Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3)

by March McCarron

  “Yes, but a little away from his tent. We shouldn’t wake him.”

  She grabbed ahold of the young man’s hand and closed her eyes. She no longer felt any particular discomfort at the sensation of teleporting; in fact she secretly relished it. That heartbeat of oblivion seemed a kind of transcendence.

  In the space of a single breath, the cold night was swept away and replaced with a warm one. She inhaled the sea air and gazed around her at the stretch of dark tents which stirred in the breeze.

  Vendra’s scrutiny moved to Quade’s. Beside the entrance, a vacant wooden folding chair lay on its side, and the sand appeared more disturbed than she recalled. Whythe, who was meant to be sitting guard, was nowhere in sight. She put a finger to her lips and gazed meaningfully at Kelarre. He frowned in confusion, clearly not having noticed anything amiss.

  Vendra crept towards the tent on silent feet. She heard a male voice on the other side of the canvas—a voice she thought she recognized, and which was certainly not Quade’s.

  “Come,” she mouthed over her shoulder to Kelarre. She slipped around the side of the tent, towards the ocean. She paused just at the corner, still cloaked in shadows. It was a low tide, and the beach stretched a great length, wetly gleaming with moonshine. Vendra scanned the shore. At first she didn’t see them, the two shapes crouched low behind a bit of kelp-draped driftwood. But a slight motion caught her attention, and soon she could make out their faces. She pointed, so her companion might discern them as well.

  “Spirits,” Kelarre whispered into her ear. “We spend the whole bleeding night searching for her, and she’s right here.”

  “Don’t move,” Vendra said.

  “Why? I can take her with or without my gift.”

  “Because you’ve failed to notice the girl next to her.”

  He squinted. “I can’t…”

  “Elda,” Vendra whispered back. The Elevated girl who could render people immobile. If she and Kelarre were to move into view, they would be stopped as soon as they were sighted. Her beloved Quade must, even now, be bound by the girl’s gift.

  “So…what now?”

  Vendra didn’t answer, but she dropped to her knees. She pulled her grandfather’s revolver from the holster at her belt and fished within her pocket for the small box of ammunition she had snatched. The chamber clicked open with ease, revealing six slots. She began slipping the oddly shaped bullets into place, one at a time, with steady hands.

  With a satisfying whir and clink, she rotated the chamber back into place. It was an elegant weapon; she could see her grandfather’s craftsmanship behind the design.

  She took her time in aiming, as she had never yet fired such a pistol. She steadied her arm, uncertain of the kickback, and waited, hoping Elda might move slightly to the left, away from her cover.

  She could hear Kelarre breathing just behind her, and flashed him an annoyed expression. He made a face which plainly said, ‘get on with it.’ Vendra scowled at him and focused once more. She was a good shot with a typical pistol, and having seen Dedrre’s blueprints, she anticipated increased accuracy from this design. All the same, she could not fail, not while announcing her presence with the unmissable blast of gunfire. She would be frozen on the spot, and helpless.

  Within Quade’s bunk, she heard a male voice say, “Let’s end this.” Fear spiraled through her, from heart to fingertip. She drew breath through her nose, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

  The round discharged loudly enough to rouse the entire camp, leaving her ears ringing. Her target slumped. The second girl yelped and tried to run, but she couldn’t seem to get her feet underneath her. She tripped. Vendra felt the shiver of her own gift being removed as she met and held the Elevated’s gaze. The girl’s straight black hair whipped in the sea breeze as she tried to push herself up from the wet sand. She was such a pitiful sight.

  You love me, don’t you, Vendra?

  Yes, Quade.

  She took aim a second time and pulled the trigger. The slim form swayed on the spot, then slumped backwards. Her foot kicked twice, then went limp. Vendra’s gift returned to her.

  She had four more rounds, and thought it wise to use them. These two needed not merely to be incapacitated, but done away with. She unloaded the chamber, two more bullets for each of the fallen forms.

  It was too dark; she couldn’t see the blood. But they were, both of them, motionless.

  “Let’s check,” she said, slinking forward. Kelarre trailed behind.

