The Complete Marked Series Box Set

by March McCarron

  “What else, ma’am?” the man asked.

  “Date and time of the fire,” Bray heard herself say. Her mind spun with the possibilities. It was only two, she reminded herself, only two fourteen-year-olds, and only one certainly marked. Besides, she did not know that the incident in Gallan was on—

  The beeping sounded again. “Da Un Marcu Eve, 2 AM,” the telegrapher said.

  “What was the submitted origin and cause of the fire?”

  The man tapped with expert fingers and Bray held her breath.

  “Suspected arson. Inconclusive.”

  Without the prompting of a subsequent question, the telegraph machine began to beep again.

  The man read: “Strange case. Only four bodies could be identified in the remains.”

  “Which was missing?” Yarrow asked.

  Tap, Tap. Beep, Beep. “Ellsie Ollas aged fourteen. Never found.”

  “Any more questions, ma’am?”

  “No,” Bray said. “Thank him for his time—and thank you for yours.”

  She turned and walked back through the passageway, across the atrium, and into the street, Peer and Yarrow at her side.

  “Doesn’t add up, does it?” Peer said as they wended their way through the crowd. “That girl’s body was missing, and all of the bodies in this case were found.”

  “Yes—that is true. If the marked are being targeted, why would the fourteen-year-old be missing?” Bray said. “Unless our perpetrator does not always kill the target victim right away…”

  “Aren’t you always saying how the criminal mind’s systematic and predictable?” Peer challenged.

  “Yes. But if Yarrow is right then we’re examining bookends. Over the course of a decade, it does not defy logic that a murderer would alter his method. And there are similarities as well—neither fire could be explained, they happened on the same day at the same time, both could have involved the death of a marked girl—”

  “We don’t know that girl in Gallan was marked.” Peer shoved his hands into his pockets forcefully.

  “We don’t know that she wasn’t, either,” Bray said.

  They turned a corner and crossed a street; the King’s Repose came into view.

  “We need to find out if these are two isolated incidents, or if they represent a greater trend,” Bray said.

  “And how’re we going to discover that?” Peer asked, his tone incredulous.

  Bray had no answer for this. There was no reliable overarching law in the three kingdoms. The constables of each district and city worked independently. It was a highly flawed system, and the reason that many murderers and rapists could act with impunity.

  “The library in Accord,” Yarrow said.

  Bray turned to him, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “The Capital Library collects the newspapers of every city across the kingdoms. Fires of this nature are bound to be headlines—if not, obituaries.”

  Peer groaned. “So what, we’re going to read every newspaper ever?”

  “No,” Yarrow said. “We only need look at clippings from Da Un Marcu, and only from the past ten years. It should be relatively straightforward.”

  They had come to the entrance of the inn, but none of them made to enter; rather they tarried on the front step.

  Peer frowned. “Bray, what do you think?”

  Yarrow faced her as well, and the look on his face gave her pause. It was a measuring, thoughtful gaze. He had said he awaited her to display wisdom, and she imagined this was that moment. The moment when she decided if she was going to let mere prejudice blind her from seeking truth. She frowned at him and narrowed her eyes. She did not want his approval, but neither did she want to do the wrong thing.

  “I think,” she said to Peer, “we’re going to visit the Capital.”

  Yarrow inclined his head to her, a smile on his lips, and proceeded through the door. Peer stayed her step with a hand on the shoulder.

  He stared down at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not liking this.”

  “Which part?”

  “The part where we’re letting a Cosanta direct our next move. Seems suspicious to me.”

  Bray leaned against the hand rail. “Is it just that he’s Cosanta that bothers you? You seem sour of late.”

  He looked away from her, across the street. “I’ve been meaning to check in on the orphanage down in Andle for an age.”

