The Complete Marked Series Box Set

by March McCarron

  When the previous king had died, he had been near, but not near enough to help. When the queen had been killed, cradled in his arms, it had been truly his fault. For all of his training and supposed intelligence, he should have been able to save that woman. When Jo-Kwan had been murdered, he had been standing just outside the door, foolishly unaware. But this…

  Chae-Na was not only his queen, she was the woman first in his heart. How could he have allowed this to happen? How could he have been sleeping in his own bed, with her in his dreams, while Quade came to steal her away?

  He should stand up, he knew. Ask questions—discover what had happened to the guards who should’ve been at her door. He should notify the appropriate people, like her odious fiancé. But, in that moment, his body had grown too heavy to lift.

  And what hope was left to him? Quade would not ransom her; the only question was whether he meant to kill her or use her. The future had been painted black in a single evening.

  Ko-Jin slumped backwards on the mattress. He stared up at the ceiling and wondered how often she had looked at that same patch of plaster. Whether he meant to kill her or use her… What use might Quade find for a stolen queen? He could think of only one answer, and if his mind were not so numb it might’ve sent him into a fury.

  He heard the door creak open and someone enter with tentative steps, but he didn’t look up.

  “Ko-Jin,” Fernie said. “Peer is still demanding to see you.”

  “Not now.”

  “I don’t think they can hold him much—”

  A new set of footsteps slapped up the hallway, and the door knob banged against the wall.

  “What the Blighter do you mean by not seein’ me?”

  Ko-Jin hauled himself back to a sitting position. He turned wearily to Peer, whose rage seemed foreignly intense to his own stupefied mind. “What do you need, Peer? I’m a little busy.”

  “Vendra and some teleporter took Whythe.”

  “He’s the other one who can block gifts, right?” Ko-Jin pinched his eyes between forefinger and thumb. “Fantastic…”

  Peer clenched and unclenched his fist a few times. “What’s the matter with you?” He looked like he wanted to hit something. His nostrils flared, and there was a fire in his eyes that Ko-Jin had never seen before. Peer made an obvious effort to calm himself, looking around him. His gaze latched onto the blood. “What happened here?”

  “Quade’s taken Chae-Na,” Fernie answered. “Sometime in the night.” The lad sniffed, and turned away to collect himself.

  “Spirits,” Peer swore. He began to pace. “So what are we gonna do?”

  “Do?” Ko-Jin asked. “What can we do? We don’t know where he’s taken them; we don’t know if they’re alive.”

  Peer frowned at him. “Well, for starters, we can be finding out the answer to those two questions. Roldon’s Chiona friend’s back in the city, ain’t she?”

  Ko-Jin nodded indifferently. “Trevva. I suppose she is.”

  “Who are you?” Peer shouted at him.

  Ko-Jin arched his brow, thinking this a stupid question. “General Sung Ko-Jin, at your service,” he said, laughing mirthlessly as he shook his head. General. What a joke.

  He did not even see Peer’s fist until it connected with his face. The force of the blow caused him to roll clear off the bed. He hopped back to his feet, annoyed. “What the Blighter was that for?”

  “For acting like a useless idiot all the sudden, when I need the other guy—the real Ko-Jin.” His blue eyes blazed, and his hand was still fisted. “I need the bloke with the muscles and plans. Because I aim to get my man back, and who else is gonna help me?”

  Ko-Jin probed at his sore jaw. “How? So we can find out where he is—so what? He’ll be waiting for us. Clearly that’s why he took your Whythe first. I show up there, and I’m a useless cripple all over again.”

  Peer looked as if he would dearly like to hit him a second time. But he wisely restrained himself, and responded with a show of calm, “After we’ve found ‘em, well, it’ll be a game of chess, won’t it? Just got to get the right pieces in the right squares. He’s got Whythe, we’ve got Su-Hwan.”

  Ko-Jin’s sluggishness started to ebb. He blinked. “And we’ve got most of the Elevated. The girl who freezes people—”

  “Elda.”

  “And the other teleporters—”

  “Mearra and Tae-Young.” Peer folded his arms before his chest. As he did so, Ko-Jin noticed the beginnings of a nasty-looking bruise on his knuckles. “We just need a good plan, and a hefty dose of luck.”

