The Complete Marked Series Box Set

by March McCarron

  Yarrow winced. That was precisely what he didn’t want to hear, because it was what he had already begun to suspect for himself. He felt the burden of those who had died, blamed himself for not finding some way to save them. He had thrown himself into danger to rescue Ko-Jin, despite the fact that he barely knew the man.

  Bray stood and came to the edge of the bed. “You’re just a good man, Yarrow Lamhart. You are and you were. Too good, probably, for your own happiness.”

  Yarrow snapped the notebook in his hand shut. He already knew what was to come—his role in the days that would follow. He began stacking the books and journals.

  “I thought you meant to read for another hour?”

  Yarrow could not meet her eye. He swung from the cot and piled his research on the desk. “I’m suddenly very tired. Perhaps in the morning…”

  “Excellent. I’m exhausted. Didn’t sleep at all in quarantine.”

  Yarrow noticed her shiver from the corner of his eye, and he hid a smile. His Bray did not like to be cooped up.

  He double-checked that his gloves were tucked into the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, and pulled a cowl on to better cover his neck and jaw. Behind him, Bray yanked off her boots.

  “There’s only one pillow,” Yarrow said.

  “No matter.” Bray tugged his arm, and he fell down onto the bed.

  “Need the light?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She reached over and puffed a breath, extinguishing their lantern. She settled so that her head rested on his chest, her legs snaked around one of his own. He gazed up at the dark ceiling for a while, listening to the wind howl.

  Bray’s breathing eventually evened. She twitched a few times as sleep took her.

  Yarrow’s mind would not stop working. He stared and he stared overhead, as the wall clock chanted the passing hours.

  He could not decide if the future placed so inevitably before him was fated, or if he had steered himself towards it. He had been drawn to the Fifths since he was a youth, and he had ever been putting others before himself. So was he a pawn, or in control of his own life? Had he been guided to this place or arrived by his own design?

  He had no answer, and as his mind grew fuzzy with fatigue, he began to think the distinction insignificant.

  Bray murmured into his shirt, her eyes moving beneath their lids. He ran a lock of her hair through his fingers.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Peer rubbed his hands together, the callouses on his palms rasping. He took a swill of coffee, though his limbs were already buzzing. He stood, looked at the clock, then sat again.

  Beyond the library window, he watched the wind tug at the branches of a yew tree. He could see no one approaching the library—the sun-dappled brick paths were, in fact, oddly vacant for such an hour.

  He frowned to himself. Late.

  He pounded his fists rhythmically against the desk. This hyperactivity had been with him since Su-Hwan. He suspected it was some new variety of grief—a jittery energy to do, to try. To not be still.

  Peer huffed, then jammed his arms into his coat sleeves. He would go find the lad himself, as punctuality seemed not to be—

  He jumped at a loud pop just to his right. He slapped a hand to his drumming heart. “Blight it, Tae-Young.”

  The lad jerked his coat straight. “Sorry, did I scare ya?”

  “Startled,” Peer grumbled. “You’re late. Ready to be off?”

  The kid swiped his fingers through his overgrown black hair, a timid smile coming to his lips. “Suppose I am. Ah, what’s the plan if we’re spotted?”

  “Flee.”

  Tae-Young released a held breath. “Good. Fighting Quade was pretty mythic and all, but also kind of…”

  “Trouser-pissingly terrifying? Yeah, I’m with you. Let’s be making this quick and risk-free then, aye?”

  Peer held out his hand. With a short laugh and a steeled breath Tae-Young took hold.

  Peer screwed his eyes shut as the library floor vanished from beneath his boots, and he spun into nothingness. When the world exploded around his senses, it was loud with bird song. He opened his eyes.

  Tae-Young had teleported them to a copse half a league from Quade’s forces, which were now camped at the outer perimeter of the city. Peer cautiously stepped around a tree and peeked across the marshy slope. The sight of the tents—the seemingly infinite number of them ringing this side of the capital—set his pulse thrumming. He licked a lip.

  “Now what?” Tae-Young whispered.

