The Complete Marked Series Box Set

by March McCarron

  “Quick announcement,” he shouted. The Chisanta and Elevated, standing in pairs across the icy grounds, waited for him to speak with expressions of varying civility. “Tomorrow, new partners’ll be assigned. The posting will be in the library, same as last week. Schedules for patrols are being updated, too. If you want to apply for a permanent partnership, come speak to me about it now, afore I finish pairing you all up.”

  He gave a sharp nod of the head, having nothing more to say. A good portion of the pairs departed with purpose—off to begin their morning patrols of the city. Several couples lingered to continue their practice of the Ada Chae, a sight which cheered Peer considerably.

  He heard the crunch of footsteps approaching from behind. “You did well today, Master Gelson. It looked as if you had reached the Aeght a Seve,” the Cosanta instructor said. He was an older man, with a salt-and-pepper beard and kind eyes. Ander Penton, he was called. Peer nodded his thanks, but the pride he’d felt in this accomplishment had already evaporated.

  “You know, I’d not have thought it possible,” Ander said, “but a few of your brothers and sisters are taking well to the Ada Chae.”

  Peer watched his breath ghost before him. “I’m thinking more will soon enough, once they’ve gotten over their pig-headedness.” He laughed softly to himself. “It’s no good feeling, giving up a comfortable hatred.”

  Ander chuckled beside him. “You’ve got wisdom beyond your years.”

  Peer merely smiled, closed-lipped. He might be young through this man’s eyes, but he did not feel young. He never had.

  Ander held out his hand. “I am very glad to know you, Peer Gelson. Happy New Year.”

  “You too.”

  Peer shook arms with the elder Cosanta, full of earnest good-feeling, and then watched the man depart. He let out a sigh, knowing that he must return to the library and continue his paperwork. That it was important made it no less tedious.

  As he meandered towards his office, he wondered if there would be festivities to celebrate the Year of the Stag. Normally there would be a massive celebration; it had not been a stag’s year in well over a century. But with the constant threat of Quade’s unexpected appearance, civilians had been reluctant to leave their homes.

  He exhaled warm breath onto his frigid fingers and flexed his hands a few times. His mind was occupied with pleasant nonsense, trying to remember the statistical likelihood of the stag being drawn—he knew it was small, but the exact figure escaped him. Su-Hwan, no doubt, would know. Peer frowned, looking around him in sudden realization. Su-Hwan had never joined him in the green as she’d said she would. His heart slammed into motion.

  Su-Hwan is on Quade’s list.

  Peer cursed and set off at a run, his boots sliding in the slush. He took the stone stairs two at a time and threw the library doors wide. Within, all was quiet.

  “Su-Hwan?” he bellowed, charging his way through the countless shelves of books. There came no reply.

  “Su-Hwan!” He reached the back of the building and spun around, his heart thumping against his ribcage. Spirits, he pleaded, as he sprinted back towards the entrance. Not her, not Su-Hwan…

  He nearly collided with her as he burst back through the doors. The relief he experienced at the sight of her small, impassive face was fierce and encompassing. He released a held breath and wrapped her in a rib-creaking hug. “Thank the Spirits,” he said, “I’d thought—”

  He stopped short at her expression. Only familiarity and close observation revealed her disturbance of mind. Her complexion was pale, her eyes slightly glassy.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Whythe,” she answered in a soft, even voice.

  Peer swore, and his stomach swooped. Of course, if Su-Hwan was on Quade’s hit list, Whythe would be as well. Their gifts were so similar.

  “He is alive. He will recover,” she added hastily. “He took an arrow to the chest, but nothing vital was damaged. He was lucky. And the archer was apprehended—a Chiona woman. She has been taken to quarantine.”

  Peer pushed the air from his lungs, his knees oddly tremulous. “Good. That’s good.”

  He had been doing his best to avoid Whythe ever since the hanging. It was odd, but he couldn’t shake that punch from his mind. He kept thinking of it, playing it over and over in his memory. He had enjoyed it—not the violence, or the fact that he had caused pain—but when Peer thought about the moment when his naked knuckles connected with Whythe’s face, he experienced an odd shiver. Like nervous excitement.

