Trevva quirked a brow. “Not now. It is nearly dark, and snowing. Your Yarrow will no doubt stop for the night as well.” She swept her gaze over Bray’s appearance. “Besides, you look dead on your feet, sister.”
Bray ground her teeth. She wanted to hit someone, or weep, or melt into a puddle. Perhaps she was tired, she conceded.
“One night won’t make much difference,” Ko-Jin said with infuriating reasonableness. “I’ll have to speak to Jo-Kwan, anyway. He might not want me to leave.”
“You shouldn’t,” Roldon said, his head cocked to the side. “He’ll need you here. We can find Yar without you. In fact, Trevva and I can go alone. It’ll be faster.”
Bray glowered. She inhaled, preparing to protest, but he held up a hand. “Or not. Or not,” he rushed with an apologetic smile. “As you like.”
Bray frowned at the lot of them, but they were all against her. And she was, in truth, too exhausted to think. So she gave a consenting nod. “Fine. We’ll set out at first light.”
Peer placed a broad hand on her back. “Our room’s just there,” he said, pointing to the west. “Let’s be heading to bed afore Su-Hwan falls over.”
Bray directed her gaze to the young woman and her lip twitched. The girl was asleep on her feet. She swayed on the spot, and Peer threw an arm around her shoulder. Her head lolled onto his chest.
“Right,” Bray said, stifling a yawn. “We’ll convene here at dawn, then.”
They agreed, and the party split ways, with Ko-Jin, Roldon, and Trevva trooping back towards the palace to meet with the king.
The snow had formed a perfect, soft sheet atop the plaza. It struck her as a pity to mar it with their footprints. They trudged in the direction of their lodgings. Had she only left them that morning? It felt a great while longer. A lifetime.
Peer half-carried Su-Hwan. Bray’s path meandered, as she was drunk with worry and fatigue. Many of the Elevated remained in the square, despite the plummeting temperature. She bit her lip. When she looked to Peer, she found his attention likewise engaged.
“What’ll happen to them?” she asked.
“Can’t say. They’ll be needing some guidance, I think.”
Su-Hwan yawned, her nose wrinkling. “It should be you, Peer,” she said dreamily, “to guide them.”
Peer snorted. “Yeah, why’s that, then?”
She smacked her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “They know you. You are the prisoner who withstood Quade’s torture, who did not buckle. They would look to you. We would, I mean.”
They reached their room, and Bray fished in her pocket for the key. She jabbed at the knob a few times without success before unlocking the door.
“Help the girl to bed, will you?” Peer said, transferring Su-Hwan’s weight to Bray’s shoulder and snatching the key. “I’ll be back in a mo’.”
Bray meant to ask where he intended to go, but he was gone before she’d gathered the words. She hauled the smaller woman onto the wide, misshapen mattress. In sleep, Su-Hwan looked little more than a child. Bray smiled slightly as she unlaced the girl’s boots and pried them off. The two of them smelt of sewage, but the water basin was empty. A task for the morning, then.
Before succumbing to exhaustion, Bray forced herself to search the room and ensure they were alone. She peeked beneath the bed, and behind the desk where she had written her many small scripts. Her inspection uncovered nothing but dust and shadows.
Satisfied, she crawled into bed beside her Elevated friend. Bray curled into herself and waited for sleep to come, but despite the itchy heaviness of her eyes, her mind resisted unconsciousness. Minutes slipped by, and she wondered where Peer had gone. After nearly an hour, curiosity transformed into worry. She had all but convinced herself to rise and go hunt for him when she heard a key in the lock.
Peer entered and closed the door as lightly as possible, trying not to wake them. He stripped out of his boots and coat and slipped beneath the sheet. They didn’t touch, but his nearness warmed her.
“Everything okay?” she asked in a whisper.
He rolled to face her. “Aye. Just wanted to get those kids outta the cold. Couldn’t have ‘em freezin’ out there.” He yawned. “We’ll have to find a place in the city for ’em to stay, Chisanta too.”
Affection swelled in her breast. It was so like him, to look after others at such a time. “Think Su-Hwan’s right?” Bray asked. “About the Elevated?”
Even in the gloom, she could discern the gauntness of his cheeks. He needed rest, a chance to recover. She disliked the idea of separation, but he would be in no danger here amongst so many Chisanta.