  The two young women lay sprawled in the sand. Vendra gazed down at the Chaskuan girl for a moment. There were stars reflected in her unseeing eyes. In life her face had always appeared so emotionless, mask-like. It was curious, then, that in death she should look so forlorn.

  Vendra studied the firearm still grasped in her hand, and she trembled. She had the sudden sense that she had been here before, that she had done this before.

  Kelarre pressed his hand to the base of her neck and drew soothing circles with his thumb. “You did well, Vendra. We haven’t failed tonight after all. Quade will be pleased. Come.” He tugged at her elbow, endeavoring to tow her away.

  Quade will be pleased…

  She looked just once more at these two young women she had killed, then let Kelarre guide her back to the camp. And she put it out of mind.

  That was life. Sometimes people needed to die.

  Ko-Jin held the stiff and unmoving form of Quade Asher away from himself, not wanting to touch the man any more than was necessary. The blackhearted pervert had been frozen in a contorted, undignified pose. He had been sleeping in only a shirt, and his bare legs were curled like a slumbering child. These details gave Ko-Jin a savage kind of satisfaction. Let his people see all that he is, and—more to the point—all that he is not.

  Before Ko-Jin reached the exit, he turned to Chae-Na. She was gazing, glassy-eyed, down at her feet. She looked so small, so broken, standing there in only her shift. And he could not think of a single thing he might say to ease her suffering.

  He blinked against the pressure in his eyes. This victory tasted strongly of failure, of too late.

  “Alright,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Let’s end this.”

  As Ko-Jin extended a hand to the tent flap, the sound of gunfire pierced the silence, so near at hand that his ears echoed the blast. His heart lurched in his chest and his hand fisted around Quade’s collar. But the firing did not stop—after a short pause there came a second, a third, a fourth shot—and before the gunfire had even ended, Quade moved within his grasp. Ko-Jin was so startled that he leapt back.

  Quade hit the ground in a crouch, and the next instant there came a piercing pop. He vanished on the spot.

  “No,” Ko-Jin said, aghast. He gaped at his outstretched fingers, at the hand which had secured Quade a mere moment before. No.

  Pop!

  Ko-Jin whirled, and there he was. Quade leaned against his own writing desk, half-dressed and apparently at his ease. His face was once again a lie—kind-eyed and beguiling.

  “General Sung,” Quade said, in his seductive voice. “How lovely of you to stop by, though I must say the hour is rather unconventional. Don’t you agree, darling?”

  Chae-Na moved clear to the other side of the enclosure, backing away with fearful eyes. She paused to press her foot to the hilt of Treeblade and kicked it towards Ko-Jin, but it didn’t slide far along the rough canvas. The blade came to rest still well out of reach.

  Ko-Jin darted his hand into the pocket of his robes. He extracted two small wads of beeswax and jammed the sticky stuff into his ears, blocking all sound save for the whining echo of the recent gunfire.

  Quade sneered at him, but there was something rather pleasant in the expression. His mouth moved with speech, but his voice was lost.

  Ko-Jin glanced to his sword, laying several paces away. He suspected that Quade could reach it first. No, he would need to rely on surprise. With all speed, he pulled a throwing knife from his belt, cranked back his arm,
and threw. Quade disappeared in a flash, and the short blade cut a slice in the side of the tent.

  Ko-Jin unsheathed a second knife as he spun. He found Quade standing just behind Chae-Na, pressing her bodily into him like a shield. He leaned the side of his face to hers, and she cringed. His lips twisted into an exquisite smile.

  The tent flap rustled and Ko-Jin turned, hopeful that one of his companions had come to his aid. That hope rushed from his chest in a defeated exhale. Vendra Alvez slipped beneath the canvas like a shadow, one of Dedrre’s new revolving pistols in her outstretched hand. Ko-Jin eyed the barrel trained on his head, his mouth twisting bitterly. Blighted thing in the wrong hands already…

  She flicked the pistol towards the ground, signaling that he should drop his knife. With narrowed eyes, he extended his arm laterally and let the weapon fall, blade-first, to the tent floor. His eyes shot over to where Quade was whispering in Chae-Na’s ear, his head pressed to hers intimately. Ko-Jin felt as if he had been asked to swallow acid, and it was burning all the way down his throat and into his gullet.