  A slight panic rose in her chest, but she responded with feigned casualness, “If you want to go your own way—”

  “No, that’s the point. I’m no use on this one. These girls have families, they aren’t orphaned. But I’ve not gone, and I won’t, because I’ve got your back, Bray—you and Adearre, that’s what matters to me—”

  “I know, Peer, you’re my best—”

  “And I can’t be watching your back,” he traced a gentle finger along her swollen cheek, “if you’re going off without me—with him.”

  Misplaced as it was, his concern warmed her. “I’ve got my eyes open,” she assured him.

  He nodded and his face lost some of its seriousness. “Good. Make sure they’re staying that way.”

  “Freshen your cup?” the serving girl asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Bray said.

  The girl, distracted, spilled tea on the linen. It was no wonder, Bray thought.

  She sat on the back terrace of the Lampton Inn, two days’ journey south of the capital. Ever since her confrontation with Yarrow in Greystone, much of the distrust and awkwardness between the two groups had dissipated. She couldn’t quite have said how that had happened. She found herself, when she let her guard slip, even liking the two men. Ko-Jin, in what Bray estimated was a peace offering, had proposed a series of training lessons as they traveled. Peer and Adearre had both accepted his offer.

  Ko-Jin, as it turned out, was not only gifted physically. He had traveled around Trinitas studying every known fighting technique. He had a mastery of every major weapon in the kingdoms, and he was well-studied in military history and battle tactics. He was the most lethal person Bray had ever seen or heard of, which puzzled her. Shouldn’t he be Chiona?

  “I’m sorry,” the serving girl said, as she attempted to sop up the spilt tea.

  “It’s no matter.”

  The girl’s eyes continually darted upwards through her lashes at the three shirtless men. They were, all of them, rather easy on the eyes. But Ko-Jin was something else altogether. Bray wished he would put his shirt back on…

  She felt something brush against her leg and started, but when she looked down saw it was only a cat. “You’ll receive no love from me, beast,” she told the wide-eyed creature, as it tried to rub up against her boot. “Off with you.”

  Yarrow, beside her, had declined the sparring lessons, saying he had important research to conduct. She suspected, in truth, he had no interest in fighting. She had rejected the offer for a different reason. She did not trust herself to remain calm and clear-headed while being schooled by a Cosanta.

  Yarrow pored over a massive volume—the transcripts of the Fifth. She marveled at his ability to focus so intently on his reading. He hadn’t stirred or looked up once, even despite all of the commotion their companions were making.

  Almost as she thought this, he looked up at her. “Can I ask you something?”

  She gestured for him to proceed.

  “Are you familiar with the mathematical principle of tertiary equivalence?”

  This was so far from what Bray expected him to say that she laughed. “No. I can’t say that I am.”

  “Well, it’s the notion that if one thing is equivalent to a second thing, and a third thing is also equivalent to that second thing, then the first and third things must also be equivalent.”

  “What are you getting at?” Bray asked. “I’ve no interest in mathematics.”

  “I was thinking of the nature of Chiona and Cosanta—and of the Aeght a Seve. We both go to the same place, but we get there through different do
ors. And if the Ada Chae leads to the Aeght a Seve and the Tearre leads to the Aeght a Seve, then it stands to reason that they must be fundamentally the same.”

  “They aren’t the same at all, Yarrow,” Bray said. “You know that.”

  “Not in their practice, but in their nature. I don’t see why I could not enter the Aeght a Seve through the Tearre and you through the Ada Chae. You see?”

  “It seems…unlikely,” Bray said, thoughtful. Her eyes were on Ko-Jin—he was demonstrating the most effective ways to render a man unconscious. She thought it awfully trusting of him to dispense such a weapon to an enemy. “What would be the point of the separation of the marked if there was no real difference between us?”

  “Just because one is innate does not prove the other impossible.” His gray eyes gleamed with such earnest enthusiasm she found it difficult not to agree, ridiculous though his theory was.

  “What would be the point?” she asked.

  “To better understand ourselves, our nature, and how we fundamentally differ and align. What would be the point in not studying such a thing?”

