“But…” Bray said, awed. “You didn’t move!”
“No,” Yarrow agreed. “I was rooted. I had all the force of the earth—and the harder you hit an immovable object, the harder you are repulsed.”
Peer got to his feet and dusted off his pants and jerkin. He looked accusingly at Ko-Jin. “Why didn’t you teach us this?”
Ko-Jin tried to repress a smug smile and failed. “You said you wanted to learn Adourran fighting techniques, not the fundamentals of the Cosanta.”
By the time they had turned in for the night Yarrow had acquired several new pupils, grudging though they were.
The streets of Accord stood, as ever, utterly gridlocked. Bray was sorely tempted to hop out of the carriage and walk, but the sidewalks were equally packed and the wind without harsh and chilling.
The sheer massiveness of the city baffled. When it had reached its physical limits in the form of the Rocky Gulf, it had grown up and in. Almost no free space remained in the entire city, every nook and cranny being occupied with homes, shops, restaurants, and business headquarters. Riding through the roads of Accord was like traveling to many miniature cities—a poor district yielded to a working class district, a working class district to a fashion district. The city was spotted with decay and poverty like a head of old cabbage with maggots. However, there was no space to keep the impoverished suitably separated from the privileged—a single turn could take one from style to destitution.
Her eyes flitted over the ever-present beggars, merchants hawking wares, solemn-faced policemen in crisp blue uniforms, and the handsome face of the Pauper’s King, gazing confidently a hundred times over from the wanted posters plastering the city walls. Bray wondered, inanely, why the artist always drew him smirking. She shrugged and turned from the window.
Bray hated this city. She hated the affluent set, who could live so complacently while others suffered under their very noses. She hated the smell and the distrust and the suffocating lack of space. But, being a haven of crime, she could not help traveling to the capital more often than she liked.
Adearre and Peer drove. Within the carriage, Ko-Jin, Yarrow, and Bray sat in comfortable silence. Ko-Jin gazed out the window, but Bray had the feeling his mind was elsewhere. His dark eyes did not linger on anything that passed. Yarrow had his own eyes screwed closed, his brow creased in concentration. He was attempting to split his mind, as she had taught him. He had not yet had any success—she did not expect him to, in all honesty, but she had to admire the way he continued on, undeterred.
Out the window, Bray glimpsed the great central clock tower. A landmark which meant they had nearly arrived. Spirits be good!
When she returned her attention to the others within, she found Yarrow’s eyes had opened.
“I nearly had it that time,” he said. “I think…”
“You’ll get it,” Bray assured him, the lie sounding false and high. He seemed not to notice.
“Do you think we’ll see the King?” Ko-Jin asked.
“I doubt it,” Bray said. “I’ve been here many times and have yet to see him.”
“As Chisanta, aren’t we permitted to present ourselves at court?” he asked.
“Yes.” Bray nodded. “I believe, though I’ve never felt terribly inclined to do so.”
Ko-Jin looked at her, mystified. “You don’t want to see the King? That’s not very patriotic, Bray.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing him—or his son,” she added with a smile. The prince was reported to be an exceptionally handsome man. “It’s all of the other courtiers I’d rather avoid. I have a low tolerance for horse shit. Besides, I’d have to buy a dress…”
“Well, I’d like to go,” Ko-Jin brushed his braid from his shoulder. “What about you?” he asked his friend.
Yarrow shrugged. “It would be something to see, I suppose.”
Peer stopped the carriage outside their usual inn, The Heavenly Accord. It was a pleasant enough place—its red brick face bearded in ivy, the pathway to the entrance lined with rose bushes. Several well-dressed women sipped tea, visible through the wide, gleaming bay windows.
Bray hopped out of the carriage, her soft-soled boots hitting the stone with a muffled thump. She drew stares, as ever, but the nature of the stares in Accord were different. These people were cultured enough to know a Chisanta when they saw one.