  Quade met his gaze, then made a deliberate show of placing a hand on Chae-Na’s hip. He mimicked removing something from his ears, then jerked his head to where Vendra stood. Ko-Jin required no further explanation. With fear zipping along his veins, he removed the wax plugs.

  It was an odd sensation, to have his hearing so suddenly returned to him. The crash of the sea, the wind battering at so many canvas tents, sounded loud in the night.

  Quade released Chae-Na and strode to Ko-Jin’s discarded sword. As he knelt to retrieve it, recognition lit up his features. He caressed the ancient Chisanta symbol engraved in the hilt. “It seems the general has brought me an early wedding present. Spirits, the Treeblade itself…” He whipped the sword around in expert hands, his countenance exuberant. “You know,” he said to Ko-Jin, as if they were friends, “I recently unearthed the Scimitar of Amarra. As a man of violence, I’m sure you can appreciate the significance of such a find. The blade, if you’ll believe it, was still sharp. Yes—I used it to kill the late king, in fact.”

  There was such a calming quality to Quade’s voice that Ko-Jin found the tension leaving his body. When Quade approached, weapon in hand, he didn’t even stiffen.

  “Thank you, Vendra,” Quade said, swiveling his attention to her. “You are, as ever, a most faithful partner.”

  She inclined her head. “The task you set for me has been completed.”

  Quade darted a kiss on Vendra’s cheek, then took the pistol from her hand. “Very good. You may wait outside. I’m not to be disturbed.”

  Quade drove Treeblade through the canvas flooring and into the sand, so he might examine the pistol with two hands. “Truly, I never cease to be amazed by human ingenuity. Was this your notion, General?”

  “It was not.”

  Quade nodded. “Remove your belt.”

  Ko-Jin’s fingers reached for the buckle before he thought to resist. He paused.

  “I would not test me just at this moment,” Quade said pleasantly. “I’ve just been given two new toys and find I have more than one excellent target before me.”

  Quade lofted the barrel of the pistol and pointed it, lazily, in Chae-Na’s direction. His brows raised in anticipation.

  Ko-Jin unfastened his belt and pulled it free.

  Quade smiled and lowered the pistol. He took the strip of leather from Ko-Jin and pulled away the empty scabbard, then tossed it aside. “My queen,” he said, extending the belt to her. “Be a doll and bind our general’s hands behind his back. Make it good and secure, now. I’d hate to have to kill him for fear of my life.”

  Ko-Jin examined Chae-Na’s face as she approached. He couldn’t decide if she was fully under Quade’s control or not. He brought his arms together behind his back and she wound the leather around his wrists, tight enough to cut off circulation. But then she grazed his hand with her fingertips, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

  “You know,” Quade said, “you might congratulate us on our engagement, as you’ve so ill-manneredly intruded upon our happy consummation.”

  Ko-Jin’s jaw popped against the strain of his clamped teeth.

  “No need to look so angry. I was gentle. Tell him, darling.”

  Chae-Na nodded slowly.

  “Speak!”

  “He was gentle,” she whispered, eyes on her toes.

  Quade grinned. “I think, perhaps, your military man is jealous. Hoping for a royal promotion, were you? I cannot blame you there.”

  He strode forward with a predatory grace and plucked Ko-Jin’s knife from the ground. As he tossed it from one hand to the other, his black eyes remained locked on Ko-Jin.

  “Or is it not the crown, but the woman you wanted? Please, tell me. I’m terribly curious.”

  Ko-Jin’s head nodded. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and tasted blood. He had never in his life felt so vulnerable.

  “Ah, how romantic. You’re a good man, Sung Ko-Jin. I’ve long suspected that you must be.”

  “Thank you.”

  Quade moved around Ko-Jin, stalking. He ran a hand along Ko-Jin’s back, from one shoulder to the other. “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long. You can’t imagine how pleased I am that you’ve come to me. Please, tell me about your studies.”

  Ko-Jin found himself halfway through a detailed history of his travels, his masters, the books he had read and the generals he admired, before he had even considered whether he should answer. There was something soft and nice settling within him—a spreading warmth, as if he had just swallowed fine whisky.