  Bray did not like where this conversation was going. “So you want me to teach you the Tearre?”

  “Yes. And I’d like to teach you the Ada Chae.”

  She snorted derisively. “Absolutely not.” Spirits, how she would be mocked—there would be endless jabs about her putting on dancing shoes, turning soft, growing a braid…

  “Why?”

  “I’m no ballerina,” she said, “and the Tearre is not for the weak of heart.” She expected him to be insulted, but there was a patient stubbornness in his expression. He would not let this go so easily.

  “You see, it is that kind of lack of understanding that engenders such unfounded—”

  She set her tea cup down with a forceful clink. “No lectures, please.”

  “You did say you wanted to work on trust, and I truly believe this kind of sharing would help.”

  She exhaled dramatically. “I don’t recall saying that at all. You must be misremembering.”

  He crossed his arms. “Come. What’s the worst possible outcome? I am wrong about the Aeght a Seve, but you strengthen your defensive skills.”

  This made her pause. Yarrow himself was a self-professed non-fighter, who appeared to spend far more time honing his mind than his body, yet in combat he was bloody hard to hit. That would certainly be a useful skill to learn…

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  He nodded, and turned back to his book.

  “Now, may I ask a question?” she asked.

  He placed a bookmark in the seam, closed the volume, and turned to give her his full attention. “Certainly.”

  “Even if it’s a bit rude?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Especially if it’s a bit rude.”

  Bray ran a hand along the bristling hair on her head. “What is your gift?”

  This must not have been what he expected—he looked startled, then embarrassed. It was considered the height of indelicacy to ask of someone’s gift, since they so frequently revealed what had once been a fault.

  “I know it is not something one asks,” Bray said, “but it would really help me to trust you if I knew.”

  Yarrow frowned. “I wasn’t hiding it. It hasn’t come up because it isn’t useful.”

  Bray waited for him to continue.

  His cheeks grew pink. “I know how people are feeling, their emotions—”

  Bray cut him off. “Are you kidding? That is incredibly useful, especially in an investigation!” Though this excitement was closely followed by a minor panic—he knew how she felt?

  “No, you don’t understand. I only know how some people feel, and I know it no matter where they are. It’s like having a little ball of someone else’s emotions in the back of your head.”

  “Like who?” Bray asked. It seemed a strange gift that would pick and choose its targets.

  “Like my parents and siblings.”

  “Oh,” Bray said, “Only family? I suppose that is a bit useless.”

  “Well, no. Not just family. It’s only people I…”

  “Love?” Bray offered.

  “Yes.”

  Silence settled between them while Bray considered this. She thought of what Adearre had said about Yarrow appearing to react to unseen stimuli. This would certainly explain that. She wondered who all he had bouncing around in his head. Any women?

  “But it holds for all kinds of love?” Bray asked. “Like friendship?”

  “Yes.” He ran a finger along the grain in the table idly, not looking at her.

  “You know how Ko-Jin feels?”

  Yarrow’s eyes flitted up to his shirtless friend, who had wrangled Adearre into an uncomfortable-looking position. Peer watched them, scowling.

  “Very pleased with himself…and focused.”

  “Hm…”

  “What?” Yarrow asked.

  “Perhaps it’s not as useless as you think. What does it take to love a person, really? To see the best in them? To care about their well-being? It seems to me, that if you could train yourself to love everyone it could be a very practical gift indeed.”

  Yarrow’s brow furrowed. “I doubt I could trick it.”

  “No, not a trick,” Bray said. “You would have to really love them.”

  “That is an interesting theory,” Yarrow said. He stared off, pensive, his eyes following the progress of a lulling firefly. It was full dark and the small town around them stood still and quiet.

  Ko-Jin, Peer, and Adearre bounded up from the gardens to the terrace with newly donned shirts, bringing the distinct aroma of sweat with them. Peer took the seat next to Bray on the small bench and stretched his arm along the rail behind her neck.

  Bray wrinkled her nose. “Spirits, you stink, Peer!”

