The Complete Marked Series Box Set

by March McCarron

  “Yarrow,” Peer’s voice broke in. “What’re you doing, mate?”

  Based on the amusement in Peer’s voice, Yarrow suspected he’d been making a strange expression.

  “Oh, just trying to be more loving,” Yarrow said. He looked up to find not only Peer, but Adearre as well. They took seats at the table with him.

  “Not going to finish that?” Peer took Yarrow’s plate and began to eat the lukewarm remainders without permission.

  “So, what happened?” Yarrow asked.

  “The telegram was from Easterly Point.” Adearre slid his chair in closer. “We finished going through the last of the newspapers. The map shows a dramatic cluster in Eastern Daland, which leads Bray to believe our anonymous tip is sound.”

  “Where is she now?” Yarrow looked over Adearre’s shoulder to the entrance.

  “She wanted to question someone or other. I didn’t pay much mind,” Peer said, scraping the plate with the side of Yarrow’s fork to get at the last of the gravy. He motioned the serving girl to bring two more plates and mugs of ale.

  “How fares your quest to love?” Adearre asked.

  Yarrow’s shoulders slumped. “Not great.”

  “I think I can help,” Adearre said.

  Peer snorted. “What qualifies you?”

  Adearre feigned indignity. “I happen to be a very loving person.”

  “And what am I?” Peer asked, as he took a swig of Yarrow’s ale. “Some unfeeling lout?”

  Adearre offered Peer a closed-lipped smile and leaned back in his chair. “By all means,” he said with an inviting gesture, “teach us.”

  Yarrow laughed as Peer sat up straight and assumed his most teacherly expression.

  “Well, Yarrow—” he paused, leaned back to allow the serving girl room to deposit two more stews on the table. “The thing about love is this: it’s selfless. All love is one-sided—it might, you know, be one-sided on two sides, but on your part love is all giving and no taking.”

  “What a bleak take on the matter,” Adearre said.

  Peer took a great bite and wiped his mouth. “Nah, to love and receive nothing in return is noble. But what I mean, for your little project, is to remember that you don’t need to like the person. Them being likable is what they give you, not what you give them.”

  Yarrow nodded thoughtfully. Yes, that made sense. Half the time he didn’t much like Arlow, but he never ceased to love him. “But how am I supposed to feel empathy for a person without knowing what to feel empathetic about?”

  “You are still thinking about it wrongly,” Adearre said, “and Peer, actually, has a point.” Peer gave a flamboyant bow, as if he were a trapeze artist who had just performed a difficult stunt. “It isn’t about them, their characteristics, or their lives. It has to do with your ability to see their value.”

  Yarrow offered them a sour look. From the way they were talking, it was as if they thought him utterly uncaring.

  “Let’s practice on Peer,” Adearre said.

  Peer turned towards Yarrow and batted his eyelashes. “Alright, but this better not get weird.”

  Yarrow flushed, but he shifted to better face Peer and waited for the next step.

  “What’s going on?” Bray asked. Yarrow jumped in his seat. He hadn’t noticed her enter. She pulled up a chair, sat, and took a swig from Adearre’s mug.

  “Yarrow’s falling in love with me.” Peer winked.

  Yarrow sighed—why must he be saddled with such an awkward gift?

  Bray laughed. “By all means, proceed.”

  “Now, Peer here has many fine qualities,” Adearre pointed to his friend, “charming, intelligent—”

  —“Dashingly handsome,” Peer said—

  —“Noxiously arrogant,” Bray added—

  —“But none of that matters, not as far as you are concerned. It is like I told you the other day, you need to look with tender eyes—see a person, and know that they matter immensely to others. That they were born to a mother, that they have friends who care, that they love others themselves. Out from Peer stretches an entire network of connections. He is loved by many, and he loves many. If he were to not exist, just imagine all of those severed strands in the web. Know that Peer matters, that he has value, and feel the immense gratitude that he lives, the gratitude that you know others must feel.”

