Yarrow rolled his shoulders. “The warehouses are closing up north. We’ll have to call it quits after this next load.”
Arlow nodded absently. He had just about accounted for all the provisions this particular unit had in stock. He would need someone more culinarily minded than himself to make sense of the data, to determine just how long the city had before rations ran out, and they were all truly blighted. Yarrow and Mearra could hardly keep up with demand for a prolonged siege.
“One more load, then,” Yarrow said to his young partner. She looked to be dead on her feet, and could only nod dumbly. With an almost simultaneous pop, they disappeared again. Arlow glanced down at his books, making sure that all of his notes were legible.
The door flew open, and the sound of the rain beating against the street intensified. Foy entered, water pouring from the brim of his hat. He left the door wide, and Arlow was surprised at just how dark the evening had become. There were no illuminated windows nearby, no moon to brighten the sky.
Foy hustled to the lantern to warm his hands, and Arlow grimaced at the man for not bothering to close the door. The wind carried a cold mist inward.
“How soon until it can be distributed?” Foy asked, his gaze scanning the stock. It looked like an impressive amount of food, but without careful rationing it would surely not last long.
Arlow made his way to the door, the wet peppering his face.
From deeper in the warehouse, a startled voice called out. “Oy, what’s that there?”
A second voice shouted, “Blight!”
And then something hot, something deafeningly loud, launched Arlow clean off his feet. He was hurled into the air, straight through the doorway and out into the black night. His face collided with the cobbled road, and it felt as if his cheek had been scraped to the bone. His ears whistled so loudly he could hear nothing else. Rain drummed on his smoldering back.
When he found he could move once again, Arlow rolled over. He shielded his eyes from the deluge, and found the warehouse was engulfed in flames. He scrambled to his feet and loped to the door. As he approached, he turned his face away from the heat.
“Foy?” he bellowed into the furnace.
Only the snapping of the fire answered him. Blight it all.
Taking a bracing breath, he charged into the burning building. The rain on his flesh immediately began to sizzle. Within, all of the sacks of rice and grain were ablaze—so much food, wasted.
“Hello?” Arlow called out again. He was not certain how many men had been working at the back of the warehouse—at least four. There came no reply. His eyes watered against the ash, and he slapped embers on his sleeve. “Foy?”
As he inhaled, smoke clogged his throat and he succumbed to a coughing fit, eyes streaming. But he managed to spy Foy’s boots through his clouded vision.
“Blight, blight, blight,” Arlow yelped, as he crossed the space. Flaming debris came crashing from above, and he skittered back. “Foy? Get up, blight it.”
But the highwayman did not stir. Arlow resisted the urge to run back out into the rain, and made himself shuffle forward. His lungs burned. He reached Foy and heard him cough. Arlow swore—now that he knew the man was alive, he could not abandon him.
He groped for Foy’s wrist, threw the man’s arm around his neck, and hoisted. The highwayman made an effort to rise to his feet, but then collapsed into Arlow.
“Spirits’ above, man,” Arlow grunted. “How can you be so heavy? You’re not even fat.”
The man barked out a laughing cough, and tried to stand. They ambled towards the exit. A portion of the blazing roof fell just behind them, but Arlow continued on undaunted. His luck would hold—it always had before.
Foy’s sleeve caught fire, and he bellowed. He tried to stop, but Arlow pressed forward. “Keep moving, blight you."
When they stumbled back out of the doorway, the rain washed down upon them like a gift from the Spirits. He tipped his face up to the sky. His entire body stung, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He found that much of his coat had burned away. Bits of his shirt stuck to the black and red skin of his forearm.
Foy fell to his knees, hacking. Arlow became aware of people, civilians, coming from their homes, drawn no doubt by the sound of the blast. The rain had already begun to dampen the flames. “Run for water,” he shouted out.
The rain might well put out the blaze on its own in time, but they could not afford for the fire to spread. Whole neighborhoods were lost that way.
