The teen stepped away, the tears still pouring unabated down his smooth cheeks, and nodded to the girl who had brought the sphere. She scurried forward and took the thing back through the crumbling doorway.
What happened next was so utterly unexpected that Yarrow nearly shouted out in surprise. Several of the larger boys and girls marched forward and, as a group, began to kick, hit, and generally beat the poor Adourran boy. He did not fight back, he was too wretched and resigned. The sound of the blows against the boy’s flesh resonated sickeningly across the otherwise silent watchers on. The boy collapsed to the ground, bleeding and broken.
Then the dark haired man approached. He knelt down beside the teen and spoke so soothingly and sweetly that even Yarrow, completely aware of the coldness that radiated from the man, felt buoyed.
“You will be rewarded, my brave brother,” the dark haired man said, and he helped the boy up to his feet. Yarrow was shocked that the lad could even stay upright after the beating he’d received.
The crowd began to beat their chests again—a sign of support. It reverberated like a drum, lending the bleeding boy courage.
Yarrow continued to stare, awed, as the lad closed his eyes and formed the opening move of the Ada Chae, Warm Hands Over Fire. His movements were less graceful for his injuries, but they were still distinct. Brush the Dragonfly yielded to Taking Flight. A hard lump lodged itself in Yarrow’s throat. This boy, so ill-treated before his own eyes, was not just Chisanta—he was Cosanta. He was Yarrow’s brother, who should be safe and unharmed at the Cape.
The boy was stepping into Crouching Butterfly as it happened. His thin limbs inflated like a balloon given air. His frame no longer appeared wiry, but thick with muscle. His youth dissolved, leaving him, in appearance, a full-grown man—wide-chested, thick-muscled, and intimidatingly strong. He closed out the Ada Chae and the crowd cheered for him. Yarrow watched him closely as he opened his eyes and examined his new body. He was pleased with it, and proud of what he had done, but the sadness he had felt upon looking into the sphere had not gone away—it remained still, a scar that would last far longer than any physical wound he had suffered.
Yarrow jumped at a tug on his sleeve and recalled himself to the situation. Bray gestured for him to follow and, quietly as possible, they crept away from the wall, down the sharp rocky slope that led to a churning, craggy shore.
“Who was that?” Ko-Jin asked, the wind so strong it pulled at his braid.
“Quade Asher,” Bray said, much to everyone’s surprise. Her emotions whirled, dark and wild as the ocean itself.
“Who?” Peer looked as nonplussed as Yarrow felt. “I don’t remember seeing him at the Isle.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Bray said. “He was only there once in our time—for Ambrone Chassel’s funeral. I spoke to him briefly that day.”
Adearre looked impressed. “You recognized a man you only met once, and remembered his name?”
“You recall how much I studied Chassel’s writings and—”
“How you were completely obsessed with solving his murder? Yes, we remember,” Peer cut in.
Bray sighed and sat down on a rock. The wind pulled at her dress and whipped the ribbons of her bonnet around her face.
“Ambrone Chassel dedicated his life to finding legendary lost objects of the Chisanta.”
“What, like the Scimitar of Amarra?” Ko-Jin asked.
Bray nodded. “Exactly. But his biggest obsession was the Sphere of the Chisanta. And Quade was the historian and archeologist who worked with him.”
Yarrow sank down on a rock too—the understanding of what he had just seen hit him like a blow. “Great Spirits…”
“Okay,” Peer said, annoyed. “How ’bout explaining the whole thing for those of us who’ve not pieced it together?”
“The Sphere of the Chisanta,” Yarrow said, “is a prominent player in many old Chisanta legends. It was said that any Chisanta who looked into it would come to a full and complete understanding of a sacrifice they wanted to make. Nowadays, there are almost no Chisanta who have anything beyond the first gift. For two reasons; because in times of peace there is no need for anything more, and because the sacrifices are difficult to make—especially the first.”
