hwan.
 

“Not too popular, are you?” Peer said, as he unfurled the news.
 

Su-Hwan reclaimed her volume and said with something of a sniff. “I have been told my interpersonal skills are lacking.”

Peer snorted.
Understatement
. His expression froze, however, at the headline of the
Accord Herald.

“The king’s
dead
?” His hands shook as he jerked the paper straight.
 

The Chisanta leader, Mr. Quade Asher, has been unanimously nominated to assume the role of
pro tem
head of state. Mr. Asher, who arrived shortly after the tragic event, has promised to address the food shortages as well as investigate the unlawful assassination of the royal family.

Peer crumpled the paper in disgust. “Nominated? By who?”

Su-Hwan went so far as to raise her eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

Peer sighed, gaze flicking to the window again, lingering on the smear of smog that marked the capital. “No. ‘Spose not.”

The compartment door glided open once more.
 

“Sorry I’m late,” Whythe said as he bumbled in, chest heaving. “Lost track of time.”
 

Su-Hwan, who appeared neither annoyed by his lateness nor relieved at his arrival, stood. “Quade has ceased his dosage.” She crossed the compartment, her long glossy hair swaying. “You may want to have a vomit receptacle ready.”
 

Whythe chuckled and plunked down on the cushioned bench. “Everyone else gets to go celebrate while we’re on puke-bucket duty. Some luck we’ve got, hey?”
 

“I am happy to do as Quade bids. You should be too.” And with that, she left.

Whythe rubbed at the sandy stubble on his chin, his maple-brown eyes twinkling. “If there’s one girl in the world who needs to lighten up, it’s her.”
 

Peer offered a noncommittal grunt. He watched Whythe extract a pad of paper and unwrap a roll of drawing pencils. He was an excellent artist—Peer, for lack of any better occupation, had watched him draw many dozens of sketches over the past weeks.

He and Su-Hwan shared the same ability to deprive a Chisanta of their gift. Peer had to respect Quade’s preparedness. He’d not only had a backup for the Sphere, but he had a backup for his backup as well. The two of them took it in shifts to guard him. In personality, they could not be more different. He preferred Su-Hwan—she was easier to dislike.

Whythe sharpened his pencil point with a knife. “Shall I draw another one of you, then?” Peer didn’t answer. He didn’t care. “I’ve probably got your face memorized by now. Though it keeps getting thinner. You really should eat more.”

Peer grunted.

“You know, if you cooperated a bit, I’m sure Quade would accept you. He’s a hard man, but he can be generous.” The sound of pencil scratching paper greeted Peer’s ear. “In the end, it would be better for you. We could be friends, you and I. I’m only two and a half years younger, you know. And I used to be a farmer too. Grew corn. Didn’t much like it though; I always preferred drawing. ” His tone was bright and expected no reply, which was for the best as Peer intended to give none.
 

 
Peer’s head thunked to the window pane. He let the rumble of the train and the incessant mumbling of the Fifth lull him into a stupor. His fingers probed at the cluster of injection marks on his arm, and a yearning filled him: a desire for the pinch of a needle, for the cool rush beneath his skin, for oblivion.
 

4

Unbidden, Bray’s gaze tugged to the shrouded figure on the doctor’s operating table. Cream fabric concealed the still form, but the points of two slippered feet, the tiny summit of a nose, and the valleys of eyes left no doubt what lay beneath.

“Thank you again, Doctor,” Yarrow said, shaking the old, bearded man’s hand. “For everything.”

“Not a bit, young man,” he faltered. “Or, ah, Master Chisanta. I only wish I could have done more.”

Morning light streamed through the yellow paisley curtains, brightening the old-fashioned rooms that served both as doctor’s quarters and personal sitting room. Footsteps creaked from above, indicating that at least one of their party, aside from Yarrow and herself, had roused.

Yarrow slumped down beside her; she noticed that his hair was damp, that he smelt of lye soap. His coloring was much improved from the evening before, though his gauntness seemed to have increased overnight.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He affected a smile. “Better.” His eyes darted to the queen’s corpse. “In some respects.”

Slow footfalls sounded on the stairwell and Jo-Kwan materialized on the landing. Bray regarded him with a sympathetic brow. Losing both parents in one night—she couldn’t imagine it. Her father’s death had been nearly unbearable, and that had been only one loss.
 

Dark circles marred the new king’s under-eyes. His right arm was strapped to his chest to keep his shoulder immobilized.
 

Doctor Padderton jumped from his stool. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, Your Highness. Your injury—”

“I thank you for your concern and your hospitality, but I have…” He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “Responsibilities.”

“
We
have responsibilities,” Chae-Na corrected as she entered the room, her chin raised, though her eyes were puffy and pink. Jo-Kwan drew her into a tight embrace; he blinked several times, gripped her by the shoulders, and pulled away.
 

“You don’t mean you’re going back to Accord?” Bray asked. “It isn’t safe.”

 
“No,” Jo-Kwan said. “I thought I should speak with the local constable. He’ll doubtless have more information.”

Bray frowned. “I’m not sure that’s advisable. It seems that at least
some
of the constables have been cooperating with Quade.” She thought of Constable Abbort’s lies at the ball in Accord and her mouth puckered in distaste. “I don’t know that you can trust them.”

“I appreciate your opinion, Miss Marron, but I think it would be most unfair to condemn all of my country’s officials merely because a few have erred. This is a small town; what are the chances Quade’s influence has reached so far?”

