Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3)

by March McCarron

  Ko-Jin frowned. “It could be dangerous. People are liable to be angry. They could lash out—”

  “That is why you are coming with me. We need to be off.” She paced to the exit, giving him no further opportunity to argue.

  Before they reached the door, Yarrow cried out, “Ko-Jin, wait.”

  Chae-Na turned back to the Cosanta, and noticed for the first time the state he was in. It was not merely misery and exhaustion that marred his expression, but something greater and deeper and infinitely more pained. It was too raw, too exposed; she looked away.

  “Ah…” Yarrow said, uncertainty in his voice. “Nothing, just—I have been glad to know you. Be careful.”

  Ko-Jin offered his friend a confused smile. “Uh, thanks mate. I’ll be fine.”

  “We must go,” Chae-Na said, spinning on the spot and leaving the office behind.

  “Highness,” Ko-Jin jogged to her side, “I’m still not sure about this.”

  She did not pause to answer. “What shall my safety matter if the public revolts and opens the gates?”

  She would be Quade’s wife before the week was out, no doubt. No, she promised herself, not for the first time. I will kill myself first. Better death than…

  “Have a carriage readied for me, please,” she called out to the first valet she saw.

  “Yes, Your Highness, but the stables…”

  “Send someone into the city,” she said.

  She frowned down at her muddied finery. If she was to venture into a place of poverty, she needed to wear a simpler gown. She jogged up the stair to her rooms and shouted out for her maid.

  As had become their habit, scandalous though it might be, Ko-Jin entered her rooms. He turned his back and she slipped behind the privacy screen to change. She knew he would never look. Even so, the idea of him hearing the sound of laces slipping through eyelets made her cheeks flush.

  She shooed aside such foolish thoughts, and focused on the task at hand. “No, the black one,” she said to her maid. “No farthing today.”

  The ticking of the clock on the wall sounded a reprimand for her slowness.

  “No, leave it. It’s fine,” she said, when the maid tried to fix her hair. “Let’s be off,” she said to Ko-Jin.

  Minutes later she was helped into a carriage, and she and Ko-Jin were trundling down the drive and onto the main avenue. Chae-Na moved aside the curtain and scanned the horizon. Against a pale blue sky, in the distance, she glimpsed a column of smoke.

  She made herself sit back properly. She could not will them there any faster. She entwined her fingers in her lap and glanced to Ko-Jin.

  He was scanning the roads around them, his lips compressed in concentration.

  “What you said to me last night,” he began, not turning away from the window as they rumbled up the street. “It wasn’t easy to hear, but you were right. And it needed to be said. So, thank you.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, wishing he would turn and meet her gaze. “You’re welcome,” she said, somewhat weakly.

  “And I’m sorry if I’ve added to your hardship in any way. From here on out, I mean to act my normal self again.”

  Her lip twitched, as she wondered how he perceived his ‘normal self.’ “I would appreciate that.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him a question, but decided it was not an appropriate time for such a conversation. She pressed her lips closed and peered out the opposite window.

  They made unprecedented time, as the streets were so vacant. Her nose detected the smoke in the air before she could see the building. When they turned a corner, a throng of people came into view. After seeing little movement for so many blocks, such a crowd was almost a relief—proof that living spirits yet existed within these walls.

  The orphanage had been a corner property. Now it was nothing more than a heap of smoldering wood, which leaned precariously to one side. It was still alight in places, but much of the structure had been reduced to the warm glow of embers. At a glance, it was clear there would be no survivors.

  The carriage came to a halt, and Ko-Jin extended a hand, gesturing that he would go first. She alighted after him. Ash caught in her throat and she coughed into the crook of her arm.

  “Arlow,” Ko-Jin called.

  A dark head swiveled in their direction. His expression was somber, his usually pristine attire smeared with soot. Beside him, Mae Bearnall appeared to be directing the assembly, many of whom—Chae-Na noticed suddenly—bore the tattoo of a crowned fist on their necks.

  A pail of water passed from hand to hand, before being tossed at the wreckage with a hiss of steam. Chae-Na traced the line of men, but the source well must have been around a corner. It seemed every person on the block had come forth to lend their aid.

