The Complete Marked Series Box Set

by March McCarron

  “Peace, Ko-Jin,” Jo-Kwan said. Framed in the window, haloed in light, he looked like a spirit in a children’s book. “I’ll call if I have need of you.”

  Ko-Jin nodded once. “I’ll be right outside, then.”

  He turned from the room and clicked the door shut behind him. He took up his place as guard, with his back to the door. Within, he could just barely hear the hum of their voices.

  In the outer office, Arlow and his two companions seemed to be having a silent battle of some kind. The two men took it in turns to try and catch the eye of Linton’s sister, who ignored them both. Ko-Jin could easily perceive the tension that hung between the three of them, something both brittle and inimical. He might’ve suspected some sort of lovers’ triangle at work, but this woman was plainly not Arlow’s type.

  Though, he thought, people can change. They could be drawn to those unlike themselves.

  With his ears alert for any concerning sound, Ko-Jin allowed his mind to roam. He licked his lips several times, dreamily. With his thoughts occupied, he took little notice of the clock.

  “Are you still feeling unwell, Mae?” the bearded man asked in a soft voice. “Do you need anything? Tea?”

  The woman shook her head, her face tipped towards the ground.

  “Still?” Arlow asked. Neither of his companions replied.

  Ko-Jin could not help but think of another woman who had so recently refused to meet a curious gaze. Why had Chae-Na not even turned her head when he came to collect Jo-Kwan? Was she angry with him? Had he gone too far, overstepped his bounds? He couldn’t decide if he should apologize. Truthfully, he was not regretful—it had felt so very right at the time, and did not seem less so for the passing minutes. That was, unless he had wounded her in some way, or had misread her wishes…

  “Spirits, it’s a preliminary meeting. How long are they to keep at it?” Arlow expounded, as if he had been trying for patience and at last buckled.

  “It’ll probably be a while,” Mae said. “Linton’s never hasty. He’ll want to take the king’s measure.”

  Her prediction proved true. Time continued to pass slowly as the shadows stretched across the floor. Ko-Jin thought that the two men within must be taking pains not to be overheard; the sound of their voices had faded. If Jo-Kwan had not been so insistent that they demonstrate good faith, Ko-Jin might have cracked the door open to check on them. As it was, he merely shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and trusted that the king would call for him if he were needed.

  Arlow pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and began shuffling in an increasingly showy manner, making the cards seem to fly between his hands. He spent some time performing the same trick again and again—shuffling, cutting the deck, and then flipping over the top card. Each time he revealed the same face, the queen of hearts, and he glanced sideways at Mae to judge if she were watching. She was not.

  Ko-Jin observed this with a sad ache in his chest. Rinny had taught them that trick, years ago. He wondered if Arlow remembered, or if he was too caught up in his own little drama to recall their poor dead friend.

  “Pick a card,” Arlow finally demanded, foisting them in front of Mae’s eyes.

  She uttered a sigh and glanced sideways at him.

  “Come on,” he prompted, leveling her with his Arlow-est of smiles. “Take pity on me. I’m terribly bored.”

  With a roll of the eyes she reached out to take one.

  “No, not that one,” he said.

  “You said pick,” Mae said. “I pick that one.”

  “No, no, pick this one.”

  “Think you’re a bit confused on the notion of pickin’,” she answered coldly. Arlow slumped back in his chair and put the cards away. His mouth twisted.

  Ko-Jin realized that it had been some time since he’d heard any noise from within the office—movement or speech. The slight hum of their voices had never picked up again. Now, and for some time, all within was quiet. Again, he was tempted to open the door and check on the king, but he still did not wish to overstep.

  However, he could no longer set aside his concern. The meeting wasn’t intended to go on this long. As Arlow had said, it was a preliminary conference only. They were not likely to outline an entire new system of governance in a single evening…

  Ko-Jin bent down on hands and knees to peer beneath the door, but he could detect no evidence of light within. It had grown dark enough that they should have lit a lantern or candle. Surely they were not sitting quietly in the dark together?

