Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3)

by March McCarron

  Whythe blushed and dipped his head.

  “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind stepping outside for a time? I need you near, but the queen and I have affairs to discuss.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Whythe squeezed Chae-Na’s hand once, then released her and strode from the tent, taking his chair with him. He had left his pad of paper, and she found a sketch of herself—her head buried in her knees and her hands pressed to her ears. It was hardly a dignified portrait.

  Quade downed the remainder of Whythe’s wine and slapped his lips. Chae-Na remained kneeling upon the ground, feeling nervous and vulnerable and strangely alive.

  He walked around her, and she felt him at her back. He knelt down behind her and gently pulled her shoulder blades against his chest. He was warm, and smelt better than any man she’d ever encountered. Chae-Na stiffened, both wishing to resist and incapable of it. His hand remained on her, his fingers fitting into the grooves of her ribcage. Her breath quickened.

  His lips grazed her ear. “You are a very attractive woman.”

  A spasm of fear shot through her, and she tried to jerk away. But his hand moved up to fit around her neck—not tight enough to choke, but unyielding all the same. “Look at me, Chae-Na.”

  She turned her head, her neck twisting within his grasp. She looked, really looked. And for the first time, she saw him. Within the depths of his eyes, there was something tender and good. She experienced a violent surge of guilt for having hated him. How could she? How worthless, how wretched she must be.

  “You are a virgin, I take it?” he asked in his beguiling voice.

  Chae-Na’s throat was too tight for speech, so she merely nodded.

  “Then I will be gentle.”

  She felt the fabric of her shift gliding up her legs, and her heart began to race. Dully, in the back of her mind, Ko-Jin’s face flashed like a half-forgotten dream. But Quade continued to speak, and his voice could not be ignored. “I will be the first to admit that I can sometimes be carried away with my passions. But for you, darling, future mother to my sons and daughters, I make this promise: I will never harm you in any way that will leave a lasting mark.”

  His other hand, the one that was not bruising her neck, skimmed towards a place no hand had ever been before. All of her insides tightened in fearful anticipation.

  “We aren’t married yet,” she gasped out.

  “A technicality that will soon be remedied. Are you frightened?”

  “Yes.”

  He spun her around on his lap. He removed the hand from her neck, using it to push loose hair from her face. “No need to fear. Just look into my eyes and listen to my voice. You want to please me, don’t you, darling?”

  “Yes. But…”

  “But?”

  “I do not know what to do,” she whispered.

  He smiled, grazing her face with gentle fingers. His eyes began to calm her nerves. “I will tell you what to do.” He bared his teeth. “First, kiss me.”

  Her lips were on his before any resistance could pass through her mind. By the time he had carried her to the cot, she was incapable of thought.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Arlow rushed through a black nothingness, and he was filled with a momentary sense of horror—an appreciation for the nature of oblivion. Before this sensation had time to manifest into a cogent thought, however, the world exploded around him once more.

  He drew a steadying breath and found the air warm and briny, foreign. Shakily, he released the hand of the Chaskuan Elevated lad and ran fingers over his hair, half-expecting to find it windswept.

  Arlow blinked several times, trying to see through the darkness. Before teleporting, he had been staring into the hearth fire, and though that flame was now clear across the Clay Sea, an echo of its brightness still blinded him. He could hear, in the distance, the rush and crash of the sea. Quade’s military camp would be somewhere below, assuming they’d arrived at their intended location. The sand beneath his boots and the intensity of the wind suggested that they had, indeed, teleported to the high ridge of dunes south of Che Mire.

  “You alright, mate?” Ko-Jin asked, slapping him on the back. “Takes a bit of getting used to, the teleporting.”

  “Child’s play,” Arlow said.

  Ko-Jin checked in with the rest of the group. Arlow blinked and squinted, attempting to make out figures in the dimness. Their rescue party stood eleven strong, including himself. In Chasku it was considered an unlucky number, eleven—not that Arlow gave credence to such superstitions. Besides, luck was never his problem.