  Arlow wended through the crowd; he and Ko-Jin grasped hands and slapped backs.

  “How many were inside?” Ko-Jin asked.

  The building collapsed further, sending a plume of embers skyward. “Twenty-eight.”

  A woman wept nearby, and the sound of her anguish crawled under Chae-Na’s skin. Twenty-eight…

  “They were just kids,” Arlow said, shaking his head. “It’s not right…”

  No, it was not right. But it was just what she would expect from the likes of Quade Asher. Breathe, breathe.

  “Oy, Bowlerham,” a man shouted.

  Chae-Na looked to find a very big, very ugly man with a crooked nose and a bald head. He was talking to Arlow, but his bulging eyes were locked on her.

  “What do you need, Cline?” Arlow called back, displeasure in his voice.

  “That the queen, there, you talkin’ with?”

  Almost every head in the crowd turned then. There was a second of quiet, of scrutiny, before a buzz of angry chatter spread across the gathering. Chae-Na lifted her chin, and tried to remind herself why she had come here. No one bowed. The pails of water stopped moving.

  Arlow raised his brows at her, then shrugged. “You’ve got eyes, haven’t you?”

  The big man shoved his way through the throng. He scared her a bit. His protuberant eyes betrayed a wildness that she did not like.

  He pointed a finger. “You knew,” he accused in a booming voice. “You was warned, and you didn’t do a blighted thing. And now all these kids—our people—is dead, burnt up in their sleep.”

  Chae-Na licked a lip, uncertain if she should defend herself or sympathize. She had the strong sense that this situation could worsen quickly.

  “My heart bleeds for this loss—” she began.

  The man clenched a fist. “Bleeds, does it?”

  Before Chae-Na could respond, Arlow’s wife pushed forward and elbowed Cline in the ribs. He hissed and doubled over. “Fool,” she said, in a carrying voice. “What should she have done, huh? Opened the gates up to the man who killed my brother, and let him fog up our thoughts until there’s no fighting back?”

  Cline winced. Though twice the woman’s size, he appeared thoroughly cowed by her blazing expression. Mae set her jaw and glared around the gathering. “He’s attacked us, as he’s done before. We ain’t given’ in to no demands of his. Now, focus up and get this fire under control, ’for it spreads.”

  Chae-Na regarded the Pauper’s Queen with new respect. She smiled her gratitude.

  Mae brushed her cropped, greasy hair behind her ears and strode forward. “Good of you to come,” she said, extending a hand. Chae-Na took it in her own and shook heartily. “Let’s pop in here and talk it over.”

  Chae-Na and Ko-Jin followed the woman into a nearby building. The interior was rough and smelt of stale alcohol.

  “Jeana,” Mae barked to the back of the establishment. “Tea!”

  “Comin’,” a female voice shouted back.

  The table was encircled with barrels rather than proper chairs. Chae-Na sat down uncertainly and smoothed her skirts. Ko-Jin remained standing at her back.

  A woman with frizzy hair and a dirty apron bustled forward with a tray. Chae-Na notice
d dried sludge at the bottom of her mug before tea was poured into it. She took one small sip, then set the teacup down with no intention of lifting it again.

  The door opened, and a gust of smoky air blew into the space. Arlow slipped in and perched himself beside his wife. “It’s nearly extinguished.”

  His bloodshot eyes blinked wearily at her. Chae-Na suspected that there were a number, like herself, who had not slept the previous night.

  “Are you alright?” he asked Mae.

  “No,” she said, her bottom lip quivering. “I’m, well—think my emotions are all out of order. And all them kids…”

  “We’ve had the Chisanta searching the streets,” Chae-Na said. “And the royal guard. But it’s just such a large city. And Quade can appear anywhere, in an instant.”

  “So, we’ve got eleven more hours, is it?” Mae asked, as she patted at her cheeks with a dingy handkerchief.

  “Yes.”

  Her over-large jaw jutted out in a stubborn expression. “We’re gonna go door to door in these parts; tell folks to be on the look-out.”

  “Good,” Chae-Na said. “If he’s committed to this terrorization, he’s also exposing himself.”