  “Maybe I should knock?” he said aloud. “I’m a little worried; it seems too quiet.”

  His three companions, including the grave-looking bearded man, bobbed their heads. Mae sat forward in her chair, eyes newly alert.

  He raised his hand and rapped softly on the door. “Your Highness? Just want to make sure everything’s going alright in there?”

  Silence alone greeted his words. The beginnings of an uncertain fear took up in his chest.

  “Highness?” he called, pitching his voice louder. And again, there was no answer. Mae rose to her feet, her pale face alarmed. Ko-Jin held up a hand to her, to signal that he would enter first. “I’m coming in,” he announced.

  He pushed open the door, and his suspicion was confirmed—no lantern had been lit. In the blue shadowiness, he could just discern the outline of their two forms, one in each chair. They were slumped and motionless.

  “Highness?” Ko-Jin asked, and his voice trembled. Dread alone was his answer, so heavy it threatened to crush him.

  He stole within the room, feeling the presence of the others behind him. The office smelt of cigar smoke and blood.

  “Get a light,” he called over his shoulder.

  After a moment, a guard with a lantern arrived and Ko-Jin took the flame from him. The light was feeble; it seemed almost unwilling to banish the shadows, allowing him to reveal the room only in segments. Ko-Jin’s abdomen clenched as he stepped forward.

  The candlelight illuminated the Pauper’s King first. His cigar had fallen to the rug, and his head was cocked at an awful angle. Ko-Jin brought the light around the chair, to the man’s front.

  Linton’s neck had been rent so deeply that his head had been nearly, but not quite, severed from his body. His shirt front glinted with darkening blood.

  Ko-Jin held the lantern aloft, and cast a dimmer light on Jo-Kwan’s form. The king did not appear peaceful in death.

  Ko-Jin heard, distantly, a female shriek. Someone shoved past him, and his body swayed like a flag in the wind.

  “Linton,” she said, sobbing. Choking. “Linton, Linton, no. Brother, no. Spirits. Someone? What are you starin’ at? Get a doctor! Go! Linton? Linton, can you hear me?”

  And Arlow’s softer reply. “He’s gone, Mae. I’m so—”

  “You don’t know, you don’t…”

  “He’s—he’s cold. It’s too late.”

  Arlow pinned the woman in what was simultaneously an embrace and a restraint. She fought against him for a time, before burying her sobs into his chest.

  Ko-Jin’s mind caught hold of Arlow’s assessment—he’s cold—and fixated on it. Cold? How long ago had they died? This information became, suddenly, of the utmost importance. He needed to know. How long? For how many minutes had he, General Sung Ko-Jin, stood outside that door, guarding a dead man? Because every second between murder and discovery added weight to his failure. And he wanted to burden himself accurately.

  His eyes scanned the office for clues. He knelt and felt the end of Jo-Kwan’s cigar, where it had landed on the floor. It, too, was cold. He looked at his king’s dangling, lifeless hand. He reached up and held it briefly, giving the fingers a squeeze. They felt cool and stiff in his unsteady grip.

  Ko-Jin closed his eyes and imagined a different outcome: himself opening the door in time to see the assailant at the window, and shouting, “Down, Highness!” The king would scramble under the desk and Ko-Jin would make chase. Later, he and Jo-Kwan would share a dr
ink. “Thank the Spirits you were there…”

  Ko-Jin opened his eyes. Jo-Kwan’s handsome features betrayed no pain or surprise. His dark eyes were half-lidded, as if sleepy. Above the killing wound, a feathered dart stuck from beneath his ear.

  Ko-Jin’s gaze drifted from that odd detail to the window that had been left agape. A chilling gust carried a swirl of snowflakes into the room and set the curtains wailing.