Bray hoped he was right. She didn’t really fear some small-town law enforcement, anyway. Perhaps it would be better to know for certain, one way or the other, how wide-reaching this problem had grown.

Heavy thuds echoed down the stair and Ko-Jin joined them, his hair rumpled and braid half undone. He surveyed the office with still-sleepy eyes, his hand gingerly assessing his wound. “What’s for breakfast?”

“If you head up to the Lamhart house, I’m sure there would be food aplenty,” the doctor said, shooting a stern look in Yarrow’s direction. “I know Mrs. Lamhart would want to see her son.”

Yarrow’s expression turned sheepish. “I had every intention…”
 

“Why don’t you and Ko-Jin go ahead to your house,” Bray said to Yarrow. “And I’ll go and see the constable with,” she gestured towards the royal siblings, unsure what to call them—was he prince or king? “And then we can meet in town and decide where to go from there.”

Yarrow rubbed the back of his neck, color blooming in his cheeks. “I thought, maybe, you’d like to meet my—”

Ko-Jin sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll keep an eye on this lot and you two go on.”

Chae-Na turned to her mother. “But, what about…”

“We’ll return for her,” Jo-Kwan said as he squeezed his sister’s shoulder.
 

They strode out into the cool morning and the party split, Bray and Yarrow veering away from town.
 

Bray couldn’t help but envy Yarrow his childhood—Glans Heath seemed a rather idyllic little place. They passed quaint shops, a bakery, a cafe. Well-dressed children played with a hoop on the sidewalk, lines of beautiful homes piped chimney smoke into the morning sky.
 

“Are you excited to see your family again?”

Yarrow laughed nervously. “I don’t rightly know. I’d accepted a long time ago that I’d likely never see them again.” His hands balled into fists and then released. “It’s…I don’t know. But I’m glad you’re with me.”

Bray took his arm. “They’ll be pleased to see you, I’m sure.”
 

He steered her up the drive of a large, tumbledown home. “I hope you’re right.”

The color had drained from his face by the time they reached the front door. His hand shook as he raised it and, with his bottom lip between his teeth, rapped the knocker three times.
 

A moment of silence, then the pattering of feet sounded and the door creaked open.
 

A little girl, perhaps eleven or twelve years old, peered up at them. She had brown hair, just the same shade as Yarrow’s, which hung in ringlets around a slim face. “Allon,” she said with a laugh, “why’re you knocking?” Her brow creased as her eyes moved up and down Yarrow’s robes. “Wait. You aren’t Allon.”
 

Yarrow squatted so he could look the child in the eye. “No. I’m your brother Yarrow.”

“Yarrow?” she repeated, with wide brown eyes. She held out her hand. “I’m Dellia.”

“Dellia,” Yarrow murmured as they greeted like strangers rather than brother and sister. “You were just a baby when I left.”

“Who is it, Dell?” a boy asked, appearing at the girl’s side. He was a good head taller than his sister, his youthful face covered in freckles. His mouth hung open at the sight of Yarrow. A few more faces appeared, all equally thunderstruck.
 

“Yarrow?” A pretty young woman budged her way through the crowd of children. “Is it really you?” She threw herself into Yarrow’s arms and he picked her up and spun her in a circle.
 

“Ree,” he said, a smile in his voice.

Bray felt rather like an interloper and took a half-step in retreat. Yarrow caught her by the elbow and brought her forward. “Ree, this is Bray Marron.”

Bray shook hands with the young woman, who looked very much like Yarrow, though softer through the face and with brown eyes rather than gray. “Very nice to meet you,” Ree said. “Come in, both of you, come in.”

They crossed the threshold. Bray smiled as she scanned the space. Yarrow’s childhood home was so exactly as she had imagined: well-worn, with tattered furniture, wallpaper beginning to peel at the corners, every surface cluttered with the effects of so many residents; yet full of sunlight, smelling of cinnamon, charged with that certain warming ambience that lingers in the spaces where familial love lives.
 

A young man pulled Yarrow into a hug, thumping his back with brotherly affection.
 

“Allon,” Yarrow said, laughing. “It’s good to see you.”

Bray understood why the little girl had mistaken one brother for the other—Allon, though a touch shorter than Yarrow, looked uncannily similar. He had the same color eyes, the same sharp bone structure. Only, his smile and expression held a certain roguishness that Yarrow’s never would.

“Ma,” Ree called. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

A tall, slim woman with dark hair heavily streaked with silver appeared, an apron round her waist and a dishtowel in wet hands. “See what, dear?”

The towel thumped wetly to the floor.
 

“Yarrow?” the woman asked in a whisper, her hand fluttering to her chest.

Her long-lost son stepped forward. “It’s me, Ma.”

“My Yarrow,” she cried and threw her arms around him, pulling his head down to her shoulder. “My son,” she said between great sobs. “My son.”
 

Yarrow’s cheeks shone with tears. He patted his mother’s back. “I’ve come home, Ma.” He swallowed. “I’ve come home.”

Ko-Jin sensed the eyes of the town upon him. It was almost certainly his imagination, but their gazes felt hostile. He and his two companions weren’t precisely inconspicuous. Their clothes—in his case distinctive Cosanta robes, in theirs courtly finery—were ripped and bloody.
 

The stitches in his side tugged with each step and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He wished he were with Yarrow and Bray, regretted having suggested this arrangement. He could sense the accusation in the stiff silence of the two figures striding before him. He had failed, and their mother had died for it.
 

Jo-Kwan stepped back to walk beside him and whispered, “Have you noticed the staring?”