“Propagation…” Ko-Jin said thoughtfully.
“Exactly. You can’t give it up unless you have an appreciation of what it is you are losing—and how can a childless person truly know? It is said that in times of great need Chisanta are often bestowed with the understanding, but the sphere rendered this unnecessary. You could simply look into it and see your potential children, feel the love you would have for them, and then you would be able to give them up and receive your next gift.”
“So the sphere actually exists and this Quade Asher is using it to…what?” Peer asked.
“To build an army,” Bray said, “and to give each soldier more abilities than any other Chisanta possesses.”
Yarrow clenched a fist. “And they beat and do Spirits-know what else to these boys and girls to force the gifts to be physical.”
“It’s sickening,” Ko-Jin said.
“How is he getting them to do it?” Peer asked.
“Did you not feel it?” Adearre said. “His voice—it made me warm and comfortable. I almost wanted to beat my chest along with the rest of them. He must have a gift for—”
“Charm,” Bray said. “Yes, I felt it too.”
They remained silent for a long moment, listening to the haunting caws of the gulls and the crash of the waves on the rocks.
“The thing I still don’t understand,” Bray said at length, “is how they were able to find these children in the first place. How were they able to identify Chisanta on Da Un Marcu Eve, before their marking could be known to anyone outside their own families?”
Yarrow racked his brains, but he had no answer for this.
“So what do we do now?” Ko-Jin asked.
“We observe,” Bray said. “The more we know, the better prepared we will be. But I think our priority should be to get the Sphere away from them. It is the source of their advantage.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Bray crept along the gray stone wall, so intent on keeping silent and unseen that she paid no mind to the swirling snowflakes in the wind. Her soft-booted feet found quiet passage along the rocky shelf that separated her from the sea roiling many perilous leagues below.
Bray stopped, crouched with her back pressed flat against the wall, beside a window. Her fists balled at the sound of his voice—Quade Asher, whose accent kissed so familiarly against her ear. In spite of herself, that voice pooled within her chest, comforting and evocative. She focused, steeled herself against the sensation. She would not be charmed by a mass murderer.
After she heard him step out of the room, she peeked over the ledge of the window. He had installed his office in one of the more intact portions of the ruin. The room boasted several bookshelves, each crammed with gilded historical volumes. The walls were ornamented with maps and ancient artifacts. A maroon rug warmed the stony floor and a fire crackled in the hearth, giving the room an overall aura of a comfortable study.
Bray phased through the wall and felt a wave of warmth envelope her like sinking into a tub of hot water. Quade’s voice still sounded in the hall, so she passed through a closet and became tangible only long enough to open the door a crack. Then she waited for Quade to return.
She heard his heavy footsteps as he reentered the room and saw the shadow his legs cast across the rug. He sat down at his desk and shuffled through a stack of papers. Bray examined him through the narrow gap, memorizing every line and slope of his handsome face. A quiet rage began to burn in her stomach. This man had killed hundreds of people—families. He had taken scared children, her own brothers and sisters, and turned them into something perverse and distorted.
Bray was tempted to spring out of the closet and kill him then and there—and why shouldn’t she? Even Adearre must see the danger this man p
osed, how much safer the kingdoms would be without him.
The door creaked open. “Master Asher,” a young girl said. “They’ve just arrived.”
“Wonderful,” Quade said with a smile. Bray’s anger washed away at the sound, like chalk in the rain. “Send them in, will you dear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Several minutes passed before the door opened and two people entered. Bray could see only their feet, not their faces.
“Vendra, my dear.” Quade rose from his seat and offered some kind of physical greeting—a kiss? “How glad I am you are returned. Tell me, are our pesky detectives down in Che Mire?”
Bray scowled at the closet door. Pesky?
“I’m afraid not,” Vendra said. “It would seem I was not sufficiently believable, or alluring.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Quade said, the charm dripping from his words like dew. He sighed and sat back in his chair. “No matter, really. Though Bensell will be disappointed. He did such a wonderful job with those explosives. So should we expect them to be upon us soon?”