  “If he’s seen in these parts today,” Mae said, “he won’t be leaving alive.”

  Chae-Na nodded, understanding the anger that drove the woman. But also doubtful. “See that you do not let him speak.”

  She peeked down at her watch. Eleven hours, three minutes remaining.

  Chae-Na stood. “We must be on our way. Thank you for the tea, and for your efforts here.”

  She had no inkling what they might do next, but with the seconds ticking away she felt herself compelled towards motion. Prolonged inaction seemed an acceptance of future death, which she could not abide.

  “What now?” Ko-Jin asked, as he helped her back into the carriage.

  Her gaze lingered on the broken remains of the orphanage. “I do not know…”

  Ten hours, fifty-eight minutes.

  Peer grasped the haft of his waster and raised his arm. His wrist ached from the exercise. Across from him, Bray feinted to his right. Her boot stuck in the mud, slowing her attack. He struck up from his hip to catch her in the side.

  She grunted, her cheeks flushed. “Again.”

  He had already readied himself, though his arms had turned leaden. Thunder roared in the distance. He glanced up at the cloud-darkened sky and wondered how many more dry minutes remained to them. It was yet only late afternoon, but the darkness of premature evening had stolen across the university grounds.

  He and Bray bowed to each other. They engaged once more, wooden blades clacking in thick air. The constant rumbling to the east echoed their efforts. She grimaced, her eyes flinty with focus.

  It was one of his favorite things about Bray—she would not avoid a topic if it needed discussing, but nor would she initiate a painful conversation if it served no purpose. They did not need to speak of it. She knew, already, that he had visited the Central Accord Home for Orphans on a number of occasions. That he and Matron James, who had run the establishment, had shared a regular correspondence. That a boy named Brenton had once tried to stow away with him after a visit. Adearre had found the lad unabashedly grinning down at them from the storage rack of their carriage, some leagues beyond the gates of Accord.

  Peer channeled his fury, his grief, into the swing of his blade. Too much so—his arm crossed far from center and Bray used this opening to her advantage.

  Peer rolled his aching shoulder.

  “Had enough?” she asked, panting.

  “Not ’less you have.”

  She straightened her back. “I can go on.”

  Peer decided to switch to his left hand, to give his right arm a rest. Bray followed suit.

  He swung again, sloppily. It didn’t matter, as long as he was moving, moving and not thinking. Because if he lingered on the number of orphaned children Quade had killed in the last ten years, rage took hold of him. Parentless kids like himself, like poor Su-Hwan, were, to Quade Asher, most valuable in death. He murdered them with the casual indifference of a chess player sacrificing a pawn. And if Peer contemplated that fact, and let the full coldness of it settle within his mind, then an answering fire took up inside of him. And he did not know how to douse it.

  Peer gritted his teeth and lashed wildly. Bray once again got the better of him. The blunt of her blade connected with his chest. He let his arms swing to his sides.

  Bray raised her practice weapon once more, but when a footfall sounded she let her arm rest. Peer spun on the spot, to find Yarrow approaching from around the university library. He looked relieved when he caught sight of them, his eyes lingering on Peer.

  “Excellent,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “What’s going on? Any news?” Bray asked, massaging her right shoulder with her left hand.

  “Ko-Jin has an idea he’d like to run by you, Bray. He was wondering if you might meet him at the palace.”

  “Alright,” she said, still kneading her sore muscles. “Let’s go, then.”

  “Actually,” Yarrow said, “I wonder if I might have a moment of Peer’s time. There’s a bit of Fifth prophecy I’m hoping he can help me translate.”

  Peer flipped the wooden sword in his hands a few times. Lightning flickered in the distance. “Sure,” he said, and then to Bray, “we’ll come along in a bit, then.”

  Bray tossed her waster to him. “Right, no problem.” She wheeled around and headed off at a steady clip.

  “Bray,” Yarrow shouted after her. She turned to look back over her shoulder at him. He hesitated, as if uncertain what he had meant to say. “Stay safe,” he said, with an intensity Peer did not understand. The man shook himself, then added in lighter tones, “Ah, on your way over there, I mean.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open,” she said, waving his concern aside with a gesture of the hand. “I always do.”