  Peer plunged a hand into his pocket and proffered a lump of wax to the lad. “Plug up your ears, and be keeping your eyes open. They’ll be needing wood for fire, so they’re bound to send people out this way eventually. Someone gets close, we grab ‘em and go.”

  Tae-Young took the wax with a shaking hand. Peer crammed the stuff into his own ears, deadening the sounds of all life around him.

  The sun moved higher overhead and the day warmed as they waited. Peer kept his eyes sharp, but his thoughts strayed—to Whythe, to his poor friend gone from this world, to his rapidly filling bladder.

  Thank the Spirits, he thought, when at last a party of Quade’s people made their way on horseback in the direction of their little thicket. Peer reached out to Tae-Young, to point the lad’s attention in the right direction, but his gaze was already locked upon the approaching group.

  Peer slipped deeper into the shelter of the brush and lowered into a crouch. The people moved near enough for him to ascertain, based on clothing and hair, that these were Chiona. He felt an unexpected ache in his chest at the sight of them—his people, now his enemy.

  He scanned their faces as they approached. He recognized many of them, though he knew none particularly well. His heart gave a slight lurch when the rider at the back maneuvered to the front of the party, the planes of her pretty face washed in mid-afternoon sunlight. Mi-Na, he thought. They were not good friends, but she had been of his year; they had gone through the testing together, and that created a certain bond. If he could save her, he would.

  Tae-Young was making intense eye contact with Peer, and trying to mouth something to him. Peer had never been very good at reading lips. He clasped the young man’s shoulder, and then pointed to Mi-Na. He lifted his hand to indicate that they should hold tight.

  Peer watched the group dismount. They had brought a sizable cart and a collection of saws. Peer’s mouth turned down. It would seem they were not merely gathering firewood, but meant to build something rather larger. A siege weapon? Peer swallowed, and made a mental note to inform Ko-Jin of this suspicion.

  Peer stooped, waiting with nervous energy. He watched their mouths moving in conversation. An older man with a full tawny beard appeared to be giving instructions. Peer considered if he should remove the plugs from his ears so he might learn their agenda, but rejected the notion as too risky. No doubt they would mention Quade sooner or later, and he didn’t want to spend any additional time in quarantine if he could help it.

  Finally, the group split into pairs and spread out into the wood. Peer’s eyes followed Mi-Na—she was not proceeding directly towards him, but at least she wasn’t heading the opposite way. He bit down on his lip.

  He suspected that she might not realize he wasn’t among Quade’s people. If he called out a greeting as an old friend, it seemed unlikely that she would attack.

  It might be foolhardy, but his jittery desire to take action compelled him.

  Peer stood up, but gestured for Tae-Young to remain concealed amidst the bushes.

  “Mi-Na,” he called out. His voice was muffled in his own ears. “Spirits, it’s been an age!”

  She spun to face him, her head cocked in question. She spoke, but her words were lost to him. He pasted a painful smile on his face and nodded, hoping this response might serve.

  The woman at her side—a civilian by the look of her—was paying more mind to the trees than to Peer. Mi-Na stepped forward al
one.

  She said something again, and Peer was able to read his own name on her lips, but nothing more.

  “Pardon?” he said, as if he had not caught her words for reasons other than the wax in his ears.

  Come on, he thought, just a bit closer.

  She spoke again, and the smile on Peer’s face began to strain. Whatever she had said, his lack of reply caused distrust to cross her smooth features. She stopped, a crease blooming between her brows.

  “Blight it,” Peer murmured, and he sprang from the balls of his feet, striking her with the force of his chest and knocking her to the ground. She hit him in the head hard enough to stun, but he kept a grip on her jerkin so she could not break away.

  Peer felt a cold hand press to his nape, and then the weight of Tae-Young draping across his back so that he could reach Mi-Na too. There was an awkward, scrambling moment. Nails clawed into the side Peer’s neck. But then the earth disappeared beneath his knees, and he clutched at the leather of Mi-Na’s jerkin, as if it might anchor him.

  They landed with a thump in a dark space that smelt strongly of dust and old parchment. Then, disorientingly, he felt Tae-Young teleport them once again, and Peer had the queasy sensation of not knowing up from down. He hit his knees in the library and gasped for air.