  Arlow.

  Ko-Jin swiped at his eyes. He felt ashamed of himself, for yielding to despair when there was still such hope left to them. He would save her. He had to; she would expect it of him.

  Ko-Jin surprised Peer by crossing the space and pulling him into a quick embrace, thumping his back. “Thanks, brother. I needed that.”

  Peer patted his shoulder awkwardly. “No thanks. I’d selfish motives.”

  Ko-Jin pulled away. His lethargy had been replaced by a new fire. “Let’s get your man, then.” And my woman, he thought, though it was not true. She wasn’t his.

  Ko-Jin had lightning in his step as he charged out of that bedroom, Peer on his heels. If they were smart and careful, they might not only reclaim their people, but end Quade once and for all.

  Hold on, Chae-Na. Just hold on.

  Her borrowed horse crested a dry slope, and Bray leaned deep into her saddle and uttered a soft, “Whoa.” Her steed pulled up short. Hot wind ripped at her hair and the fabric of her worn dress. She gazed down at the Adourran beach town of Che Mire.

  “Spirits…” she heard Yarrow murmur.

  An army had encamped along the shore. The tents spanned as far as she could discern from that vantage, until the rise of dunes concealed the remaining stretch of beach from view. Even from above and at such a distance, the camp positively teemed with activity. Bray’s mind boggled at the sight.

  She had heard rumors that Quade was marshaling troops for months. But it was something else altogether to see them, all these thousands of men poised to launch an attack on their own capital. And these were only the Adourran recruits—how many men did he have in Daland, in Chasku? How many more might still arrive here?

  The horse beneath her danced, and she held the reins tight and clucked her tongue. She scratched beneath her mare’s ear.

  “I read that naval ships had been decommissioned after the Great Peace,” Yarrow said.

  Bray lifted her gaze to the fleet of warships in port. There were perhaps fifteen of them, all like the one she had boarded near Easterly Point.

  “You read correctly,” Bray said. “He must have been planning for years to have all this ready…”

  “The crossing takes only a week,” Yarrow said.

  Bray nodded. “There isn’t much time. I’m going to check it out, see if I can dig up any useful intel. Then I need you to go ahead to Accord, to warn Ko-Jin.”

  “And leave you here?” he asked with an arched brow.

  “No need to worry about me. I’ll catch up with you soon enough.”

  She hopped down from her mount and handed him the reins, but he dismounted too. “I’ll join you.”

  “No,” she said, and reached out to squeeze his gloved hand to soften the word. “I can pass silently through walls. You would make too much noise. I won’t be gone long.” She released him. “Wait for me.”

  His dark brows drew low, but he bobbed his head. “I’ll monitor your emotions, then. If you need me I’ll come.”

  She smiled. “It won’t come to that.”

  She waved in parting and jogged down the slope. A fair amount of foot traffic moved towards the city—farming families with carts of produce, and a number of ragged young men who, Bray suspected, were hoping to join up. She melded into the crowd with ease. Having spent the past weeks traveling through the desert, she was as filthy as any of them.

  Che Mire buzzed with an abnorma
l energy. Usually a vacation destination and port town, it now boasted a distinctly militant atmosphere. Many of the stores she passed were closed and boarded, and there were no children in the streets. The posters of herself, Ko-Jin, and Yarrow still papered the sides of buildings, but they were faded and curling with age. With her sun-scorched face and long hair, she little resembled that woman anyway.

  Bray hummed to herself and wound her scarf around her head, allowing the fabric to cover her ears. Quade’s name seemed to be on every tongue; she saw the deadness in these people’s eyes.

  A band of Cosanta stood in the main square, directing new recruits. It seemed half the crowd streaming into the plaza had come to join Quade’s army. Had they been fellow Chiona, she would not have risked drawing near, but she thought it unlikely these people would know her face. So she approached.

  “Excuse me,” she said, in a deliberately deadpan tone. She assumed an appearance of mindlessness.

  A middle-aged woman regarded her with stern blue eyes. Her braid transitioned from white to gray to black, like the line of a pen running short on ink. “Yes?”