“Unless they’ve gotten lost, I imagine they are already here.”
“Oh dear,” Quade said pleasantly. “We’ll have to keep our eyes peeled, won’t we?”
“Aren’t you worried they’ll send a message back?”
“No.” Quade stacked his papers. “I’ve got the telegram office in town under surveillance. Besides, our time for operating in secret is quickly coming to an end.” He turned to address his second visitor. “So, Master Bowlerham,” he said. “What can you tell us about your friends?”
“They aren’t all friends,” a familiar drawling voice replied.
Recognition startled Bray so profoundly she nearly lost control and phased straight through the floor. She regained her concentration just in time, but her breaths came in short bursts. She glared at the set of gleaming shoes that must belong to Arlow.
“Yarrow’s always studied the Fifth—”
“How fascinating,” Quade said. “I should love to pick his brain. I dabbled in the Fifth myself when I was younger. And his gift?”
Arlow shifted in his chair. “He knows how the people he loves are feeling.”
Bray’s stomach clenched and her eyes narrowed. Yarrow loved Arlow Bowlerham. The duplicitous bit of scum.
“That’s a curious ability.” Quade sounded genuinely intrigued. “We should all be safe from him at least.”
“Well, he knows my feelings,” Arlow said.
“How touching. I’m sure you are smart enough to keep them regulated, however. And the others?”
“Ko-Jin’s a master of weaponry and martial arts. His gift is strength.”
“Really?” Quade asked. “His first gift was physical. How unusual.”
“He had some kind of deformity,” Arlow said.
“Ah, that explains it. No matter, we have plenty of equally gifted youngsters here. And the Chiona?”
“Bray Marron,” Arlow said, and for a ludicrous moment Bray thought he’d addressed her. Fortunately, she kept her head and remained silent. “She’s studied crime. I don’t know what her gift is.”
Bray said a silent thank-you for that blessed fact.
“The others—Peer Gelson and Adearre…something or other, an Adourran bloke. I don’t know much about either of them, I’m afraid. I think the Adourran detects lies.”
“Very well.” Quade’s seat creaked as he shifted his weight forward. “All in all, not a terribly formidable group, I think.”
Bray smirked to herself from her hiding place. She dearly looked forward to the moment she’d make him regret those words.
“Perhaps not, but they could still cause trouble,” Vendra said.
“Remember, Quade,” Arlow said. “You promised me they wouldn’t be harmed.”
“You hurt me, Arlow. Do you have so little faith in my word?” Quade said in a velvet voice. “I assure you, I have no intention of harming any Chisanta. The marked are blessed by the Spirits themselves—I would never dream of such a defilement of destiny.”
Arlow’s boots shifted on the rug. “Turn your charm off, Quade. I won’t be sweet-talked by you on this matter. Yarrow is a good friend of mine. I will not permit him to be hurt in any way. And I’m familiar enough with your methods,” he hit the word with no small amount of scorn, “to doubt you. The killing of mothers and children does not exactly engender trust.”
“How dare—” Vendra began, her voice a sharp lash.
Quade cut her off. “Peace, Vendra. Our friend has a right to his opinion.” He turned to Arlow, his tone soft and remorseful. “I took no pleasure in killing those people, but it was a necessity. Until our numbers were greater, we could not risk being discovered by our brothers and sisters across the sea. As a Chisanta, we must understand the nature of sacrifice. Those people died, yes. It is regrettable. But how many people die every day from hunger, from preventable disease, from inhumane working conditions? Allowing the weaker-minded to rule is the greater sin, Arlow.”
“You know full well that I agree with that sentiment. That is why I am here. The King is a fool.”
“I trust then, that we may come to an arrangement?” Quade asked.
“What, exactly, is it that you want me to do?” Arlow asked.
“I should think it obvious.”