The pop of teleportation made him jump again. But once more, it was only Yarrow. His friend had ash in his hair. He coughed into the crook of his arm. Mearra appeared a second later, jumping as she shook cinder from her hair.
“What happened?” Yarrow asked, wiping at his eyes.
“An explosion,” Arlow said in a husky voice. “Quade’s doing, no doubt.”
Yarrow took in his appearance. He must’ve looked a true mess, because his friend’s eyes widened in shock. “Here,” Yarrow offered, raising his hands.
Arlow saw the light of healing spread like a dawning sun, and the pain that had been so acute rinsed away, just as the soot on his skin was cleansed by the rain.
“We’ve got to tell Ko-Jin,” Arlow said, whipping the hair from his eyes. Yarrow had bent to tend to Foy.
The roof collapsed fully, sending a plume of smoke and ash into the air. Arlow said a quick prayer for the spirits of the men who had died within.
Distantly, they heard a tremendous boom. Arlow jumped and turned towards the explosion; he saw smoke in the distance. Plainly this attack was not over.
“You go ahead,” he said to Yarrow. “I need to find my wife.”
Yarrow nodded once and disappeared. Mearra gaped around her, as if uncertain what to do next. Then she too vanished on the spot. Arlow took off at a sprint, his boots squelching wetly beneath him. He did not wait for Foy. The man could catch up in his own time. Finding Mae was paramount—after he had wrapped her in the protection of his gift, they could worry about all the rest. Like the provisions that had been destroyed.
Spirits, he thought. Let there be food left.
Because it would matter little how well-fortified they were, if the people within the walls starved.
Spirits…
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ko-Jin’s head jerked up from his paperwork. He wondered if the boom he had just heard could be thunder. It was raining, with winds beating against the window at his back. But he did not think it was the storm alone.
He pushed himself up from the desk and jogged from his office, his shoes sliding on the polished floors. He threw himself against the door to the roof gardens and pounded up the stairway, all the while listening, listening. He heard nothing more than the thrumming of rain on the roof.
He loped out into the night, and shuddered as his hair was immediately plastered to his skull. He swiped water from his eyes and stared out over the parapet.
“Blight.” He could see the flames even from afar. He estimated the building was in the next borough. Even as he watched, the intensity of the fire began to diminish. Thank the Spirits for the rain.
Another blast sounded, and Ko-Jin’s head swung to the right. A new blaze blossomed on the inky horizon, this one much closer to the palace—only a few blocks from the outer gates.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Ko-Jin watched, helpless, as three more explosions flared against the night. His abdomen tightened, and he wondered how many more there could be.
There came a loud burst of sound just to his right, and he jolted in fear. He slapped a hand to his thundering heart. “Spirits, Yarrow.”
His friend was soaked through and shivering. A smear of soot stood out on his pale cheek.
“There you are,” Yarrow said, eyes flicking to the skyline. “How many have there been?”
“Five.”
Yet another resounding blast pierced the night, this time from behind them. Ko-Jin spun around, to find the royal stables a column of smoke. He could
hear the sound of shrieking horses—dying horses, even over the patter of the rain.
“Six,” Ko-Jin corrected, gravely.
“The first was the food storage Arlow and I were working.”
“Is he—?”
“He’s fine. But at least three men died, and we lost all of the rice and other grain that was stockpiled there.”
Ko-Jin bowed his head forward, rivulets of rain streaming from his cheeks. “We need to get to those other sites. Determine what all—who else—has been lost.”
“I can see to that,” Yarrow said. “You should remain here. Bray and the others are no doubt on their way already.”
Ko-Jin would have much rather charged out into the city, so he might feel he was doing, taking action. But Yarrow could take care of the task much more quickly.
“Very well,” Ko-Jin said, squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “Stay safe, brother.”
Yarrow inclined his head, and once Ko-Jin let his hand fall, another sharp pop announced his departure.