  Tae-Young stumbled forward and latched the closet door. Peer saw the wood begin to quiver a moment later, as their captive threw herself against the door. He took a slow breath and plucked the wax from his ears.

  She was screaming from within in accented Dalish. “Peer! What the Blighter?”

  Peer beckoned for Tae-Young to follow and they left the lecture hall, closing the door behind them to deaden her shouts.

  “That,” Tae-Young said, as he removed the wad from his left ear, “was not the plan.”

  Peer shrugged. “Worked though. Can you pop over to the palace, tell Ko-Jin about the lumber they’re collecting? And send Fernie over.”

  Tae-Young glowered at him for a moment, then rolled his eyes. He disappeared, and Peer let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the door to the classroom. He did not enjoy teleportation.

  When his heart rate returned to normal, he strolled a few paces down the hallway to the window. He gazed through the glass into the lecture hall, his eyes on the closet.

  Mi-Na had been a friend of Adearre’s when they were in their teens. The two of them had studied Dalish together. He wondered if she knew…

  “Hey,” a warm voice called out, and Peer’s rattled nerves settled. He smiled, closed-lipped, at Whythe. “Found another matched-pair at practice this morning.”

  “Really? Anyone I know?”

  “Don’t think so. A Cosanta and an Elevated. Peer, you’re bleeding.”

  There was concern in the man’s voice. It made Peer feel as if his chest were inflating. He raised his fingers to his throat. “Just a scratch.” Though, now that he was thinking about it, the wound did rather sting.

  Whythe bent to examine his neck, and Peer let his eyes flutter closed, enjoying the gentle touch. “Doesn’t look too bad. I suspect you’ll live. So, who’d you bring back with you?”

  “A Chiona.”

  Peer’s eyelids opened slowly and Whythe’s proximity sent a jolt through him. His mouth felt suddenly dry.

  “You’re going to be busy today, I take it?”

  “I am,” Peer said, wistful.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” He went up onto his toes and planted a fleeting but firm kiss on Peer’s bottom lip.

  By the time Whythe had turned, walked down the hall, and exited the building, Peer had still not drawn breath. And then a grin spread steadily across his face, dawning like a sunrise.

  The smile was so involuntary that he could not shake it off, even as Fernie appeared in the doorway.

  “You got one?” the lad asked, looking through the window into the inner room. He blew at the white-blond hair that had fallen in his face.

  “Yes. A Chiona woman.”

  Fernie glanced sideways at him, a fair brow raised. “What’s with you?”

  “Hm?”

  “Why are you smiling like that? It’s…unsettling.”

  Peer endeavored to school his face. “I’m not smiling. Are you ready to do this?”

  “No,” Fernie expounded, as if Peer were a halfwit. “Of course not. What makes you think I can do anything about Quade’s effect on people? This is the worst idea Ko-Jin ever had.”

  “You’re thinking you’re Asher’s spirit-mate, aren’t you?”

  Fernie’s pale face flushed and he glanced down at his feet. Peer pitied the lad. Discovering his connection with Whythe had been such a joy; he could not imagine what it must feel like to have one’s counterpart be a person as foul as Quade.

  “Listen—I was able to stop Whythe’s gift when I had to. It’s hard to explain, but I could feel his ability. It was like a flame within him and I extinguished it.”

  “Yeah,” Fernie said, his tone pitched in a way that made him sound like the sixteen-year-old boy that he was. “But I’m guessing it’s not Quade in that closet, is it?”

  “Yes and no. There’s a bit of Quade in there, inside of her. You can’t sense him in other people?”

  Fernie did not answer. Ko-Jin had already told Peer that Fernie had said as much—that he could recognize pieces of Quade in others.

  “I know you can do this,” Peer said, entirely earnest. Bray had told him of the vision the Spirits had revealed to her in that mysterious, real-world Aeght a Seve. Why should she have been given such information if it weren’t essential to defeating Quade?”

  “And if I can’t? If I fail?”