Stable hands came forward to park their carriage and tend to the horses. Bray led the party up the steps and into the well-polished, sunny foyer. The middle-aged innkeeper, wearing a spotless apron, bowed to them with respect.
“Masters and Mistresses of the Chisanta, welcome,” she said formally.
They procured five rooms—in Accord a Chisanta would not be allowed to double-bunk—and a dinner in a private dining room.
“Should we make our way to the library?” Yarrow asked.
“Spirits, man!” Peer said. “We’ve only just arrived. The books aren’t going anywhere. I, for one, am going to bathe.”
Bray hadn’t had a proper bath in an age; sinking into a hot tub sounded absolutely divine. “I agree. The library won’t be open much later anyway. We’ll go in the morning.”
Yarrow’s mouth turned down marginally. Bray suspected that, for him alone, a library promised more pleasure than a hot soak.
“Could we have a letter sent to the palace?” Ko-Jin asked the innkeeper.
“Certainly,” the woman said. “I keep a boy on retainer for delivery at all hours.”
“To whom would you be writing?” Adearre asked.
“Arlow.” Ko-Jin grinned at Yarrow. “I’m curious to see how our friend is taking to his new lifestyle.”
Yarrow returned the smile. “Like a fish to water, no doubt.”
Bray left them to compose their letter. She would admit herself vaguely curious to see Arlow again, but that prospect held much less interest than the smell of soap and the feel of clean skin.
A serving girl had just dumped the final bucket of steaming water into the brass tub when Bray entered her chamber. The girl curtsied and departed. Bray unlaced her jerkin while she kicked off her boots, unbuttoned her blouse and shimmied out of her leggings. Lastly, she took the two rings she wore about her neck and placed them on the bedside table, then slipped with a grateful sigh into the tub. Perfumed with rose petals, the fumes of the bathwater cleared her head. The heat released tension in her shoulders. She let out a second long sigh and it cast ripples in the surface of the water.
As her body relaxed, she decided to give her mind something to work on. She began a mental review of the Ada Chae—if only to prove to herself that she could be as academically motivated as Yarrow. She closed her eyes.
Yarrow had only shown her the first several moves, but he said the thing did not have to be done in its entirety to be effective. She could hear his voice, see his hands on her own, guiding her through the motions. She could even smell the campfire and feel the heat of his breath, as he leaned in to adjust her arm placement. Bray slipped an inch deeper into the tub, letting the water rise over her mouth.
Mentally, she moved through the opening, Warm Hands over Fire. Her imaginary hands raised slowly up, parallel to the earth. She transitioned into Brush the Dragonfly, her body turning on one foot, the second landing, toes first, as her right arm extended upward. Then Taking Flight, she shifted her center of balance, her outstretched arm gliding slowly through the air.
A deep relaxation spread through Bray’s body, like that moment just on the cusp of falling asleep. And then, as if she were falling, reality—the inn, the bath, her pile of dirty clothes on the floor—slipped away. In an instant, she stood, surrounded by sharp rocky cliffs, with the sun on her face. It was so exactly right, so familiar, and yet utterly unexpected. She had never been relaxed when she entered this place, it had never slipped so peacefully around her, like an embrace.
The Aeght a Seve. She had come to the Place of Five, and she had done so through the Ada Chae. This realization jarred her so profoundly tha
t she mentally stumbled, and the Aeght a Seve pulled away abruptly, ripped from her senses like a page torn from a book. She was so surprised to find herself back in that tub of water that she breathed in a great gulp. Bray choked and jerked in the bath, splashing water on the hardwood floor as she floundered. She retched up bath water, her throat scalding.
She scrambled out of the tub and landed on hands and knees, water pouring from her body, still coughing madly.
The door flew open. “Bray, are you alright?” Peer asked, his voice thick with concern as he rushed into the room.
“Just breathed in some water,” Bray wheezed between coughs. “I’m fine.”