“Can’t imagine,” he mumbled, an expression of self-deprecation crossing his features.
“I can,” Bray said. She licked a lip. Peer was the most dependable person she knew, and, beneath a sometimes gruff exterior, the most compassionate as well. If he put his energies into helping the Elevated, she knew they would be the better for it. “Maybe you should remain in the city. I won’t be gone long.”
“You sure? I don’t wanna—”
“I’m sure. Stay. I’ll be in touch.”
He rolled onto his back. Somewhere, out in the night, a cat mewled. “Alright, then.”
They were quiet for a time, but she knew he was awake. He had not yet begun to snore. She, with her mind so full of Yarrow, lay in equal sleeplessness.
“Saw Vendra out there, before,” Peer murmured to the ceiling.
“Oh?”
“S’pose I can’t be forgivin’ all the rest of ’em,” he said, “and still be holdin’ her to ’count.” There was a heavy pause. “But it ain’t easy…to forgive.”
“No,” Bray agreed. “It isn’t.”
With both of them thinking of him, Adearre seemed more present for a moment, brought to life again by force of thought—their rightful third. Bray smiled sadly at his memory.
Peer sighed. “Night, Bray.” He turned his back to her, signaling an end to conversation.
“Sleep well,” she said, and settled in for a restless night.
She could only hope that dawn would arrive swiftly, and that her journey would be a short one. That she might soon collect all of her people and keep them close. Keep them safe.
Chapter One
Princess Chae-Na smoothed her satin skirts and surveyed her appearance in the standing mirror. Morning light streamed through the windows behind her, haloing her form in brightness. She blinked weary eyes.
“If Your Highness would be seated, the matching pearls would look well in your hair.”
“That shan’t be necessary,” Chae-Na said in a tone of dismissal. “Thank you, Leaya.” She had already wasted too much of the day in dressing. Her maid curtsied and moved to the bedroom door. “Be sure to ask the Mistress of Robes to tend to the coronation gown.”
“Yes, Highness.” The young woman exited the room.
Chae-Na glanced over her shoulder at the dress from the evening before. With its abundance of hoops, crinoline, and boning, the gown all but stood on its own. She repressed a smile, thinking of Ko-Jin’s jab that she might conceal a family beneath those skirts. Her humor soon vanished, however, and she regarded her reflection with sober eyes.
Ko-Jin would never understand the importance of tradition. The trappings of ascendency mattered, confining though they were. Her mother had worn that same gown, and her grandmother before her. It might have been an inspiring recollection, if she had not seen from a young age how unhappy those two women had been in their gilded cages.
Chae-Na shook herself of such morbid thoughts and inhaled a calming breath. She glided from her bedroom and followed the hallway around two corners. She maintained a straight spine and an uplifted chin as she walked, careful to keep her pace moderate, ladylike.
The door to the king’s study stood ajar. She knocked lightly before entering.
“Good morning,” Jo-Kwan said, sounding distracted.
Her brother leaned over his wide mahogany desk. A jumbled pile
of texts, many volumes left open and overlapping, sprawled across the considerable surface. The set of his jaw betrayed his total immersion. She knew this face well—in fact, given his mien, she was surprised he had heard her enter the room at all. She watched him mark a page with a length of maroon ribbon, then jot a note in his leather-bound journal.
“How industrious you are, and at such an early hour,” she said, tone light despite her concern. She had scanned enough of the texts to discern a theme: political treatises and histories, the sort that their father would’ve had burned. Now that they were home and he was properly king, she had hoped that Jo-Kwan’s obsession with this topic might abate.
“Not so early, really. Have you breakfasted?”
“I have not.”
“A tray is being brought. Ko-Jin will join us here shortly.”
“Oh?” She heard too much interest in her own voice. Fortunately Jo-Kwan’s focus had already returned to his books, and he made no reply.
The tea things arrived, along with a simple, cold meal of boiled eggs, croissants, and cinnamon apples. Chae-Na busied herself pouring them each a cup and assembling three plates. The windowed nook, where four plush armchairs circled a glass coffee table, offered a pleasant space to dine.