  “Five days of solitude never killed anyone.”

  Fernie groaned. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

  He knocked his fist to his hip in an anxious motion, then paced to the door. Peer followed behind. “I’ll lock you in,” he said, then fished a key from his pocket and extended it to the young Elevated. “This is for the closet door.”

  Fernie took the offering with slumped shoulders. He strode into the classroom as if he were marching to the gallows. Peer twisted the key and jangled the knob to ensure it was locked. He moved back to the window and settled in to watch.

  Fernie paced to the closet. He puffed out his cheeks and let go of a breath. Then he opened the door.

  Mi-Na barreled from the dark closet, half-tackling Fernie. There was an animal frenzy in her eyes. Fernie skittered back, trying to keep his distance. He tripped over a desk, and Mi-Na reached out. She grasped him by the neck, her thumb fitting into the groove of his jaw. She was talking, though Peer could not hear the words. Fernie tried to stopper his ears with his fingers, but the woman caught his hand and forced it down, her mouth working all the while.

  Peer leaned in so close to the pane that his breath fogged the glass. Within, Fernie’s demeanor began to transform. He straightened, and his fear and youth dissolved. There was something almost fearsome in his expression. Peer felt a shiver race over his skin, as it occurred to him what it might mean for Fernie to be Quade’s other half.

  Now it was Mi-Na who was trying to pull away. Her hands had begun to tremble. Fernie was speaking in a rush, his blue eyes intent.

  Mi-Na abandoned her struggle. Her hands trembled and her knees gave way. Fernie caught hold of her and eased her softly to the ground. She fell into his chest, weeping.

  Fernie met Peer’s gaze through the glass. He gave one deliberate nod of the head. Peer felt as if his feet had grown too heavy within his boots. He had just witnessed a miracle, and yet the pleasure of success, of newfound hope, was streaked with an inexplicable fear.

  He heard the door at the far end of the hall open and close. Ko-Jin jogged up to his side, breathless. “I’m late, I see. How did it go?”

  He gazed through the window, to where Fernie endeavored to soothe Mi-Na’s sobs.

  “Spirits…” Ko-Jin said. “He did it? Already?”

  “He did,” Peer said, and w
ondered if the affirmation sounded sinister only in his own ears.

  The wind tugged at the loose hairs framing Vendra’s face. The day had been reasonably warm, but as the sun began its descent a chill crept into the air. Vendra glanced up at the rainclouds above her, thinking that it would be a wet evening. Her attention shifted to the perimeter of Accord, to the stone wall that had never before barred her entrance.

  It was strange, surreal. The walls of the city were now manned by crossbowmen, whose bolts were trained upon Vendra’s people. To be in this ominous quiet, this peace before inevitable fighting, was similar to observing a drug take slow effect.

  The camp all around her was alive with activity. She caught the scent of bonfire on the breeze, along with the sounds of hammers and the shouts of men. She marveled at the number of moving parts, so many individual tasks that interlocked, compelling them all towards a greater, singular goal—like the whirring gears of a clock.

  Quade’s approach created a hush in the conversation around him, a moving silence. Vendra’s gaze latched onto him hungrily. He had taken to wearing the Scimitar of Amarra across his back and Treeblade at his hip. He looked like a hero of old, so sure and calm. His presence always afforded her a clarity of purpose.

  “Vendra.” He reached forward and kissed her cheek, and she closed her eyes and inhaled. “I come bearing good news. Mercy was successful in contaminating their water supply.”

  “The guard did not sense her movements? That is good news.”

  “When should we expect the effect to be at its strongest?”

  Vendra thought about the chemical properties of the drug, but confusion touched at her memory. Her brow furrowed as she tried to parse through her disorientation. Why did she feel so uncertain which drug she had given to… Come to think of it, she could not recall giving the script to anyone. Yet surely she had?

  “Vendra, dear,” Quade said, his voice rich with concern. “Are you quite alright?”

  She shook her head, as if hoping to disperse the fog in her mind. She sensed a blank, a space in her recent past that was obscured in haze. And the sensation gave her a prickling of déjà vu. “I’m…yes.”