Peer thumped her back to help her choke up the last of the water. At last, she took a ragged breath of relief. She could see her own beet-red, tear-stained face reflected in the pool of standing water on the floor. A draft of cool air wafted in from the hallway, raising goosebumps on her wet flesh.
Peer stood and retrieved a large white towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. “What happened?”
Before she could answer, Yarrow’s form filled the open doorway, his hair hanging wet and loose around his shoulders and several buttons hanging open on his robes. “Is everything…”
He trailed off as he took in the scene. Her, wearing only a towel; Peer crouched beside her with a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Yarrow said, and retreated hastily before Bray could call him back.
“Damn,” Bray said, her voice hoarse. This could not have looked good.
Peer’s soft blue eyes stared questioningly into hers and then up at where Yarrow had just been. His expression settled into something dark and disapproving.
Bray leaned back on her heels and sighed. “I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”
“And when did you start caring what anyone thinks of you?” He scowled at the doorway. “Don’t see why you’re all so concerned with these Cosanta.”
“Come now, Peer. Don’t be cross.”
He grumbled, a telling muscle flickered in his jaw.
“You’re just mad you couldn’t knock him over,” Bray said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
Peer’s frown deepened. “No. I just don’t see why you’re all so bloody obsessed with him. You’re acting like he’s the most interesting person who ever existed.” Peer stood and crossed his arms. “I find him boring, myself.”
“Peer, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I miss when it was just the three of us,” Peer said softly, as if to himself.
“Do you think we could have this conversation some other time?” Bray gestured to the towel. “You know, when I’m less naked?”
“Oh, right,” Peer said, looking down at her. He offered her a hand and pulled her up to her feet. Water trickled down her exposed calves. Then he headed to the door. “Be seeing you at dinner then,” he called over his shoulder. “Try not to drown yourself in the water basin, will you?”
Bray grimaced. He laughed and departed, pulling the door shut behind him. She toweled herself off and dressed in a fresh outfit hastily, not bothering to examine her reflection in the full-length mirror. She approached Yarrow’s room with an unusual sense of trepidation. She could hear him moving within, a steady creaking of wood. Was he pacing?
She knocked. It took several moments, but the door creaked open and his face appeared in the crack. When he saw her, he opened the door wide and let her pass into his room.
“Are you well?” he asked, his tone unreadable.
“Yes, quite well. I had to tell you what happened,” she said. She couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face when he learned what she had accomplished.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “I know you two are close…”
“What? No, not that. That was nothing,” Bray said impatiently. “Just listen.”
She recounted how she had mentally done the Ada Chae and entered into the Aeght a Seve. His expression transformed during the telling.
“Bray, that is remarkable!” He began to pace around his room and Bray sank down onto his bed, watching his obvious excitement with amusement. “And you did it mentally—it took me years to get to the Aeght a Seve without physically performing the motions. Of course, the Tearre is a mental exercise, so perhaps in that form the Ada Chae would be more accessible to a Chiona.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Bray said, “I think the fact that I was physically relaxed helped, too. It’s strange—in order to gain access through the Tearre you need to feel a kind of frenzy, but with the Ada Chae I felt so peaceful, as though I was going to nod off.”
“Yes. That is one of the key dualities that separate us,” Yarrow said. “It is interesting. I hope I can experience it both ways as well. I’ll have to redouble my efforts now that I know for certain it is possible.”
Bray studied him as he paced—his intelligent face, his hair, still wet and loose. He had clearly bathed just before he had come to her aid. He looked different this way—when she looked at him she saw just a man, not a Cosanta. Empirically, she knew he was not the handsomest man she had ever seen. He was not even the handsomest man in the inn. But for some indefinable reason, he was by far the most attractive to her.
He stopped pacing mid-step. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, his gray eyes glittered. Had he just…registered her feelings? The thought made her blush, not only because he would be aware of her attraction, but because of the greater implication. Only people he loved…
She shifted awkwardly on the bed. “Dinner should be nearly ready.”
“Yes,” he agreed, but did not move. He eyed her intently.