  Peer frowned at Yarrow. The man did not appear well. His face was pallid, his eyes bloodshot. He didn’t notice Peer’s inspection, as he was wholly engaged in watching Bray’s departing form, a naked hunger in his gaze. When she disappeared from view, he continued to stare at the vacant walkway.

  Peer cleared his throat. “So, where’s the book?”

  Yarrow’s brow creased. “Hm?”

  “You said you needed help with a translation?”

  “Oh, right.” Yarrow bit down on his bottom lip, and it slipped from his teeth white. “No, that was a lie, actually. I just needed to speak with you in private. Let’s step inside.”

  Peer eyed the man with increasing alarm. Why should he lie to Bray? What could the two of them have to discuss? “Okay then…”

  Peer led the way up the stair and into the university library. As they walked side by side towards the back office, Yarrow swept his gaze from left to right, drinking in his surroundings, though there was nothing to see other than shelves upon shelves of books. Peer heard him inhale deeply.

  “It’s a wonderful smell, is it not?” Yarrow asked.

  He shrugged. “The books, you mean? I ’spose. Kind of dusty, though.”

  Peer pulled open the door to his office and gestured for Yarrow to take a seat. He did so, but with the distracted air of a man insensible to his surroundings.

  Peer sat too. He watched Yarrow open and close his mouth several times, and noticed that the man’s hands trembled in his lap.

  “I suppose there’s no other way to say this, other than to merely say it…”

  If Yarrow were not in such a state, Peer likely would have quipped about the obviousness of this statement. As it was, he waited. He twined his fingers on the desk in front of him.

  “I am going to make the final sacrifice. Now. I need you to be here when I do.”

  Peer blinked, momentarily stupefied. He might have thought this a joke, if it were not plain by the man’s manner that it was not. “What?” Peer asked, his voice loud and high. “Why?”

&nbs
p; “I need someone near, because the first thing I will say once I’m a Fifth is the location of the next explosion. And I need you to make sure that it’s prevented.”

  “No,” Peer said. “Not why do I need to be here. Why are you doing it? That’s…insane. You can’t. Spirits, think what it’ll do to Bray.”

  Something collapsed in Yarrow’s expression, and Peer realized that the man must be in earnest. He had plainly already considered Bray’s feelings, and was resolved in spite of them.

  “Bray told you that she received a vision in Adourra?” he asked. Peer nodded. “Well, I did as well. It was this—of me taking this step. And then a prophecy of the former Fifth verified it. This is how it happens: I make the sacrifice, you stop the explosion. And then you tell Bray. That’s my fate.”

  Peer began shaking his head long before Yarrow had finished speaking. “No. Blighter, no. Bray would kill me if she knew I’d let you!”

  Yarrow chuckled. He was looking less wild, more sane. “No. She’ll just hit you a bit.”

  “What in the name of the Spirits could I say to her?”

  Yarrow’s mouth twitched with dark humor, and his eyes clouded. “You’ll tell her that I gave you no choice. You’ll tell her that I said I regret it, but that I can’t see another way. That if I had waited to say goodbye, I might have lacked the courage to see it through.” He swallowed. “You’ll tell her that I said, no matter where my spirit might be, it will always be tied to hers.”

  Peer continued to shake his head. “Yarrow…”

  He thought of Whythe, of the connection they shared. That was what Bray felt for Yarrow. That was why she had always been so drawn to him, despite everything. If Whythe were the one to make this sacrifice, Peer knew it would destroy him. As this would assuredly destroy Bray.

  Peer stood, knocking over his chair in the process. “I won’t let you.”

  Yarrow was still smiling with sorrowful eyes. Now it was his turn to shake his head. “You couldn’t possibly stop me. And you shouldn’t. If I weren’t such a selfish coward, I would’ve done it last night. I wouldn’t have sat there, hoping that Quade’s threat was empty, while twenty-eight children were dying.”

  Peer turned cold. He could not help thinking, once more, of that boy Brenton. And for a brief moment he was angry with Yarrow. If he was determined to be so idiotically noble, why couldn’t he have done so before that kid was killed in his sleep?