Ko-Jin waited there for a time, his hands braced on the marble parapet, his eyes scanning the city. The fires had already been reduced by the rain. He could make out nothing more than the shapes of the buildings against the night sky and, in the distance, the perimeter wall with its regular merlons and crenels.
He steeled himself for a seventh explosion, but the longer he lingered, the less likely it seemed.
Ko-Jin hunched his shoulders. The searing sense of his own failure burned inside him. Everything he had done to protect the city—it was not enough. It was never enough. How could he have believed himself capable of safeguarding these people? Whom had he successfully saved to date? Not the former king and queen, not good-hearted Jo-Kwan. Not Su-Hwan or Elda.
He tried to swallow down the ache in his throat. He had not even managed to defend Chae-Na.
He heard the door to the stairway creak open and turned his head. The queen appeared, as if thinking her name had called her forth. She unfurled an umbrella and marched to his side, her dress sopping up the puddles. Her face was stony, hard to read.
Just behind her came five Chisanta guards, including Britt herself. They spread out across the rooftop, in search of danger. Ko-Jin suspected that he, his own incompetence, was the only threat within proximity.
Chae-Na drew close, so that he too might be shielded by the umbrella. Without the rain drumming on his cranium, it seemed his sense of hearing improved. He shivered in his dripping robes.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
Ko-Jin swallowed. “Don’t know the full extent of it yet. There were six blasts. One was a food storage, and another the stables.” He sighed. “Yarrow’s gone out to learn more. He shouldn’t be too long.”
Chae-Na gave one cool nod, and her dark eyes scanned the cityscape, gaze lingering on the pillars of smoke that peppered the capital.
“I failed,” he said. “Between our patrols and the bells, I had hoped he would not be able to move within the city, not without being spotted.”
“The weather likely aided him in that,” she said.
“It wasn’t enough. I should have done more.”
Chae-Na’s eyes flashed, and she wheeled a disapproving look on him. The umbrella shifted so that cold water ran down the back of his neck. “Would you cease this ridiculous guilt complex? This is a war. The enemy can move within our walls in an instant. Casualties such as these were inevitable.”
Ko-Jin frowned. “I can’t just accept that.”
“You have to. People get hurt and people die, no matter what you do. That is just the way of things; this is a violent, imperfect world. But this disposition of yours, this habit of collecting failures and carrying them like millstones round your neck—you must stop. It is arrogant, and it weakens you as a leader. You need to rise above it, or what hope do we have?”
“Arrogant?” he repeated. He stepped away from her, fully into the rain. It was not nearly so cold as her words.
“Yes. You assume that you can control everything that happens, which is pure hubris, and then you spiral into self-doubt when events unfold against your wishes.”
He clenched his fists, and responded as calmly as he could. “You have been angry with me since I failed to save you from Quade; you blame me, Highness. How could I not blame myself?”
“No,” she said, drawing breath through her nose. “I have never blamed you, Ko-Jin—not for Jo-Kwan, nor for my own suffering. It is your behavior since that event which has piqued my anger. Stop looking at me as if I am walking proof of your failings. I cannot bear to see that…that blighted guilt in your eyes. Do you believe I need a constant reminder of what happened? I assure you, I do not.” She stood breathing heavily, staring at him in an open challenge.
But the outrage rushed from his chest in a gust, leaving him deflated and lost for words. He wiped rain from his eyes, blinking, trying to change his expression.
“Chae-Na, I…”
The rooftop door opened once again and a blue-clad post boy scurried forward.
“General, Your Highness. There’s an urgent telegram for you.”
“From whom?” Chae-Na asked.
The lad’s lip quivered. “Quade Asher.”
Ko-Jin straightened. He and Chae-Na exchanged one surprised glance before hurrying to the door.
Bray pushed her legs to move faster, pumping her arms as she dashed up the avenue of the university, towards the palace grounds. Rain obscured her vision, and she squinted against the deluge.