She could not bear his scrutiny, nor the sudden charged silence that had settled between them. She stood and hastened to the exit. “I’ll let you finish getting ready.”
She slipped outside, shut the door, and leaned backwards against the wood to take a deep gulp of air.
Coward.
“You have the basic movements down,” Yarrow stalked around Adearre’s moving form, “but you have to work on your alignment. Imagine a—”
“A cord running from the center of my head down to the floor?” Adearre cut in, his tone droll.
“Yes,” Yarrow replied, unfazed. “But you are forgetting the middle point. You need all three.”
Yarrow put one hand flat on Adearre’s middle and the other flat on his back. “You need to find your center—the point between my hands. You must be constantly aware of your core. If it is not in line with the other two points, you lack grounding.”
“This is stupid,” Peer said, offering Yarrow a dirty look.
“By all means,” Ko-Jin said, “stop wasting our time then.”
Yarrow stepped back from Adearre and nodded in approval.
“Have I got it then?” Adearre asked.
“Yes, much better.”
Yarrow walked past Adearre, his feet thumping on the floral carpet. He had preferred working outdoors, amidst nature, but there was no nature in Accord aside from the tiniest squares of garden. They’d settled for using the private dining room.
“That’s good, Bray,” Yarrow said, as she came to the end of the forms he had taught her. She moved so gracefully and confidently, one could almost confuse her for a Cosanta.
“Teach me the next set then,” she said. “What comes after Turn the Sphere?”
Yarrow hid a smile. She was so eager to move forward, she often forgot what she had already learned.
“Very well,” he said. “Watch.”
He assumed the last pose of Turn the Sphere and moved smoothly, leaning his weight back onto his right foot and sweeping his hand up and away from his chest. He heard the door open and close behind him, but completed the move without turning.
“This is Gracious Offering.” Yarrow looked up to find Bray gazing over his shoulder. He was frustrated with her lack of attention until he heard a familiar drawling voice behind him.
“What in the name of
the Spirits’ vaporous backsides are you two doing?”
Yarrow spun and found Arlow leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, a dangerous smile on his lips.
“Arlow!” he and Ko-Jin shouted almost simultaneously. Yarrow embraced his friend, patting him firmly on the back. “It’s good to see you. How are you?”
“I’m well,” Arlow said, that self-satisfied smile still twitching at the corner of his mouth. He wore an outfit Yarrow could not find a word for—it was a strange combination of Cosanta robes and the suits that were currently fashionable. Rather than buttoning to the neck, as Yarrow’s own robe did, it hung open like a jacket. Underneath he wore a waistcoat and creamy white shirt. His hat dipped jauntily forward, casting half of his face in shadow.
“What the blazes are you wearing?” Ko-Jin asked and laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.
Arlow ignored this. He scrutinized the three Chiona.
“Forgive me,” Yarrow said. “Arlow, you remember Bray, Peer, and Adearre?
Arlow inclined his head to each of them, then turned back to Yarrow.
“This is going to sound foolish,” he said in a voice that Yarrow understood; it was the one he used to snare people into semantical traps. “It almost looked as though you were teaching your new friends here the Ada Chae.”
A series of guilty expressions were exchanged about the room and Arlow’s smugness increased.
He laughed, a high, delighted sound. “You really are.” He wiped an eye. “By the Spirits, that is a thing I’d like to see. Chiona doing the Ada Chae…”
Yarrow feared Arlow would descend into anti-Chiona invective, as he was prone to do, and hastily changed the subject. “How is the King, man?”
Arlow took a seat and the rest of the party followed suit.
“The King is well,” Arlow said. “So well, in fact, he finds all of my advice utterly dispensable. But that is the way of monarchs, I suppose.”
“Life at court not living up to your expectations, then?” Ko-Jin asked.
“On the contrary, it is divine. There are dances, dinners, lively talks, and pretty women aplenty. In short, all a man could ever want.”
Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) Page 21