  As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he began to make out the faces of his companions. They varied greatly in expression. The two young teleporters, Tae-Young and Mearra, appeared ready to flee at any moment, whereas Ko-Jin and Peer rivaled each other for intensity of countenance. Arlow would not wish to cross either of them. Su-Hwan’s mien betrayed nothing, while Elda grinned, crazed and catlike, towards the shore.

  Arlow himself had the sense that he should feel nervous, but the full significance of what they intended had not yet penetrated his consciousness. Yarrow nodded to him, and he smiled in return. It was good to be amongst friends again. Though, as he caught Bray’s eye, he thought this assessment needed revision: Amongst some friends.

  “Trevva,” Ko-Jin said, his voice hushed. “You’re up.”

  The tall Adourran woman paced to the crest of the dune, then sank to her knees. Moonlight caught her sharp cheekbones and her full lower lip. Her head bent forward. There followed a long, breathless moment of silence.

  “She is there,” Trevva said, pointing. “The large tent, fourth from the end on the eastern side of the camp.”

  Ko-Jin’s mouth had formed a stern line. “And Quade?”

  “He is there also.”

  Bray squinted in the indicated direction. “Then he hasn’t moved. There are two tents labeled ‘001’; they’ll be in the one on the right.”

  Ko-Jin grunted. “Peer?”

  Peer crept to the edge of the precipice and grabbed ahold of Trevva’s hand.

  “Picture him well,” she murmured.

  Again, she inclined her head and they waited. “Your Whythe is there also. Just outside the tent.”

  Peer released the woman’s hand and Arlow saw the muscles in his throat work, as if he were struggling to swallow.

  “Very well. It’s as we expected then,” Ko-Jin said. “So we move forward as planned.”

  Arlow sighed and darted a sideways glance at Bray. He wished that Ko-Jin’s strategy hadn’t necessitated his teaming up with the people here who most despised him. He supposed there was probably a life lesson in this somewhere, about not needlessly antagonizing others or some rubbish of that nature.

  Arlow watched as Yarrow and Bray embraced in farewell, her nuzzling her head into his chest. Peer pulled Su-Hwan into a hug and lifted her up off the sand. He set her down again when she squawked in protest.

  Su-Hwan took hold of both of his hands. “Try not to die, Peer Gelson,” she said, her manner grave.

  Arlow folded his arms and waited, watching all of this affection like an outsider. He considered announcing that he had a pregnant wife waiting for him back in Accord, just in case anyone thought him unloved. But this was hardly the moment.

  “Come,” Bray said to him over her shoulder. “Follow. Quietly.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Arlow answered. She glowered at him and he assumed an innocent expression, which earned him an eyeroll. She prowled into the night, with Peer at her back, and Arlow fell in behind.

  He could better discern the camp itself now. It lay well below them, beneath an inky, star-freckled sky. It was flanked by the dark shape of the sea on one side, and the high ridge of their esker on the other. The stripes of evenly spaced tents ran along the beach continuously, like a ghastly checkered-print neckerchief. There was little movement, but he could just make out the roaming shadow of a sentry.

  Peer and Bray stalked along the crest of the dune, perpendicular t
o the camp itself. They were both dressed in traditional Chiona attire—leather jerkins and trousers tucked into tall boots—though their shirts were black rather than white. The copper swish of Bray’s grown-out hair looked odd paired with that outfit.

  Arlow’s boot landed upon a flat stone, which slid, causing him to stumble. Bray flashed a quick look of reproach over her shoulder, and he gestured repentance with his hands, palms outward.

  After that, he trained his attention downward, however. The sand beneath his boots shifted with each step, and large clumps of dune grass necessitated a circuitous route.

  Bray paused and held up a hand, signaling that they should stop. Arlow swiveled his gaze down again and found a sentry squinting up in their direction. Likely he had detected motion, but it was doubtful that he could actually see them in the darkness. Still, Arlow would rather get on with this business. The sooner they had rescued the princess and killed Quade, the sooner he could return to proper Dalish soil and celebrate.

  Arlow groped in the sand until his fingers grazed the smooth shape of a seashell. He tossed the small bit of white in his hand a few times to assess the heft of it. Then he stood, pumped his arm, and hurled the small missile. He didn’t bother to aim—his gift worked better if he didn’t try.