Peer and Whythe had streaked past her, carried on longer legs. She forced herself all the harder, endeavoring to take two strides for every one of theirs. Fortunately, she felt herself in possession of greater than usual stamina. It seemed she could run indefinitely.
The blasts had stopped, but dread still pounded in her veins. If Quade had destroyed their outer perimeter, his people could even now be pouring into the city. And all would be lost—there would be no place safe from Quade’s influence in all the kingdoms. Spirits, let it not be so.
Peer, ahead, stopped to have a short, shouted conversation with the guards at the gate. He was waved in, and Bray sprinted after him.
The drive up to the palace appeared to have lengthened. She focused on the rhythmic sound of her boots slapping against the puddles, and increased her speed. They would need as much time as possible to form a plan before Quade was upon them. And she could not flee until she had found Yarrow. But then where could they go?
Chasku? Surely he had little hold there…
At last they arrived at the entry. Peer exchanged a brief greeting with a familiar sentry, and then they were racing up the polished hallways. Without the rain actively pelting down upon her, she felt colder. Her boots squelched with each step.
“Where do you think they’ll be?” Peer asked, and skidded to a standstill.
Whythe collided with him and they grasped each other for support, only just managing to keep their feet.
“King’s study, maybe?”
Peer nodded, and gestured for Whythe to follow him. He had spent the most time in the palace, and generally had a good sense of direction. Which was fortunate; Bray would no doubt have taken several wrong turnings before finding the correct room. And they might already be out of time.
Peer knocked twice on an oaken door and then swung it wide. Bray breathed a sigh of relief when she entered the room and found both Ko-Jin and Chae-Na within.
“Was it the walls?” Peer asked, then paused to cough. “How bad is it?”
Everything in Ko-Jin’s posture spoke of black news. “No, the walls weren’t targeted. All of the explosions were within the city—at least one food storage, and the royal stables. Yarrow’s gone to see what all was lost.”
Bray sighed. She moved towards the hearth, grateful for the warmth. She mopped sopping hair from her face. “Why, though? Why not take down our defenses if he has the means?”
Chae-Na extended the slip of a telegram to Bray. “He does not wish to compromise ou
r perimeter, for all of his building of catapults. He would rather be invited in.”
Bray, with pruned fingers, unfurled the paper and read:
Another every 12 hours until the gates are opened for me.
Bray scowled and handed the message to Peer. He and his partner read together.
“That fits,” Whythe said.
“How so?” Ko-Jin asked.
“Well,” Whythe said, licking a lip and glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s his MO, isn’t it? He doesn’t just want you under his control, he wants you to ask for it. Beg, even.”
“This message was not sent to us alone,” Chae-Na said. “We received reports that it was transmitted to every telegraphy office in the capital.”
Bray winced. If the people knew that their leaders had been forewarned of an additional attack and failed to prevent it, there may well be fighting within the walls. Quade’s skill for sowing discord was truly a marvel.
“What can we be doing?” Peer asked. “We’ve gotta stop it.”
Ko-Jin folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve sent word to the university asking that every Chisanta head out now, scour the city.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “We’ve nearly eleven hours. But with no notion as to where he will strike…” he shook his head. “Though…” he said in a newly hopeful voice, as he snapped his fingers.
The door slammed open and a streaming figure in Cosanta robes stumbled in. It took Bray a moment to recognize Roldon, as his face was contorted, his hair darkened and slicked down from the rain.
“He took Trevva,” the Cosanta announced, throat thick with heartache. Ko-Jin crossed the space and pulled his friend into an embrace. “I’m sorry,” the general said.
“Why her?” Roldon choked out.
He seemed to expect no response, but Bray knew the answer at once. “She would have been able to track his movements. With her, we could’ve easily stopped this plan of his.”
Ko-Jin had clearly come to the same realization. “That had been my great idea. Unfortunately.”
Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3) Page 36