  Bray lowered her shawl so that her red hair would be visible, but was careful to keep her neck covered. The concealer there was likely streaked from sweat. “Are there any passenger ships departing for Accord? My family is there.”

  The Cosanta’s expression softened. “I regret to inform you, but no. Not until the city has been retaken. But rest easy, it will not take long.”

  Bray bowed her head. She wondered how she would get to Accord. “Thank you. Do you know, is the army in need of any women? I’ve experience as a scullery maid, and I’m handy with a needle.”

  The woman frowned.

  “I haven’t an income, you see, and as I’m stuck here…”

  “Captain Tellow sees to civilian hiring. But, between us, he generally hires the women with expectations of…other duties. Find work elsewhere, dear.”

  Bray curtsied her thanks and slipped back into the crowd. She scanned the establishments along the main roadway, but found them all of a more legitimate nature than she was seeking. So she slipped down an alleyway. She stopped before a swaying wooden sign. It had no words upon it, only a pair of painted lips, like the remnant of a kiss.

  She glared up at it, then sighed in acceptance. If the civilian women in the camp doubled as whores, she would need a different dress to play the part. She turned a corner around the side of the white-washed building. She glanced into a window and wished that she had not. She moved on.

  The next room she peeked into stood vacant. After a quick glance over her shoulder, she passed through the wall and into the bedroom.

  It was quiet within and smelt faintly of incense. The bed was clean and neatly made. Bray grimaced at it anyway. She moved around to the armoire. It creaked open and she found a bevy of gowns and sheer nightdresses. She had never seen such a multitude of bold and bright colors jammed together in such a small space, like a regurgitated rainbow. She grabbed one at random—a burnt-orange gown with a plunging neckline—and scowled at it.

  Behind her the door creaked open, and she did her best not to jump. Bray turned a bland face to the glamorous woman who was staring at her from the entryway.

  “Apologies,” the woman said in a thick accent. “I was not aware anyone was within. You’re new, yes?” She cocked her head, and her glossy black curls bobbed. “Very new, yes? You look a fright, darling.”

  Bray tried to appear lost and lamb-like. “I’m meant to ready myself, but I—I don’t know where to start.”

  The woman smiled. She had nice teeth. “Oh, sweet thing. Very new, I take it, yes? Your first time? I shall help. Now this dress won’t do at all, not with that hair. No.”

  The woman took charge. She sniffed as she took the orange gown from Bray’s grasp. “Where to start is to bathe, I think. Yes? I’ll have a basin brought.”

  Bray submitted to the woman’s ministrations, hoping that the concealer on her neck was sufficiently waterproof.

  She used this unexpected opportunity to quiz a local under the guise of fearful curiosity. She asked her questions intermittently, between snatches of small talk, so the woman would not feel interrogated.

  Do the soldiers come here?

  “No, they send for women. Tellow calls them his scarlet roses. ‘Send the camp another rose,’ he says.” She snorted derisively. “The man has no savoir faire.”

  Is it a desirable job?

  “Sweet thing, no. The men there can be rough. There have been incidents. Do not go, should the madame ask.”

  Is Quade here often?

  “Here, never. In the town—it is hard to say. He comes and goes. Now raise your other leg.”

  How long has the army been gathering?

  “Three months, at least. I hope they sail soon. The tourists have stopped coming—bad for the town.”

  The woman uncovered Bray’s mark and traced its circles with her fingertip. “Oh, you’ve been keeping secrets, darling.”

  “I—”

  “Keep your secrets. I have plenty of my own. You want it covered, yes?”

  Bray nodded dumbly. The woman, with great efficiency, powdered and rouged and tugged and pulled. It all took an absurd amount of time. Bray could no longer summon any anxiety at the thought of discovery; she had long since succumbed to prickly boredom.

  At last, the Adourran brought Bray before the standing mirror. She bit back a laugh at her reflection. She was strapped into an absurd emerald dress that left little to the imagination. Her lips had been painted a deep wine-red, and her hair was pulled into a smooth coil at the base of her neck.

  “Remember to keep your posture straight,” the woman coached, as she pulled Bray’s shoulders back. “A man cannot concentrate when there are bosoms before his eyes.”