  The shell hit a lantern behind the sentry, knocking it over and extinguishing the light. The man turned in that direction to investigate.

  “That was reckless,” Bray hissed. “In future, ask before you take it in your head to do something foolish.”

  “Ko-Jin asked me to accompany you for just this reason, Bray dear. I add that extra bit of foolishness you’re lacking.”

  She huffed, puffing out her cheeks. “Idiot. Come on.”

  They crept along the spine of the dune until they came to the largest tent, the one Trevva had indicated held both Chae-Na and Quade. However, it sat—dark and still—closer to the ocean than their perch. They would need to cross through the camp to reach it.

  Rather than jogging down the sandy slope towards the encampment, Bray led them away, down the other side. Arlow followed, though confused. The decline was so steep that it was difficult to moderate his speed; his legs flew beneath him of their own accord.

  “What are we doing?” he whispered once they’d reached the bottom. “Perhaps you failed to notice, but the camp is on the other side.”

  “You see that?” Bray pointed to the cloud of dust they had kicked up during their descent. “We don’t want to be seen, remember?”

  “We wouldn’t have been,” Arlow grumbled. People did not notice him if it was his desire to remain unseen. “All of this indirect sneaking about is a poor use of our time.”

  Peer, who had yet to acknowledged Arlow’s presence, suddenly wheeled towards him with cold rage in his eyes. It was an expression so intense that Arlow took a step back.

  “Why are you here?” he spat out.

  Arlow shrugged. “Why are you here?”

  “For Whythe.” The dedication in the man’s voice was rather touching, Arlow thought. “And you’re puttin’ all our lives in jeopardy by actin’ the lack-wit. This whole thing can go to shit if you don’t open your ears.”

  “Perhaps it’s your ears, friend, that need opening. Ko-Jin asked me to join you for a reason.” As a rule he did not like to explain himself, nor did he make a habit of seeking approval. But the man before him seemed inclined to hit something, and Arlow would prefer that something not be his nose. So he went on in a measured tone, “I am lucky, but only when it comes to matters of chance. I cannot force a careful plan into success with my gift, but if there is more of a…” he swung his hand in a circle, seeking the right words, “a factor of randomness—a coin toss, or the flipping of a card—then events will unfold in my favor. Do you understand?”

  “You go staggerin’ through life like a drunk through a dung field and come out the other side smellin’ fresh.”

  Arlow grinned in the face of the man’s disdain. “How vivid. Tell me, what percentage of your metaphors are fecally inspired?”

  Bray, scowling, placed a calming hand on Peer’s forearm. Arlow wondered if the woman ever smiled. When he had shown displeasure as a child, his tutor would always threaten that his face would become fixed in a frown. Perhaps, against all odds, the man had been correct.

  “Your gift certainly is interesting,” Bray said. “And what an opportune moment for you to choose to explain its workings. However—”

  “Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you, dear.”

  “However, you still have not answered Peer’s excellent question. Why are you here? What could you possibly gain from this?”

  “Ah, Bray, you wound me with your suspicions.” His false smile was beginning to strain at the corners. “I didn’t believe we needed to state our motivation to enter this little adventure. At least, I didn’t read such a requirement in the brochure. But if we’re feeling in a sharing mood, do tell. Why are you here?”

  Bray’s lips thinned steadily by the moment. If he kept it up, they might disappear entirely. “I have made it my business to save the innocent from monsters since I was a child. It is what I do.”

  “Ah, yes, I’d nearly forgotten. Bray Marron, the executioner. Such justice.” She opened her mouth to respond, but he continued, “If you must know, I am here because my friend asked for my aid. And because I have much to atone for. And because I would have this world be safe for the people who mean to enter it in the near future.”

  The thought of his own child, sleeping within Mae’s womb, temporarily stole his anger. Every time he thought of her pregnancy, he had the sense that he was tumbling blindly down a hill, striking every rock along the way.

  Bray studied him with a head cocked to the side. “I very nearly believe you. So, let’s assume you are telling the truth. I need you to be cautious, because the moment we step within Whythe’s sphere of influence, your luck will be gone. And I can only assume that you are, by birth, rather unlucky, yes?”