  That icy wind upon their bodies would certainly escalate the cooling process. Perhaps the assassination had not happened so very long ago, Ko-Jin thought—hoped. But he would need to seek an expert opinion to know for certain…

  When Ko-Jin finally stood upright again, it was without consciously deciding to do so. He approached each of the two dead men with his head bowed, and he unpinned the spotless vellum cards from their shirtsleeves. He stared down at the elegant numerals twenty-five and twenty-six. They were identical to the previous two dozen attached to Quade’s victims killed across Accord, save for the hand-scrawled crowns above the numbers. He flipped the cards over mechanically, certain there would be more written on the undersides. He stared at the words with a numb sense of recognition:

  feel the sting,

  feel the sting,

  you merchant, peasant, beggar, KING.

  “Ko-Jin?” Arlow asked.

  “How did he do it?” Ko-Jin murmured. “How did he know—where, when…?”

  “He must have gotten to someone.”

  Ko-Jin’s eyes, at last adjusted to the darkness of the room, were now able to take in the horror of the office in its entirety. He was not a man unfamiliar with bloodshed, but he had never witnessed a grisly scene only after the violence had ended. It was all so much more horrible for its stillness.

  Nearby, Mae continued to burrow into Arlow’s embrace. The bearded man had retreated to the doorway, his head turned, but the soft sound of his weeping reached them nonetheless.

  Chae-Na…

  How in the name of the Spirits was he going to tell her of this? With what words—how?

  Ko-Jin turned to the guard, who was staring, transfixed, at the fallen king. “Go for the coroner. Have one of the others run to tell the commander on duty to lock down the palace, to double security. And find Britt; we need the Chisanta searching the grounds.”

  There came, then, the sound of someone running up the hallway and wrenching open the outer door. Ko-Jin swiveled his head to find a crimson-faced Fernie skidding to a standstill. “I think he was here. Quade, I…”

  The lad trailed off as he took in Quade’s handiwork. He paled.

  Ko-Jin crossed the space and pushed him back out of the room, a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to see this. Come talk to me later.”

  It would all be infinitely worse if Fernie saw it too. Ko-Jin was protecting himself as much as the lad, as he shoved him into the outer chamber.

  Fernie continued to stumble backwards after he had been released. “I was too late…” the boy said, wide-eyed.

  Too late.

  “We all were.” And with that, Ko-Jin shut the door, blocking the gruesome sight from the young man’s view.

  He released the doorknob and returned to the side of his fallen king.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as he closed his friend’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  Bray lowered the thin fabric wrapped round her face and let the wind whip her hair. Alone and unseen, she extended her arms as if she meant to take flight, and let the hot desert gale encompass her. Being so high above the world felt like soaring. She grinned, and opened her eyes to soak in the expanse of sand below her. The deep blues of nighttime purpled with the rising sun.

  The city of Nerra, a mere ruin around her, stretched vacant and silent. Bray had never had an interest in history, but seeing this city gave her a new appreciation for the subject. She was curious—these people, so long ago, why had they left? Why abandon such a monument?

  There came a sudden pop, and Bray wrenched her arms back down to her sides. She spun and found Yarrow; he had reappeared a few steps down the pyramid. He gazed up at her with his mouth partially agape, his gray eyes intent. Then he shook himself and lofted a canteen. She heard the tempting slosh of water and hopped down to meet him. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to her with a smile.

  After a long draught, she pointed to the south. “I do think I see something out there—like a shadow. Perhaps that’s what you were looking for?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Would you like me to go ahead and see what it is?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ve crossed half the blighted kingdoms to get here. I rode a camel across a desert. You race ahead of me now, and I might just kill you.”

  He laughed. “Very well. Together, then.”

  She nodded with sharp emphasis, slung the canteen across her shoulder, and gestured for him to lead the way. As they began their descent, she rewrapped her pelisse, careful to cover her neck and head. The Adourran sun had not been kind to her north Dalish skin.

  Fortunately, descending the pyramid was far less exhausting than mounting it had been. Unfortunately, it was also far more precarious. She picked her way after Yarrow with focus, mindful of crumbling stones.

  As they climbed downwards, the wind continued to mount, pelting Bray with grit.

  “Yarrow?” she called over the howl. He turned back, his hand held up to shield his face. “Sandstorm.”

  He winced against the onslaught. “Let’s try and get to the bottom.”

  “You go ahead,” she shouted. “Get the cover ready.”

