He rubbed his hands over his face, and made himself once again lean forward and focus on the patrol schedule. He flipped over a note from the Cosanta woman in charge of palace security and read the short message again, mouth drawn thin:
Mr. Gelson,
I trust that recent events have proven, even to you, the need for an increased Chisanta presence at the palace. I need not mention that my several previous written requests for more patrols were ignored. Let us not linger on troubling what-ifs, and look to protect the one remaining Bellra, before an ascension struggle is added to our troubles.
Britt
Peer rubbed his forehead with his palm, and wished that horrible bell would cease its clanging. He set the note aside with a sigh. King Jo-Kwan himself had insisted that Peer focus more attention on protecting the citizens of Accord than the palace. They were stretched too thin; and besides, it seemed no matter where he placed his pieces on the board, Quade found an opening.
Peer had grown so accustomed to the sharp pop of teleportation that he didn’t so much as blink when the sound exploded at his back. He spun in his chair and found Su-Hwan releasing the hand of Tae-Young, a slim, friendly-looking young man.
“There is another,” Su-Hwan said. Within her mask-like face, her dark eyes were agleam. “Come and see.”
Peer had never been more grateful for good news, and required no further prompting. He tossed his pen to the desk with a slight spatter of ink and stood.
“Is this six?” he asked.
“Yes. Six.”
The young Chaskuan man held out a hand and Peer accepted it. The office disappeared like a picture being pulled inside out, and for a horrible moment he was smothered in darkness. Then, just as suddenly, they were standing out on the bright and breezy green.
The Chisanta were assembled on the lawn. They formed a tight circle of bodies, and Peer began shouldering his way into the throng.
“Budge up, it’s Gelson,” someone called, and a space was made for him.
Peer pushed to the front of the circle, at last able to see the two fighters at the center. He nearly guffawed when he spotted which Chiona it was—Malc, the big bald idiot who had been causing him the most headache. The Cosanta, too, was familiar—the curly-haired Elevated who was named Wynn, but often called ‘the Amplifier.’
Peer had seen it before, and yet it was still a remarkable thing to behold: two people fighting as if they were one, unified whole.
A group of ten Chisanta, mixed Chiona and Cosanta, took it in turns to attack the couple. Despite such unequal numbers, Malc and his Cosanta partner managed with seeming ease. They appeared to have more than their fair share of arms and legs between them.
A large Chiona bloke—even bigger than Malc—sprung forward, and Wynn swept him off balance. He tumbled directly into Malc’s elbow. A lithe Cosanta woman spun in a movement reminiscent of the Ada Chae, and Malc kicked as Wynn simultaneously extended a leg to trip their opponent.
Ander Penton rang a small bell—a much higher and more cheerful sound than the other bell that had been haunting them all day—and everyone came to a heaving halt. “Very impressive,” he called out.
Applause took up across the crowd, but Malc and Wynn appeared incognizant of everyone around them. Peer had never seen the Chiona man’s eyes so gentle before. These two were gazing at each other with an intimacy that made Peer feel rather embarrassed. He looked away, but his mind had begun to spin.
Six could be no coincidence. In fact, by the second pair, Peer had been certain. He had no name for this phenomenon, but clearly within their ranks there existed matched sets—Chiona and Cosanta pairs who were inexplicably connected. There was something spiritly about it, something old and right.
Su-Hwan, who had just managed to join him in the inner circle, tapped his arm. “They want to begin larger tests, to see if there are more pairs among us.”
“Brilliant,” Peer said, having no notion how to organize such a list. He suspected this project would require some complex arithmetic. “Would you mind heading that up?”
The ghost of a smile danced at the corner of her lips. “I would be happy to. It is exciting, isn’t it?”
Peer caught sight of Whythe over Su-Hwan’s shoulder. He rubbed the back of his neck and fixed his eyes on her face. “Sure is.”