  Arlow shrugged.

  “And Peer is not certain just how wide that range is. So you need to assume, with every step, that your luck might disappear. Got it?”

  Arlow was surprised to find himself feeling rightfully chastened. He had not entirely thought this through. She was right—without his gift, he was liable to trip into a stack of metal pots and waken the entire sleeping army, or something of that ilk.

  He inclined his head to her. “I will proceed with that in mind.”

  Bray squinted at him, trying to determine if he was mocking her. She shrugged. “So here’s what we’ll do. You two hold my hands and we’ll phase straight through the dune. It’s important that you hold on tight and do not let go, however, or you will find yourselves buried alive.” That she appeared frightened of this herself was no boon to Arlow’s spirits. “Let me guide you. It will take only seconds. Then keep low, hug the shadows. If we need to incapacitate the sentry, then we will. But if we can remain unseen, that will be much cleaner. Once we have eyes on Whythe…”

  “I’ll be handling that.”

  Bray clasped Peer’s forearm. “Right. If you’re having trouble we’ll lend a hand. Once he’s unconscious, we need to carry him away. At that point, Arlow’s luck should get us safely out of the camp.”

  Bray pulled the gloves from her hands and pocketed them. She held out her palms. “Ready?”

  Arlow eyed the solid side of the esker, and could feel his heart pulsating within his chest. He did not like the sound of Bray’s gift. And, more than that, he was walking towards Quade Asher, a ruthless man whom he had overtly betrayed. There was a reason Arlow wasn’t given to heroics—he did not enjoy this sweaty, stomach-churning sensation.

  Bray must have noticed his hesitation. “Hey,” she said, prodding his shoulder. “Don’t lose your cocksurety now. We’ll need it.”

  Arlow forced a short laugh and nodded his head. He took hold of Bray’s proffered hand. His own palm was clammy, and in an unexpected show of kinship, Bray gave it a light squ
eeze of reassurance. Arlow remembered, all at once, that there had been a time when these two people had been his own friends, too. It seemed not so long ago.

  “Here we go,” Bray said.

  She launched forward with long, fast strides, pulling Arlow and Peer behind her. As she increased her pace to a run, Arlow felt his very existence shiver away. He became wind, air, nothing. And he had only a half-second to process the full discomfort of this before being drawn within the wall of sand. He charged forward, into blackness. The feeling of suffocation was sudden and total.

  His pulse surged and he grasped Bray’s fingers with a crushing force, terrified that he might lose his grip. Her warning that he would otherwise be buried alive echoed through his mind, and he knew he had found himself a new personal nightmare.

  And then they came out on the other side, and the cool air exploded around him, salty and welcoming. Bray extracted her hand from his grip and flexed her fingers. She bent low, and after a moment Arlow copied her.

  Now that they were on ground level with the camp itself, it seemed impossibly large. He hadn’t appreciated from above just how many rows of tents there were, nor how much space lay between them. He inched forward, following behind Peer.

  As they slunk within the perimeter, Arlow experienced the strong sense of being surrounded, a keen perception of the uncountable men sleeping all around them. It would take no great error on his part to rouse them, and that would be an end to it, their brilliant plan. It might be the end of Chae-Na as well, which Arlow could not allow. He owed that girl a debt.

  Arlow spied the shape of a roaming sentry, and he paused. He could feel the man’s gaze sweeping right over his own head, before the guard tromped off in the other direction. He heard the quiet exhalation of Peer’s breath. They moved on, the cool, coarse sand clinging to his hands. They slipped by an open marquee that plainly served as the kitchens; the air smelt of charcoal and burnt meat. The space was vacant, however.

  Tent 001 was still a short way off when Arlow felt it: that terrible chill, the shiver of having his ability stripped away. Unlike many, his gift wasn’t something he actively used. It was a part of his reality, of the way he moved through the world. Having it so abruptly stolen from him was like falling sideways into a new world, one which operated under different rules. He thought he detected a similar rush of discomfort radiate from Bray, though he could see only the back of her head.