  Su-Hwan pursed her lips, her black eyes glinting. “He is not taking the injury with…composure, however. He asked that you come see him. I said that you would likely be busy—”

  “Nah,” Peer said, only in part because it would defer the drudgery of his afternoon. “I’ll check in on the lad. Why not?”

  Su-Hwan’s shoulders dipped. “Very well. I will begin the new schedule, then, shall I?”

  Peer smiled and slapped her back. “Great idea. I’ll not be long. Where’s he at?”

  A few minutes later, Peer pounded up a hallway in the medical school building, his gaze darting between room numbers. He knew he had found the right place when he spied a group of Elevated chatting in the hallway.

  “Heyah, Peer,” a young man said. Peer wasn’t wholly sure he knew the kid, but bobbed his head in acknowledgement.

  He recognized several of the others. Wynn leaned against the wall, wrapping one of her auburn ringlets around a finger. Beside her, Clea absentmindedly compelled a bolt of gauze to float in the air, causing it to unfurl and then roll up again, like a snake curling in upon itself.

  “He’s through here?” Peer asked, gesturing to a door that stood ajar, and they nodded en masse.

  Whythe lay on a narrow cot, propped up on a pile of pillows. His bare chest was crisscrossed with white tape, securing a bandage just south of his left shoulder. The arrow had only narrowly missed his heart.

  “Peer,” Whythe croaked. He tried to sit up straighter, and winced. His sandy hair had grown long enough to be tucked behind his ears.

  “How are you?” Peer asked, and for some reason he sounded awkward. For some reason, he felt awkward.

  Whythe sighed with the air of a man trying to bear a great pain. “They say I’ll heal. But I’ll confess, it twinges something awful.”

  Peer tried not to smile, understanding Su-Hwan’s comment. Clearly he was milking it.

  “Glad to be hearing it,” Peer said. He sat down in the sole spare chair. The chamber itself was small, and smelt antiseptic. Whatever doctor had patched him up was not in attendance. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, I…” Whythe’s eyes shied away. He fiddled with the edge of his bedsheet. His hands were darkened with charcoal, leaving the white fabric gray. “Could you shut the door?”

  Peer unfolded himself from his seat and pressed the door closed. His nervousness only increased as he sat down again. In truth, it was a very small room.

  Whythe continued with an apparent effort. “When I thought I would die, it was like my whole life went before my eyes. Everything—all my sins.”

  “Your sins?”

  “Aye,” Whythe said, and finally looked up, gazing intently with his maple-brown eyes. They were nice eyes. “And I wanted to apologize to you. You were suffering, tortured. And I just drew your picture over and over, doing nothing at all to help. I’ve got those portraits still; if you start with the first and move through to the last, it’s like watching someone wither away before your eyes. I should have done something. I was so…so callous.”

  Peer shrugged, uncomfortable. “You were under Quade’s influence. ’S no fault of yours. Don’t be thinking on it.”

  Whythe bit his lip. “I wonder…” He shook his head.

  “You wonder?” Peer prompted.

  Whythe went back to twisting the corner of his bedsheet. “How much we can really lay at Quade’s feet. How much of it was his gift, and how much my nature?”

  “You’v
e all been with him so long. No way you could have resisted.”

  “You resisted,” Whythe said, his voice rising.

  “Not completely,” Peer answered. “And I—well, the pain and anger at my friend being killed, my mind was so full of it. It was like Quade’s persuasion couldn’t get through.”

  Whythe only continued to stare with a melancholy gaze. Peer noticed that his chest bore light, curling hairs, but only between his pectorals. They formed a nearly perfect triangle.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I’d better be heading—”

  “I nearly died today. You can’t sit with me for a while?” he said with ringing melodrama. “Died, Peer.”

  Peer laughed from the belly, and when his laughter died the grin stayed on his lips.

  “Whoa,” Whythe said, angling his head to the side.

  “What?” Peer asked, still smiling.

  “I thought I knew all the shapes and shades of your face.” His eyes narrowed in appraisal. “But I’ve never seen it quite like this.”