“It’s as if we always had this larger purpose and simply did not know. Like a boot that’s just discovered the existence of feet.”
Peer laughed. “Not a left boot that’s found a right?”
She seemed to ponder this a moment. “Perhaps that is the better analogy, yes.”
He was still laughing when he felt a hand slap him on the back, knocking the air from his lungs. “Heya, Gelson.”
Peer was not certain when they had all taken to using his family name. Odd, that.
“Malc,” he greeted. He extended a hand and they shook arms. “I take it you’d like to put in for a permanent partnership for street patrol duty?”
“I would,” he said with a grin. He didn’t appear apologetic about how difficult he’d been in the past. Then again, Peer hadn’t expected him to be.
“I’ll write you in, then. What’s her last name?”
“Bridgington. Wynn Bridgington,” he said with a peculiar reverence. He glanced over his shoulder to where she was speaking with Ander. Her auburn hair was in disarray, her heart-shaped face flushed. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”
Peer smiled, which was more answer than Malc was actually looking for. “I trust you’ll stop startin’ fist fights with every Cosanta who looks at you wrong?”
Malc grimaced. “Might be tough to keep that up, with her by my side.” He winked and turned his back.
“Wait,” Su-Hwan called. The Chiona wheeled back around. “This connection, could you feel it only when you fought together on the same side?”
He ran a hand along his bald head. “Well, I started to feel it when we were practicing those Cosanta forms together.” Peer’s mouth quirked in smug accusation, and Malc bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “But really, first time she touched me. It was like…well, I don’t know how to describe it. Like home, I guess.”
“I think I know how it should be done,” Su-Hwan said to Peer, as if there had been no interruption in their previous conversation. “We’ll form two circles—inner circle all Cosanta, outer circle Chiona—and have a sparring rotation. If someone finds their match, they’ll just step out.”
Peer frowned up at the overcast sky and nodded. “A sound plan. Why sparring?”
“It requires close contact and is less awkward than dancing.”
“Doubt we have enough wasters…”
“I thought grappling would be more effective anyway.”
Those standing within earshot offered their agreement. Peer gazed at these faces, which were now so good-humored and open. It amazed him to what extent attitudes could change in such a short span of time.
“When can we start?” asked an Elevated called Mick. “Now? Can we start now?”
Peer shrugged. “Don’t see why not, as long as people on-duty keep doing their rounds.”
He turned back to Su-Hwan. “You can lead this up. I’ll go finish next week’s schedule.”
He had half-turned away when she called out his name.
“Mm?”
“You are not interested to see if you have a partner here?” She cocked her head to the side, owl-like. “Why?”
Peer opened his mouth to answer, then shut it when no words came. His brow creased. The idea that he had some manner of spirit-mate, a person who was not Adearre, sat like a lie in his mind.
But Adearre had never been for him. And Adearre was gone.
“I…”
“Stay, and I will help you catch up on your work later this evening.”
Well,” he began with a sigh. “Why not, I suppose…”
She bobbed her head, pleased. “Good. Can you get their attention?”
“Why, can’t you?”
<
br /> “Your voice carries better than mine.”
Peer shrugged and clapped his hands several times. The people near at hand were already giving him their attention, waiting for further instruction. There was a peculiar energy in this crowd—a kind of nervous excitement, with many shy glances between people who had, mere weeks ago, despised each other. But after Malc and Wynn, and the five couples who had preceded them, it was little wonder.
“We’ll be conducting round-robin tests,” he shouted, “for all who’d like to participate. We need a wide circle, so spread on out. Two pairs facin’ each other, Chiona on the outside, Cosanta on the inside.”
The arranging of this took more time and effort than it should have, in his opinion. How hard is it to stand in a bleeding circle?
Peer, Su-Hwan, and Ander moved around the expansive ring, widening and shrinking gaps here and there to make the spacing even. They used most of the green—the square block of lawn that lay between the ivy-bearded lecture halls of the main campus.