  Bray snorted and shook her head.

  “I will go to the madame and tell her you are now ready.” She turned to the door.

  “Thank you,” Bray called after the woman.

  As soon as she was alone, Bray launched into motion. She bundled her own dusty clothing, snagged a cloak from the wardrobe, and dropped a generous number of marks onto the bed. Then she phased back out into the dimming afternoon. She wrapped herself tightly in the thick velvet cloak and threw the hood over her head.

  Bray’s insides churned as she made her way towards the camp. She could not shake the hot sensation of being watched, and had to counsel herself to remain calm. It was a sound plan, but being dressed so revealingly—the idea of presenting herself in this way, even as a subterfuge—made her feel faintly ill.

  She slipped towards the beach, the crowds thinning as she progressed. The sky hung gray and overcast above her, and a chill wind tugged at her cloak. After so many days of the scorching sun, however, it was a welcome change.

  “Excuse me, miss,” a voice came from behind her. She turned to face a young Adourran soldier. He was dressed in a navy uniform rather like a constable’s, but with a sword at his hip. “This area is off-limits to civilians.”

  “I was sent for,” Bray said. “To do the mending.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Sent for by whom?”

  Bray let her cloak open a sliver. “Captain Tellow.”

  The young man looked more embarrassed than enticed. She forced a smile to her lips. “He is expecting me. He asked for a scarlet rose. So perhaps you could lead the way?”

  At the word ‘rose,’ the soldier believed her—she saw the change in his eyes. He acquiesced with a slight inclination of the head, and they marched together into the camp. Bray felt the scrutiny of countless eyes upon her, and heat crept up her neck. No one seemed particularly surprised or concerned by her presence, however.

  “Is Quade here now?” she asked her guide. “I’d love to see him with my own eyes.”

  “I do not know. He travels often. But I would guess that he is here, since the—” The lad silenced himself.

  “The…?” Bray prompted.

  He shrugged. “
There’s an important guest here, is all. And don’t ask so many questions.”

  “My apologies.”

  The young soldier did not speak again. He stopped before a tent and opened the flap. Written in white paint above the entry were the numerals 032. “You can wait in here.”

  Bray glanced to the tent on her right and found that it was labeled 031. She smiled at the soldier and ducked within.

  She hurried immediately to the desk and began sifting through the papers. There were ledgers of food, seemingly acquired without payment, and timetables for the civilian workforce. Today, in fifteen minutes, a woman named Esta Saverre was meant to report to Quade’s bunk, 001.

  Bray phased through the side of the tent and strode confidently into the throng. She soon passed another woman, who was on the arm of an officer, her lipstick smeared.

  Bray held her head high, as if assured of her right to be within the camp. She hoped there were no Chiona here to recognize her face. Though, with her freckles hidden beneath a layer of white powder, she wondered if even Peer would know her at first glance.

  The tents that she passed continued to decrease in number—020, 019, 018—and Bray tried not to listen to the chatter around her. Any intelligence she might gather would prove useless if her mind were to become contaminated.

  As she passed tent 009, a pair of Chiona came into view. Bray stumbled, her silken skirt swaying around her legs like a bell. Her mouth opened, and she forced it shut with a click of teeth.

  It was Dolla, her former mentor—whose sharp, deeply-lined face was the one that came to mind when Bray thought mother. Almost everything she knew she had learned from this woman, who now strolled directly in her direction. There was nowhere to hide. Bray remained conspicuously frozen. But Dolla strode right by, passing near enough to cause Bray’s cloak to stir.

  Bray could hardly believe that she had not been recognized—surely Dolla should’ve heard her hammering heart as she walked past. Though, Dolla’s vision had long been fading, and given the way Bray was dressed…

  Despite this miraculous escape, she could not help but glance regretfully over her shoulder at the back of her departing sisters. It seemed a personal insult, that her Dolla, who was always so fearsome and commanding, should be a slave to Quade Asher’s will. But there was nothing she could do, not now. Stay safe, she pleaded with the older woman. Then she continued her trek, willing herself to focus on the task at hand. As she knew Dolla would.