  The room was suddenly too hot.

  “You know,” Whythe said, “you really should smile more oft—”

  “I’ve got to go,” Peer said, jumping from his chair. “Sorry.”

  He barreled from the room, barging through the group of Elevated lingering in the hallway.

  As the distance grew between them, the strange tingling that had crept across his skin began to ebb, but the memory of it lingered. And Peer had the confusing sense that something—someone—was trying to turn him around, pull him back.

  He resisted, and rejoined Su-Hwan in his office, determined to work. Determined not to linger on thoughts he was not yet prepared for.

  Chapter Eight

  Ko-Jin’s eyes glazed over as he stared down at his ledgers. He drummed his fingers on the desk and wished, not for the first time, that Yarrow were with him. His friend could no doubt breeze through these mountains of reports, and glean far more information from them.

  The door to his study opened and he looked up, grateful for the interruption. Fernie peeked his head in. “You said to tell you when they—”

  “They’re here?” Ko-Jin jumped from his Seat of Intimidation and tossed down his pen.

  “Yes, sir,” Fernie said, with a smile that was a little too knowing.

  Ko-Jin ignored it. “Let’s go meet them, then.”

  He took off at a jog, wending his way through the now-familiar labyrinth of hallways within the palace. He could hear Fernie running after him, and falling behind.

  “Problem, General?”

  Ko-Jin skidded to a halt and pivoted to face his sister Cosanta, Britt. Her freckled face appeared as fearsome as ever. He responded to her severity with a bright smile, as was his practice. It had always amused him to do so. “No, just in a hurry. Carry on.”

  By the time he had loped out onto the lawn, a slight nervousness stole over him. Ko-Jin watched the Adourran swordsmen march through the palace gate, and tried not to feel like the sixteen-year-old boy he had once been. As he searched the crowd for a familiar face, he unconsciously spun the ring on his middle finger.

  “Blighter,” Fernie huffed, finally reaching his side. “They don’t look much like an army.”

  They were men and women of varying ages and builds—mostly Adourran, though Ko-Jin spotted a Dalishman here and there.

  “They’re not,” Ko-Jin said. “Master swordsmen, all, but not soldiers.” He shrugged his shoulders. “No matter. They’re a blessing all the same.”

  “Is that her?” Fernie asked, nodding his head at a woman who’d just glided through the gate.

  “Spirits…” Ko-Jin murmured to himself. And then, aloud, “Yes. That’s her.”

  Zarra. In her left hand she held a walking stick, which she swiped back and forth before her. A babe bounced on her right hip, squirming for freedom, and a towering black-spotted dog bounded at her side.

  Ko-Jin strode forward to meet her. His throat tightened and his palms began to sweat, but due to what emotion he could not quite say.

  “Excellent timing,” he called out to her. “As always.”

  “Sung.” She grinned. It was the same too-big smile from his memory, though the grooves in her face were deeper, more permanently set. Her eyes were the same milky white orbs in her dark face. But in other ways, she was not as he remembered. She had a softness to her that she’d lacked before, both in figure and temperament. Not a girl, but a mother.

  She reached out to shake his hand and pat his back. He smiled down at the boy on her hip. The small lad’s head seemed to be too large for his body; it bobbled on his neck.

  “Hello, little man,” Ko-Jin said, and the babe grinned up at him, showing off gleaming gums.

  “This is Hervenne,” she said. “Hervenne, meet my old friend Ko-Jin.” The kid’s attention had already wandered. “And this smart girl is Kaeya,” she said, and flopped her seeing-eye dog’s ears.

  Ko-Jin recalled a different giant dog who had once accompanied Zarra everywhere. But he pushed that painful thought aside.

  A large man approached, with a young girl sitting astride his shoulders. He was tall enough that even Ko-Jin had to look up to meet his eye, and so broad-shouldered that he questioned the man’s ability to pass directly through doorways.

  “Mami,” the little girl trilled. Her hair exploded in wild black curls, just like her mother’s.

  Ko-Jin’s cheeks ached from holding what was likely a stiff and awkward smile, but he kept grinning all the same.