When all was arranged, Su-Hwan and Peer took up places across from each other. She beamed at him—actually beamed. It was such an unexpected show of emotion that he could not help but grin back.
They had fought together in the past and felt no other-worldly connection. It would not be her, he knew. But a little friendly grappling never hurt.
Ander handed the bell and a watch to one of the university custodians and spoke with him briefly, before taking up his place in the circle. A moment later, the bell rang.
Peer and Su-Hwan bowed to each other, and then Peer prowled forward. The ground beneath his boots squelched, muddy from melted snow.
Peer reached out to grab Su-Hwan, but she danced to the side, then shot to the ground with unexpected speed. In an instant she was under him with her two legs twined around one of his own like a serpent. He laughed, feeling hopelessly off balance. Her eyes twinkled up at him, and then she lifted her hips and he toppled backwards, his back splatting into the mud. She was on him in a moment, her sharp knees pressed into his torso as she balanced on top of him. She tapped her fist to his cheek, demonstrating the strike she would deal in a real fight. Peer rolled, and she lost her balance and flopped backwards. While she was still dazed, he flipped around and pinned her to the mud beneath the weight of a single arm.
She remained pinned for some time, pushing futilely against his shoulder and arm. He made a show of yawning.
“Ogre,” she said in her flat voice, and he chuckled. Then she thrust her hips away, swung a leg up and around, and took firm control of his arm.
The bell rang and he grinned at his salvation. “Excellent timing.”
She shook her head at him and he helped her up. The side of her face was caked with mud. “Tell the Chiona to rotate clockwise,” she said.
“Clockwise, people,” he boomed.
He slid to his left, and Su-Hwan remained in her place.
Peer caught the sound of Whythe’s voice nearby and turned. “Careful, mate,” he was saying to the Cosanta beside him. “Elda cheats. She’s going to freeze you.”
Elda grinned. “Right, and you fight fair, Whythe. Ha!”
Peer was taken aback—he had not realized how near they were. Now he saw that Whythe was only two people away on the Cosanta side, and would therefore be his third opponent. He felt his whole self tighten in anticipation.
Peer bowed to his second partner, an Adourran woman with an elfin face. She looked terribly serene for a person smeared in muck.
The bell jangled, and Peer lowered his weight into his knees. He tried to root himself, as Yarrow had once taught him, but wasn’t certain he had managed it. The woman waited for him to strike, so he thought he might as well oblige.
He shot for her legs, but she was too quick. She sprawled, her feet shooting out of his grasp, her chest coming down hard on his upper back. He broke her grip and slipped out from under her, sliding onto his knees. They fought in such a way as to be at a total impasse. Every move was countered precisely. An excellent bit of exercise, but nothing remarkable.
By the time the bell rang, Peer knew he must be downright coated in mud. But he was also having a rather nice afternoon, if he was being honest with himself. Or he had been—now, nervousness stole over him.
He was reluctant to move to the next place in the wheel, reluctant to look up and meet Whythe’s eye. Reluctant, for fear that his eagerness might show. And afraid that he was setting himself up for disappointment.
“Hey, Peer,” Whythe said.
“You sure you should be doing this? Aren’t you injured?”
“It’s well-bandaged. I’ve been going one-handed. Just go light on me, hey?”
He had somehow managed to not dirty himself yet. His blond hair was mud-free.
Peer grabbed hold of his own belt with his right hand. “Fair’s fair. One hand.”
Whythe smiled at him, so he looked elsewhere. He wondered why the bell was taking so long to ring.
“Peer, I—”
The bell chimed, and Whythe shrugged away whatever he had meant to say. He bowed, and Peer matched him.
It seemed to Peer as if time had suddenly slowed. He felt shivery, a bit queasy. Anxious, or possibly exhilarated; it was difficult to tell.