Arlow breathed out a long gust of air. “I have no problem killing the King. But his children? They are not nearly so bad, in fact they are—”
Bray thought of the Prince, how kind and earnest he had been, and her jaw tightened.
“I’m sure they are quite lovely people,” Quade interjected, “but they are the heirs to the throne. If they survive, so does the monarchy. Do you believe either of them as suited for leadership as a council of Chisanta?”
“No, of course—”
“It’s as I said about sacrifice; sometimes you have to give up something that is quite good in order to attain something much better.”
“I suppose…”
“Don’t fret, Arlow,” Vendra said. “We aren’t going to have you kill them yourself. We just need a man on the inside, for information and to help guide them in an advantageous direction.”
“The assassination attempt at the ball was your doing, I am guessing?” Arlow asked.
“Yes and no,” Quade answered. “I was behind the event, yes. But I did not intend it to succeed. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“I shall keep my reasoning to myself at this time. I’m sure you understand.” Quade stood. “With your aid, I know we shall have no hiccups when we mean to finish the deed.”
Arlow must have nodded in agreement, though Bray could not see his face.
“Good man,” Quade said. “Then you had best be back off to court. We shall be in contact.”
Arlow stood and crossed the room. “Remember what you’ve promised, Quade.”
The door clicked shut and Arlow was gone.
“I don’t like him,” Vendra said, after Arlow’s footsteps had receded.
“The more Chisanta we can bring to our cause, the better, my love,” Quade said. He rose and Vendra copied him. “I want to show you something.”
The two of them departed, leaving Bray the sole occupant in the room, still crouched in the closet, her head positively swimming. She shook herself—the others must be informed—and phased straight through the wall, back out onto the slender, rocky ledge.
Yarrow turned the sizzling fish over on their spit, grateful for the small circle of warmth around the fire. He should be grateful for the fish as well, and that Ko-Jin was so adept at catching them, but after three straight days of nothing but cod, he struggled to summon the gratitude.
They had been staying in a small cave on the shore, which offered only moderate shelter from the cold and elements. It had been snowing off and on since they arrived. Sure enough, at that moment, white flakes swirled in the air, dusting the rocks and shore.
Yarrow again took up his book and scanned the pages,
not certain what he sought. This volume was not a full dictation of the Fifth, but rather an abstract of the most famous prophecies.
His eyes lingered on a passage and he frowned.
“Yarrow,” Ko-Jin called over the howling wind. “Come, we’re doing swords.”
Ko-Jin had taken his role as trainer more seriously since they witnessed the size and nature of their enemy, and Peer and Adearre had become more attentive pupils.
Yarrow sighed as he removed the fish from the fire, stood, and joined the others. He had no great skill in fighting. How could a few extra lessons help?
Besides, when Bray was away he couldn’t focus. Her emotions had been, for a while now, twanging with shock and anger. He hoped she had not run into trouble.
“Here.” Ko-Jin handed him a waster. “You work with Adearre. He’s decent with a blade. I’ll work with Peer.”
Peer’s eyes narrowed, clearly not pleased with the arrangement. Yarrow supposed he did not relish the clobbering he was liable to receive at Ko-Jin’s hands.
Adearre led the way to a level patch of shore, or as level as the coast could offer. Yarrow’s shoes sunk into the wet sand, leaving a trail of stark imprints.
He readied himself, bent his knees and held his wooden blade up before him, prepared for the first blow.
“You have already lost, my friend,” Adearre said.
“What do you mean?” The wind whipped his braid from his back and tugged at his civilian clothes.
“You tell me you have no skill by your expression and stance. You immediately poise yourself against a strike—it is obvious you have no intention of striking yourself. Your feet are prepared to back up, not move forward. Your mouth is turned down, your eyes defeated. You have let me win, and we have not even begun.”
Yarrow let his sword arm fall to his side, his shoulders sagged. “I’m rubbish at this, Adearre.”
The Complete Marked Series Box Set Page 29