  “And this is Maevva, and you remember my husband Nevrre?”

  Ko-Jin bobbed his head in the giant’s direction. “Of course, good to see you again.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve prepared a section of the palace for your people, and lunch is being served. After you’ve rested up a bit, we can sort out patrols and training schedules.”

  Zarra snorted. “We’ve been resting for five days already—”

  “I apologize for—”

  “No matter, Sung. Point is I could use a workout. You haven’t left off your training, I hope? I’d hate to have wasted my time on you.” She turned to her husband. “Can you feed the kids while we catch up a bit?”

  Nevrre nodded and said something in Adourran, but with no apparent displeasure. He kissed his wife’s cheek, claimed his son, and set off in the same direction as the other swordsmen.

  Zarra pulled her coat tight against a gust of wind. “Blighter, it’s cold up here.”

  “Have you been to Accord before?”

  “Never left Adourra. Haven’t had the opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome, then,” Ko-Jin said. He rested his hand on her upper arm for a moment. “This way, if you still want to train.”

  Zarra stepped forward. The giant canine at her heels launched into motion, turning back with impatient tail wagging when they lagged behind.

  “So, what’s the strategy, General?” she asked, as they wandered around the west side of the palace complex.

  “Hm?”

  “To kill this Asher fellow. That’s the goal, yes? Seems like you shouldn’t need so many men to do it.”

  “It’s his gift.” Ko-Jin swallowed. “Gifts.”

  “Yeah, he messes with heads. I’ve seen it. So use a ranged weapon. Why’s this gone on so long?”

  Ko-Jin laughed. “I’ve missed you, Zarra.” She stumbled, and he cleared his throat. “Ah, well, the ranged weapon was the plan. But the man can teleport.”

  “So don’t let him see you coming, Sung.”

  Ko-Jin shook his head. “It’s not that easy. He isn’t in one location for long. How would I ever manage to be in the same place at the same time? And if I were to listen to people speak of him, my mind would be contaminated. No, the best chance we have is to let him come to us—and he will. He has. He pops into the city.”

  “You know that he’s mounting an army in Adourra, I assume?”

  Ko-Jin sighed. “Yes. By the Spirits, let’s hope it doesn’t come to an actual siege. His
men would be dying for a manipulation.”

  She snorted. “How’s that different than any other war, really?”

  Ko-Jin grunted at this bit of bleakness, and guided her to the patio behind his own rooms. The stones were dusted with old snow. “Wasters are just inside,” he said as he unlocked the back door. “Step in for a moment, I want to show you something.”

  She glided into his living quarters. It struck him how bizarre it was to have her here—a ghost from his past standing in his present, in these ornate rooms within the royal palace itself. His former self, the boy he had been when he’d loved her, could never have imagined such a future.

  “Here,” he said, offering up his weapon.

  She accepted the sword with the reverence it deserved. The blade sighed as she unsheathed it. “Spirits,” she said, “can I whip it around a bit, or will I slice up your curtains?”

  “Whip away.”

  Silver flashed around her. Ko-Jin folded his arms before his chest and admired her form.

  “I’ve never felt such a well-balanced blade,” she said, grazing her fingers along the waves in the steel.

  “Treeblade,” he said.

  She quirked a catlike smirk in his direction. “Don’t suppose you want to give this to me as a gift.”

  Ko-Jin burst out laughing. “Not a chance.”

  She nodded, smiling at the floor. “I missed you too, Sung.” She returned his sword formally. “You don’t hate me anymore, do you?”

  “No.” He exchanged the steel blade for a wooden one. “I never hated you.”

  She cocked her head to the side and raised a single black brow. “Oh?”

  “Well, except perhaps that time you had me doing sprints until I vomited. I might have hated you a bit then.”

  She grinned. “Well, I’m curious if you’ve improved. Mind my middle, though.” She placed a hand on the slight swell of her abdomen. “Or Nevrre will have your balls.”

  Ko-Jin chuckled. His spirit felt light, and not only because Zarra and her people could train these new recruits far better than he. No, he smiled because, as he looked at her, he knew that his heart was healed.