Whythe tried to step around him, but Peer turned in. They began to struggle for grips, awkwardly in their one-handed conditions. Peer managed to snake his arm under Whythe’s armpit and secured a handhold on the man’s shoulder. He swiped his foot out, sweeping his partner’s boots up off the ground. Peer wanted to make the fall a light one, not wishing to jostle his injury, so he lowered Whythe down rather than dropping him.
He landed on his back with a slight grunt. Peer took control of the man’s side, bear-hugging around his neck and under one arm.
It was a standard position in grappling, one he found himself in often. But it had never felt quite like this—the proximity was like a hive of bees, buzzing. He breathed into Whythe’s ear; Whythe breathed into his. And then he moved, slightly, and their cheeks came into contact.
No touch had ever felt so right, as if he had been foolishly walking around for all his life with a missing piece. And that piece had just, finally, clicked into place.
They weren’t grappling any longer—just holding fast, there in the mud, breathing. Peer forgot that other people were nearby; he forgot what they were supposed to be doing, exactly.
“You—you feel it too, don’t you?” Whythe whispered. Peer could only nod. Whythe’s hands clutched at the back of his shirt, pulling him tighter. “I knew it.”
Peer closed his eyes, trying to force all of his emotions into a smaller space. He was glad his face was buried, so no one could see the tears, or the grin. He could seem to banish neither.
“I knew it, too,” he mumbled.
There had been so many restraints and fears and old wounds that had kept his heart closed off to almost all. They seemed all at once to loosen, to ease, to heal—to leave way and space for new and better things.
And he found that he was no longer afraid.
Chapter Eleven
Chae-Na gazed down into her brother’s waxen face. His head rested upon a red velvet pillow within a mahogany coffin. They had dressed him in an unfashionably oversized neckerchief to hide the wound in his neck.
People always say, she thought, numbly, that the dead look as if they’re sleeping. But he did not look asleep. She knew his face in sleep, and it was not like this.
She kept expecting him to move—to give some small twitch, for his eyelids to flutter. He had never been so motionless, and the longer she stared, the less he seemed to be her brother.
“Jo-Kwan,” she whispered.
She turned her head, and in her peripheral vision it seemed as if he had stirred. She jerked back to him, heart jumping up into her throat, and stared hard and long. But, of course, it must have been a flicker of the candle, the mere shifting of shadows.
She reached slowly, her fingers shaking, to smooth his hair. N
ot that it needed fixing; he had been well groomed. She stayed her hand before actually making contact, however, and hastily retracted her arm. She did not want to feel him, her big brother, so cold and silent.
She turned her back and leaned against the side of the coffin.
“Do you remember,” she began in a strangled voice, “when Grandfather died? I must have been five or six years old, which would have made you seven or eight? We were sent in to view his body and say goodbye. I was frightened, and you held my hand the whole time.” She spoke through dry sobs, like hiccups. Her eyes, too, were dry. They had been since Ko-Jin first came to her with an expression that sent ice down her spine. “And I told you not to speak so loudly, because you might wake Grandfather. And you said that we could not wake him, because he was not really there.”
She craned her head to take in his face once more. His features were correct, but the expression was not. He had never looked so smooth. Serious, but not thoughtful. Her throat spasmed, and she turned away again.
“I remember it so clearly, because looking back on it later, I thought that I was too young to understand death then. I could not grasp that he was gone, that I would never see him again. I was just too young.”
She smoothed her dress, a plain white shift tied at the collar. She wore no rouge, no jewelry, and her hair was left unbound. She had chosen to honor their mother’s culture, to wear white rather than black as was done in Adourra and Daland. She had done so because she thought she recalled her brother saying, at some point or other, that he had preferred it.
“Perhaps I’m still too young,” she said with a hard, humorless laugh, “because I still cannot understand. It doesn’t make any sense, Jo-Kwan. You have always been here. Always. How…” She blinked rapidly. “How can you just…not be in there anymore? Why can’t you come back—step back inside your body, open your eyes? I just…”
Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3) Page 19