  “If you serve me well, I don’t see why the three of us cannot come to an arrangement. You see, I will need some other man to father my sons. Sacrifices, you understand. Perhaps you would like that role?” Quade moved in front of Ko-Jin. He locked him in an earnest, loving gaze. The man’s fingertips trailed across Ko-Jin’s cheek.

  “Would you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  Quade angled his head to the side, and for a moment it seemed he meant to lean forward in a kiss. But he stopped, close enough that his breath danced across Ko-Jin’s lips. “You could be of such use to me, Sung Ko-Jin.” He smiled sadly. “However…” The knife that plunged into Ko-Jin’s abdomen felt hot, searing. The pain was confusingly intense. “You pose too much of a threat, I’m afraid.”

  Quade pulled the short blade from Ko-Jin’s stomach, and hot wetness rushed from his core. A second pain followed, and then a third—each wound seemed to erupt like a distant explosion before his eyes, as Quade’s arm plunged and pulled, plunged and pulled.

  “Ko-Jin,” Chae-Na cried.

  He was still on his feet, but not due to any strength on his part. He was merely in a momentary suspension, paused before gravity set to work on him.

  He saw through shimmering eyes that Chae-Na had leapt onto Quade’s back. He shucked her to the ground, then struck her across the face with the back of his hand, stamping her with Ko-Jin’s blood. She scuttled back and pulled Treeblade from the sand. She slashed with a practiced grace, and Quade danced back.

  Ko-Jin hit his knees.

  “Drop it, my love. You don’t want to hurt me.”

  Blackness was stealing in around the edges of his vision. Something solid thumped to the ground.

  Ko-Jin’s breath whistled. All that he was, everything that made up himself, was pooling darkly around his knees. But the pain had lessened.

  His face slammed into the ground. He knew he was trying to breathe in his own blood, but he could not turn his head.

  I’m dying, he realized, in a choking flash of clarity. I don’t want…

  But his thoughts were flowing away as quickly as his life’s blood. His body was too heavy to move, and he felt himself increasingly unattached to it. Like he might shed himself and rise.

  He thought he heard a man laughing, somewhere nearby.

  Spirits… Ko-Jin prayed, as the blackness took him.

  Chapter Eighteen
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  Yarrow sat cross-legged atop their perch. He slipped the glove from his left hand and combed his fingers through the sand, enjoying the rough sensation of the countless individual grains against his skin. He angled his head up to the sky, which had begun to shift from starry black to a deep and depthless blue.

  “Su-Hwan and Elda have taken positions on the beach; Ko-Jin is moving towards the camp,” Trevva said. She sat beside Yarrow with her eyes closed and her head bent forward. He wondered how she experienced her gift. Did she see a map within her mind?

  “And Bray?”

  He had experienced her terror, before—it had been a frenetic thing, like a trapped wild animal, willing to chew at its own flesh for a chance at freedom. He had nearly gone to her, despite Ko-Jin’s assurance that she could handle herself, and his more dire warning that the sound of Yarrow’s arrival could ruin everything. But it seemed that whatever danger she had faced had been overcome. She was now calmer, though still frayed around the edges. He would have to apologize for attempting to strike Ko-Jin during their argument.

  “Bray’s group has taken Whythe back through the ridge. It seems they accomplished their goal.”

  Yarrow heard the two teleporters return, one right after the other, and spun to face them. He hastily pulled his glove back on. “Well?” he asked.

  Tae-Young flashed a nervous smile. “All went to plan. We weren’t seen. Any second now, Quade should be stripped of his gift and frozen, and Ko-Jin will take care of him.”

  Mearra gazed down at the camp below with the eyes of a frightened child. From this vantage, they could make out little more than the shapes of the tents. “It cannot be this easy,” she said in a voice so soft it nearly disappeared in the wind, “to kill the Spiritblighter himself.”

  These ominous words were punctuated by the blast of gunfire—distant, yet distinct. She flinched, and Yarrow searched for Bray in his mind. The firing continued, one shot after another in such quick succession that he wondered how many shooters could be down there. When the gunshots ceased, the silence that followed took on new gravity.