  As Adearre said this, Yarrow heard a burst of feeling from the place in his mind that Bray occupied. When Adearre had asked Yarrow to imagine that Peer no longer existed, Bray had experienced a sharp, deep, wrenching pang. As if she, too, had imagined it, and because Peer was a dear friend, it had been unbearable. Then a surge of affection filled her. Her eyes were on Peer, and Yarrow could see the tenderness in them. It was not a romantic love, but it was intense and deep; it was warm, soft, glowing.

  And it was this, overlapping with Adearre’s words, which triggered the change in Yarrow. He saw, for the first time, the real nature of love—the face below the mask of friendship, family, and passion. It was an impossible thing to adequately describe. It was universal. It was the acknowledgement that the beating heart in every human chest holds a multitude of feelings, and is therefore so much more valuable than a mere organ.

  And suddenly, it was as though the network that Adearre described blazed into existence. Yarrow felt Peer; his mixture of self-doubt and happiness. He felt Adearre, whose emotions were indescribably tender.

  But it did not stop there—he knew that the serving girl was flustered, that the stranger sitting by the window was envious, that the man behind the bar was distraught. He knew the feelings of Britt back at the Cape, of the man who ran the butcher shop in Glans Heath, of the constable of Greystone.

  As if a thousand stars suddenly burst into existence in his mind, Yarrow became aware of everyone he knew, even people he had only seen in passing. He thought his mind would explode, he was so utterly overwhelmed by the magnitude of this new understanding, this mental invasion.

  He called out—called out with a thousand pains that were not his, and a thousand joys he did not feel.

  “Yarrow?” Bray’s voice broke through, concerned, before he felt the chair slip out from under him. The world, and its innumerable beating, feeling hearts, blinked into darkness.

  “I think he’s coming to,” Peer said.

  Relief surged through Bray as she saw Yarrow’s eyelids flutter and open.

  Adearre and Peer had carried him up to his bed and he had remained unconscious, though he jerked and sweated as if having a terrible fever dream. It had been nearly two hours since he collapsed in the common room, and Bray had begun to panic.

  “Yarrow?” she asked, trying to keep her voice soft and soothing.

  Yarrow’s eyes searched and found her own, and she gave a second sigh when she found them calm and sane. He reached up and massaged his head with his fingers and let out a small moan of pain.

  “The doctor is downstairs,” Adearre said. “I will get him.”

  “What happened?” Bray asked.

  Yarrow pulled himself up into a sitting position, three small creases still prominent between his brows.

  “It worked,” Yarrow said, his voice hoarse.

  “Are you saying you love me so much you had a fit?” Peer said. “That’s sweet, but—”

  “Not just you.” Yarrow took a sip of water from the glass at his bedside. “Everyone—everyone I’ve ever met. All at once.”

  Bray shivered. That sounded horrible. She marveled at his retained sanity.

  “And now?” Bray asked.

  “They’re all still there, but I’ve sorted it out. Silenced them—I’ll have to work harder to keep my mind to myself from now on.”

  “So what about Vendra?” Peer asked.

  Yarrow closed his eyes for a long moment. Bray imagined him sifting through some kind of file cabinet in his mind, searching for the V’s.

  “She’s…” Yarrow’s face hardened. “She isn’t afraid or in trouble. She’s kind of…jubilant. Her emotio
ns are so harsh…”

  He opened his eyes, his mouth twisted with disgust.

  “So we go to Easterly Point.” Bray sat down at the foot of Yarrow’s bed.

  The door opened and the doctor stepped in, followed by Adearre.

  “Awake at last,” he said, opening his bag and making a shooing gesture at Bray. He inspected Yarrow and pronounced him in sound health. “Try to take it easy for a few days,” he advised. Yarrow assured him that he would. The doctor turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Peer said. “You should have a look at Adearre’s gunshot wound. Make sure it’s healing properly.”

  Adearre rolled his eyes at his friend. “It is fine, Peer.”

  “Still, I might as well have a look,” the doctor said, clearly interested. Bray suspected bullet wounds weren’t terribly common, even in the capital. Adearre sighed in resignation and led the doctor to his own room for privacy.