  He placed his hand around her shoulder, as if affectionately, then pulled her bodily into his sweaty chest. “What, don’t you like how I smell?” He laughed.

  Bray laughed too, and punched him in the ribs until he released her.

  She sat up, red-faced and smiling. “You ass,” she said, smacking his shoulder.

  “If you lovers are done.” Adearre stood and stretched. “I think we’d better be off to sleep.”

  As they rose to depart Bray caught the fleeting, questioning look on Yarrow’s face that darted between herself and Peer. Blight.

  Peer, Adearre, and Yarrow went into the inn, but Ko-Jin lingered. She rose and inclined her head to him in farewell.

  “Yarrow told me what you can do,” Ko-Jin halted her. “Your gift.”

  She turned back to him, a crease forming in her forehead. “So?”

  “You didn’t use it against me when we sparred. Surely, with that ability, you could have beaten me handily.”

  She shrugged. “It gives me an unfair advantage.”

  “So does my gift,” he said. “It was honorable of you to hold back, especially as you were losing. I don’t know that I could have done that.”

  She smiled, but felt a pang of guilt at accepting this praise. She had hidden her gift more out of suspicion than honor.

  Again, she tried to reenter the inn. He jogged up to block her path. “It’s hard for me to find anyone who poses an actual challenge,” he said, his handsome features serious. “I would be honored if you would spar with me—and not hold back.”

  “Truly?” she asked. Peer always accused her of cheating if she phased mid-fight. It would be refreshing to practice her skills at full tilt.

  He bowed to her, and this time there was no mockery in the display. Then he smiled, revealing a wide, perfect slice of teeth.

  She couldn’t bring herself to reject such flattery. “Alright,” she agreed.

  The two of them spent an additional hour in the yard, fighting hand to hand. It was blissful—she would phase, rather than dodge his blows. She’d pass through him like a ghost, deal swift but softened punches to his kidney. At first, he could not touch her, and it seeme
d to delight him. By the end of the hour, however, he began to adapt to her style and advantages, and though she still could best him, they became more equally matched.

  When she finally climbed into bed, exhausted but pleased, she thought that she rather liked Ko-Jin. He wasn’t so different from her, really. And his presence was simple. She never felt the need to analyze his every word. His company did not make her insides squirm. With a small smile on her lips, she slipped into oblivion.

  By late afternoon the next day, Yarrow found himself driving the carriage with Adearre. The Adourran had volunteered to take a turn, and when Peer had rejected the offer due to Adearre’s wounded shoulder, Yarrow had offered to sit up front as well. He’d meant it kindly, but Peer had looked distinctly displeased by the arrangement.

  Still a day south of the capital, the topography had grown marshy, an infinite stretch of small pools of water. The sky overhead blazed a dazzling, unbroken blue.

  “So you want me to…do what, precisely?” Adearre asked.

  Yarrow sighed, the conversation having taken an uncomfortable turn.

  “It was Bray’s idea. I know the feelings of the people I love. She suggested I work on learning to love people, you know, to…”

  “Use their feelings against them?” Adearre said, nodding. “Sounds remarkably loving.”

  Yarrow glowered. “Very well, forget it.”

  “No. I am trying to help, so listen. You Dalish are so strange about love. In Adourra we do not think the same way. There are many shades of love, it wears many faces, has many natures, but in its essence it is always the same. You have asked me to tell you about my good points because you assume that your ability to love is reliant on the quality of the object. It is not. Love has nothing to do with the object—thank goodness, as we, none of us, really deserve it. To love is a skill—it is to see with tender eyes. To render that which you see dear, not because of its inherent value, but because of your appreciation of it.”

  Yarrow’s brow creased. “I fail to see the difference.”

  Adearre locked intense golden eyes on him. “That is because your eyes are clouded. You need to find the right lens through which to see. You need to find your loving eyes. When you’ve got them rightly fastened in your head, you will understand.”