  He paused, clearly reluctant to leave her in such conditions.

  “Go!” she shouted again.

  He disappeared, seemingly stolen by the swirling sand. Bray bent her head and quickened her pace. She felt abraded to the point of rawness, even through her covering. The wind was so strong it seemed capable of lifting her straight off her feet. She had borne the discomfort up until then out of companionship for Yarrow, but now that he had gone ahead she gratefully phased.

  Once her solidity winked out, the wind no longer held any power over her. Looking out, she saw the sand circling in the wind, like a monstrous warm-hued tornado. Yarrow. She glided down the remaining pyramid steps without mindfulness for her footing, as her shoes were not truly contacting the stone.

  Yarrow, fighting against the pull of the storm, pounded the last stake into the ground as Bray joined him.

  She flew straight through the side of the tent, only rematerializing when Yarrow climbed underneath to join her.

  They clung to each other in the darkness, listening to the torrent outside and hoping that their sanctuary would hold. The night of hiking, the weeks of travel, stole over her.

  Bray’s cheek pressed to the warm fabric of Yarrow’s shirt, and she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

  “Think it’s slowing down,” he murmured eventually. He sounded groggy.

  Bray herself was fighting against a thick drowsiness, which kept tugging down on her eyelids. She yawned so widely that her jaw popped.

  “We might as well sleep,” he said, but she was already halfway there.

  When she woke, seemingly moments later, she found her mouth had turned to parchment. Blinking against the darkness, she felt along her hip for the canteen and drank long and deep.

  Yarrow stirred. “Time is it?” he croaked out.

  She handed him the water, and listened to the steady pumping of his throat as he drank.

  “We might be buried,” she said. The sides of the tent were heavy with sand. She felt, suddenly, suffocated. Trapped. “I’ll go up first.”

  She phased and let herself drift upwards. They were not under much sand, as it turned out. She rematerialized and squinted at the setting sun. The sky was pale and rosy. After the brutal winds of that morning, this new tranquility seemed downright eerie.

  A snake, curled up on the pyramid’s second step, lifted its head to look at her, then settled back into a restful position. Bray eye
d it warily.

  Yarrow emerged in an explosion of sand. He climbed up from their hovel, grit cascading all around him.

  She laughed at the sight. “Why didn’t you teleport?”

  “And abandon our tent?” he asked, plunking down on the pyramid step to empty out a boot.

  She smiled, tugged on her gloves, and came to help him brush off. She ran her fingers into his hair and shook, sending waves of sand raining down onto the stone. He blinked up at her in irritation, and she laughed again.

  “Hope you’re up for a trek,” she said.

  He stood, still streaming. “Shouldn’t be more than five hours’ walk.”

  “Pity we left the camels with the caravan.”

  He cocked a brow at her.

  “What? I told you, they grew on me.”

  “The ‘horrible, smelly beasts?’”

  She shrugged at him as she rewrapped her green silk scarf. “I’m not much of an animal person, what can I say?”

  They packed up their things in companionable silence and set off on the last leg of their journey. Bray wondered how Yarrow would react when there was nothing out there—no clue, no breadcrumbs to follow. Bray herself had known at the start that this would be the case, so she would feel no frustration. The journey had brought them close again, and that was enough for her. More than enough.

  They hiked between dunes where they could, and over them where they could not. The shifting sand beneath her boots made for difficult footing. As the evening gave way to full dark, the desert turned cold. Bray wrapped herself more firmly in her cloak and gazed up at the Adourran stars. She had never seen anything so otherworldly as these desert night skies. They blazed with color and pricks of light, which coalesced to form a great celestial arc. She thought this sight looked like a spiritly gate, a door to the afterlife. Though they had been traveling towards it for days, it never seemed any nearer.

  Yarrow, marching at her side, appeared too driven by the shadow of the dunes ahead to mind the sky above. The expression on his face was one she had observed often during this trip, but which she had never seen him wear before his most recent sacrifice. He looked hungry, desperate for information rather than merely curious. Hounded by a need which she would never fully understand.