  “Should we wait a few days before we start out then?” Peer asked, after the door had shut.

  “No,” Yarrow said, “I’m fine. We should set out tomorrow—I want to get to the bottom of all of this.”

  He stood up and stretched. “Vendra must be involved.”

  Bray had already come to this conclusion, but hadn’t wanted to throw it in his face.

  “She must have wanted to send us off course,” Peer said.

  “Or,” Yarrow said, his tone darkening by the word, “there was something unpleasant waiting for us at that warehouse outside Che Mire.”

  Bray thought this likely too, but again she held her tongue.

  “Where’s Ko-Jin?” Yarrow asked, looking around as he noticed his friend’s absence.

  “He went to see Arlow after we went to the post office,” Bray said.

  Yarrow closed his eyes and a small smile crossed his face.

  “What?” Peer asked.

  “Oh nothing,” Yarrow said. “That just explains why he feels so annoyed.” He pulled his robes straight and tucked several loose hairs behind his ear. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” he said, striding for the door, “but I could use a drink.”

  “You’re up awfully early.” Yarrow handed his trunk to a stableboy. Their carriage trundled up the drive, harnessed and ready to depart. The morning sunlight washed over them, watery and insubstantial. Peer, Adearre, Bray, and Ko-Jin directed the servants with their luggage.

  “What?” Arlow asked. “You thought I wouldn’t send you off?”

  “I didn’t send you off when you left,” Yarrow pointed out.

  “For which I will never forgive you.”

  Yarrow laughed and placed his top hat firmly on his head. “How is the wound?”

  “Healing admirably, I thank you.” Arlow darted a look at the Chiona. “Can I have a word…in private?”

  Yarrow nodded; he led the way around the side of the inn, to the small gap of browning grass that served as a yard.

  “Ko-Jin apprised me of everything yesterday, but it would seem you’ve had a change in plans. He said you might be going to Adourra but now you’re heading to…”

  “Easterly Point,” Yarrow supplied.

  Arlow’s dark brow furrowed. “Why the change of course?”

  “We received a tip.”

  Arlow began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. “But you also had a clue that your culprits were in Che Mire, yes? And I thought you were concerned for Vendra. So why go to Easterly Point?”

  Yarrow rubbed the corner of his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “It would seem that Vendra is not entirely honest.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Her feelings betray her.”

  A slow smile spread across Arlow’s face. “I didn’t realize you liked her so much,” he said, elbowing Yarrow significantly. “Does our Bray have competition after all?”

  Yarrow didn’t want to explain what had really happened—how his mind had opened. It was too strange and too recent. “I’m sorry if it comes as a shock. Her dishonesty, I mean. I saw you two talking at the ball. It seemed as if you liked her.”

  “Well, yes,” Arlow said dismissively. “She’s an attractive woman. I like them by course. But I’m worried about you, Yarrow. If she’s involved there may be other Chisanta as well. You aren’t the best fighter. I’d hate to see you get hurt, or worse. Is there anything I can say to persuade you to just go home? Go back to your library. You aren’t gifted in any way that makes you a threat.”

  Yarrow might have been ruffled by this slight had he not felt his friend’s genuine concern. “I have to see this through, Arlow,” Yarrow said. “I’m too involved now to go back to my library, as you put it. But don’t worry, I’m traveling with some thoroughly threatening companions.”

  Arlow frowned, clearly dissatisfied. “Very well. Keep your head down, mate.”

  Arlow embraced him, patting him on the back. Yarrow said goodbye and headed back to the carriage. Ko-Jin, Peer, and Adearre had already climbed inside. Bray sat perched upon the driver’s seat, looking luminous in the warm morning light.

  “Yarrow, would you drive with me?” she asked. He barely contained the smile that tried to spring to his lips. This was a much better start than their previous departures.

  “I would be glad to,” Yarrow said.

  He ascended to the front seat, took a deep breath, and immediately regretted it. Accord, even in the rich district, smelt foul and stale. He could barely wait to get back into the country. There would certainly be plenty of nature and fresh air to absorb along the way. The trip would take more than a week.