“Your tea will be cold,” she called in a sing-song voice, mimicking their old nurse. That made him laugh, and at last he closed his book and rose from the desk.
He took in her appearance. “Did you not sleep again?”
Chae-Na sat and lifted her teacup by the saucer. “I had a little trouble, yes,” she admitted, since the shadows beneath her eyes would contradict a lie.
“I do not recall you struggling with sleeplessness before,” he said. “Is it…” He paused. “Mother?”
Chae-Na set down her cup with a slight clink and shook her head. That horrible day flashed in her mind—the image of her mother’s eyes, as they gradually lost life and turned vacant, the metallic smell of her blood. Oh, so much blood.
It had certainly been traumatic enough to cause her restlessness. However, she had slept soundly on that lumpy, foul-smelling mattress in Cagsglow in the months that followed. This insomnia had not begun until they returned to the palace.
“I suspect,” she began, wondering if it were the best moment for this conversation. She had been rehearsing it in her head for some days. He seemed in good spirits, so she went on, “That it is due to reduced exercise. I never struggled so when we were training with Ko-Jin during our…holiday.”
He chuckled at this word choice. “Yes, the muscles in my legs have only just recovered. Perhaps you might go riding more often?”
“I was rather hoping, actually,” she said, almost off-handedly, “that I might continue training, along with the female recruits.”
His brows ascended. “What, do you mean to become a soldier? A soldier princess?”
She smiled at this descriptor. “No, I have too many obligations here to devote to a full-time training schedule. I do not mean to march to battle, as it were. I only thought I might spend my afternoons…”
“Learning the sword and hand-to-hand combat?”
He frowned, so she hurried on, “I believe it may benefit recruitment, as well. If your own sister is seen to embrace these martial arts as a leisure activity, it should help remove some of the stigma. You did say we would need every able-bodied man and woman to keep the capital safe.”
He appeared to consider this, his expression unreadable. It struck her, suddenly, the unusualness of their current arrangement; that she should be reasoning with her brother rather than the former king. In the past, Jo-Kwan would’ve taken her side, even if her request had been doomed to failure.
Jo-Kwan seemed to think similar thoughts. He sighed. “I am not our father. I will not withhold permission from any course of action that you believe to be right. I only ask that you consider the matter carefully, yourself, before moving forward.”
She flashed him a grateful smile. “I shall.”
“What are we carefully considering?” Ko-Jin’s voice sounded from the entry. He sauntered into the room with flyaway hair, and as he sidled past her she caught the scent of his sweat. Knowing his habits as she did, she imagined he had gone for a run. He plopped into the seat beside her and drained his lukewarm tea in one draught.
“My sister is thinking of joining your training camp, part-time.”
She glanced to the side, wanting to catch his reaction. He appeared cheerfully unimpressed by this news, as he said, “Well, she should, shouldn’t she?” He rolled his egg between two palms to crack the shell. “Can only be a good thing, to know how to defend oneself.”
Chae-Na exchanged a smile of mutual understanding with Jo-Kwan. There were complexities of duty that their Chisanta friend, for all his strategic brilliance, could not grasp.
“Speaking of which,” Ko-Jin said. He twisted around to reach into a satchel he had thrown at his feet. “I’ve brought gifts. Here.”
He withdrew two slender objects and handed one each to Chae-Na and Jo-Kwan. She took the slim bit of metal, and only upon closer inspection realized it was a thin dagger, a stiletto. It was plain in design, yet conveyed craftsmanship. She gripped the cold hilt in her hand, liking the weight of it.
“Designed to be concealed within a boot or up a sleeve,” Ko-Jin said. “I wrote my favorite bladesmith for them.”
“Thank you,” Chae-Na murmured, running a finger along the hilt.
Ko-Jin shrugged her thanks away. “Oh,” he said, looking up with sudden recollection. “Got a telegram from Bray early this morning.”
“Has she found Yarrow, then?” Jo-Kwan asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Not yet.” Ko-Jin poked at his apple preserves with a fork, as if uncertain of their edibility. “They’ve been snowed in for a time and are having difficulty with their horses.”
“A shame,” Jo-Kwan replied. He looked blackly into his teacup.
“Reading between the lines,” Ko-Jin said with a grin, “I’d guess she’s about ready to forge her way on foot, and skewer anyone who would slow her down. Poor Roldon.”