  Yarrow looked over his shoulder, to where Arlow leaned against the gate to the inn. He offered his friend a parting wave and a smile.

  “We will see each other soon,” he said, when he saw how dismal Arlow looked.

  “I imagine we will,” Arlow said. He waved back as Bray flicked the reins and the horses sprang into motion.

  Chapter Twenty

  Four days of rain and hard travel passed in damp, dreary succession, but Bray’s spirits remained unaffected. In moments of idleness—which, while traveling, were most moments—her lips would curve into a betraying smile, her mind linger deliciously on fancies that made her sincerely glad Yarrow Lamhart could read only feelings and not thoughts.

  She glanced sideways at Peer in the driver’s seat beside her. He scowled up at the drizzling sky and, when he felt her gaze, turned that scowl upon her. From within the carriage, Adearre’s musical voice said something indiscernible and Yarrow and Ko-Jin laughed. The lines of displeasure on Peer’s face deepened.

  “What’s with you?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He twitched the reins with unnecessary force. “You know I’ve no love for the rain.”

  She’d never known him to be so irritable, especially over anything as inconsequential as the weather. Of their usual party of three, Peer was always the most stalwart, the most easygoing.

  “You’ve been in a mood of late, and it has nothing to do with the weather.”

  She watched the muscle in his jaw twitch. He glared out into the swirling gray mist and did not respond.

  She crossed her arms before her. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but stop glaring at me like that. I’m allowed to be happy.”

  He leveled a black look at her. “Aye, we’ve all got the right to be happy. So, should I be wishing you joy then?”

  “Of course not. Nothing’s happened yet, Peer. Nothing has changed.”

  He snorted, a cold derisive sound. “Nothing’s happened. Isn’t that always the case? Three fearsomest words in the Dalish language—‘I love you.’”

  The light, misting rain left a sheen upon Bray’s cheeks and nose and slowly dampened her coat. She barely noticed; her mind was too occupied in its attempt to unravel Peer’s meaning.

  “Are you saying I’m a coward?” she asked.

  His brows drew together and his mouth turned down. “Not talking ’bout you.”

  “Then what are you ta
lking about?”

  “Nothing.” He pulled up sharply on the reins. “We’ve arrived.”

  So they had.

  Before her stretched the Painted Mere. It was, without doubt, the most beautiful place Bray had ever seen; a massive lake with water as clear as glass, its bed comprising hundreds of thousands of colored pebbles and stones, ranging in hue from yellow to blue to red—spreading like a jumbled rainbow for leagues and leagues. A half-moon of green mountains, bruised purple by patches of heather, bordered the north side of the lake. She, Peer, and Adearre had been there many times during their travels, but the sight never ceased to inspire awe.

  Peer guided the horses to a spot near the shore, far enough away to still be firm and dry—or as firm and dry as any ground was like to be after so many days of deluge.

  Bray tried to engage Peer in further conversation, but he hopped down from the seat and turned his broad back to her. She let out a frustrated sigh and walked towards the lake as the others filed out of the carriage. Yarrow joined her at the water’s edge.

  He let out a long, slow whistle. “I’ve read about this place. The words didn’t do it justice.”

  Bray opened her mouth to respond but was cut off. “Sight-seeing can wait till we’ve set up camp,” Peer said, his tone sharp.

  Yarrow’s dark brows rose, but he shrugged and helped unload the trunks.

  An hour later, with their camp attended to and several trout sizzling over the fire—courtesy of Ko-Jin’s unexpected fishing skills—Bray watched the sun set over the lake and praised the Spirits for the reprieve from the rain. It had left the ground soggy and the fire had been decidedly difficult to light, but the quiet, now that the pattering of raindrops had ceased, was like magic to her ears.

  “What shall we work on this evening?” Yarrow asked.

  “Your Tearre,” Bray said definitively.

  “Oh, and why not your Ada Chae?” he asked, a teasing smile crossing his lips.

  “Because your Tearre is much worse than my Ada Chae,” Bray said.

  “And what qualifies you to judge the quality of an Ada Chae?”