Chae-Na couldn’t help but linger on this image: Bray Marron taking on snowstorms to find her love. How exhilarating it must feel, to be so free.
Her brother’s shoulders stiffened, and Chae-Na changed the topic to spare his feelings. “You mentioned a letter from our uncle?”
His manner shifted in a way she hadn’t anticipated—from discomfort to misery. “Yes. Our uncle,” he said, addressing Ko-Jin, “is the chancellor of Adourra. He has at his disposal the only active militia in the kingdoms—a subject of some controversy in the not so distant past. I wrote to him, asking that those soldiers be sent north to protect the capital.”
Ko-Jin nodded. “That would be a boon, particularly while our locals are in training.”
“It is a matter, I should guess,” Chae-Na said, her tone taking on a grim understanding, “of what our uncle requires in exchange for this service.” She found a confirmation in her brother’s tight expression. She attempted to breathe naturally.
“This alliance, I would not command it of you. It is your choice, Chae-Na.”
Ko-Jin was looking between the two of them, uncomprehending. She could not meet his eye.
“I could hardly say no,” Chae-Na said. “You may write him and agree to his terms. I would not be the cause of delay, not while our walls and streets are so ill-protected.”
“What terms?” Ko-Jin asked. “What am I missing?”
Jo-Kwan cleared his throat. “My uncle has long been angling for a betrothal between his eldest son, our cousin, and Chae-Na. Even our father had hoped it would not come to that, however, as Melerre is…” A pompous, scheming, bloated bullfrog of a man, “unworthy of my sister.”
She sensed Ko-Jin’s gaze upon her face, and her cheeks warmed. To appear calm, she reached for another sip of tea. She would not turn and look at him, this too-beautiful man sitting beside her. There was no purpose in wanting what cou
ld not be hers, what could never have been hers. She flipped her dagger over a few times in her hands.
“But…” Ko-Jin said. “That’s insane. I mean, this is a modern age we’re living in. Arranged marriage?”
“Is the norm, still, for most,” Jo-Kwan said, a bit stern. “And an unavoidable reality for the royal family. Being Chisanta, you have liberties that the rest of us do not enjoy.”
“The only problem,” Chae-Na said, speaking to her brother, “is the Gorberrys.”
He sighed. “Yes, my thought exactly.”
“The what?” Ko-Jin asked. He was sounding increasingly exasperated.
“Surely you know of the Gorberry family?” Jo-Kwan asked. When Ko-Jin shook his head, he settled in to explain. “They are the first family of Daland, after the Bellras. They command enormous influence with the aristocracy, and their business holdings are profound. They are, for example, owners or partial owners of every forge in the city.”
“The forges we’ll need to produce all those shiny new weapons we promised our recruits,” Ko-Jin said.
“Precisely. In short, we will accomplish little without the Gorberrys’ support. Should they oppose us, we will accomplish nothing at all. And it has been a foregone conclusion for some years that Chae-Na would marry the eldest Gorberry son.”
“Ah,” Ko-Jin said in a strange voice.
Veldon, Chae-Na thought, picturing his sharp-eyed face. He had been a frequent companion of Jo-Kwan in his youth, as they were of an age. She had never relished the prospect of marrying him, but set side-by-side with her cousin he seemed a regular storybook prince.
“But where our uncle has only sons,” Chae-Na said, glancing at her brother, “the Gorberrys have a daughter. And she’s nearly of age.”
Jo-Kwan dipped his head once, accepting this new fate with impressive equanimity.
“So what, now you’re both to be married?” Ko-Jin gave a short, mirthless laugh, which sounded distinctly unlike him. “The things you lot are willing to arrange over morning tea.”
Chae-Na would’ve glowered at him, would have shouted that this was no painless choice. But she was certain that if she did either, she would not soon regain her composure. So instead she ignored him and continued to address her brother. “I should go to speak to Veldon. He should hear it from me.” Their arrangement had never been formalized, and so she was not technically breaking any promise. Just the same, he deserved to learn this news before rumors took flight. “I can’t imagine he will be disappointed. It will be something of an upgrade—a Gorberry queen, whose sons will be future kings.”
Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3) Page 2