As if in an answer to his plea, he spotted movement up ahead. Adearre came into view, appearing solid and sure-backed, his white shirt luminous with sunlight. Yarrow dashed after him. His friend seemed far ahead, but an instant later Yarrow collided with him. He gasped for breath.
Adearre smirked. “Try not to get lost in the woods, love.”
“What…?”
“This place is changeable; it feeds off the spirits traveling through. If you remain calm, so will everything else.”
“Oh.” Yarrow released a long breath, and his heart slowed. The grove went still around him. “If it’s alright, I’ll just hold on to you the rest of the way.”
Adearre offered the crook of his arm like a gentleman. “That may be best. The Home requires some adjustment. It will take you a little time.” Yarrow grasped Adearre’s arm, which helped to anchor him, and they set off again.
The forest thinned, their steps eating up the land in a manner that defied physics. If Yarrow thought about it he felt a bit seasick, so he merely held on to Adearre and followed his lead. The spire appeared before them more quickly than seemed possible.
“Here we are,” Adearre said, with a grand sweep of the hand. “Home.”
Yarrow’s eyes watered just glancing at all that glittering glass. It was beautiful and impossible and didn’t at all fit his definition of ‘home.’ The shimmering planes played tricks on his vision. He could have sworn he caught a flash of familiar green eyes.
His heart lurched.
“Adearre?” he murmured, approaching the multi-faceted surface as if mesmerized. “Does this show…?”
“What’s happening in the land of the living? Yes,” Adearre said, with longing in his voice. He outstretched his fingers and lovingly grazed a facet of the spire, a flat surface that showed Peer and Whythe speaking with their heads close together. “But it does not take commands; it will show what it wills. I spent a great deal of time here, at first. Until it refused to show me anything at all. This is the first time I have seen in so long…”
“But you know. You know what is happening down there, whether or not you can see it. I know, at least.”
“Yes,” Adearre said. “But my eyes are hungry, still.”
Yarrow’s own eyes ran over the countless flickering images, seeking the face he most wished to see. Where are you? At length, a triangular bit of glass near his knee caught his attention. He dropped to the ground and stared, transfixed, afraid to blink.
It was nighttime in Accord. Bray sat in the dark, leaning against a marble parapet. Beside her, Ko-Jin’s head fell to her shoulder. Yarrow pressed his palms flat against the cool surface, his pulse turning slow and erratic. He longed so desperately to fall into this picture—to pass through the glass and rejoin the land of the living—that, for a moment, he half-believed it possible.
“Her hair’s grown,” he said, drinking in her every detail. She looked so…mournful. A sharp ache took up in the region of his sternum. “How long has it been?”
“Time crawls here,” Adearre said. “They move on so fast. It is hard to watch.”
The image of Bray and Ko-Jin flickered out. Yarrow blinked against wet eyes. He searched the spire, desperate for any sight of—of anyone, really. Arlow. Dedrre. His mother.
But the wall had returned to mere glass, revealing nothing but refracted light.
“That is all it will give us for now,” Adearre said with a sigh. “For the best, perhaps. You have a prior engagement.”
“So, this counsel…?” Yarrow’s voice trailed away uncertainly.
Adearre nodded, his eyes still lingering on the now-empty wall. “Yes. The counsel. Let’s go. Maybe with you here, we will finally get somewhere.”
“What do they need me for? Are they not omniscient, too?”
“Yes, but they are also so detached from life that they feel no hurry to act. They see the terrible things that may happen, but they also see the wonderful things that may happen, and so they throw up their hands, unwilling to redirect a ship that may yet arrive at any number of destinations. I think, perhaps, that knowing everything is at times no more useful than knowing nothing at all.”
“I can see no good that might come from Quade Asher’s continued existence,” Yarrow said.
“Little enough good, yes. You are right. But we do not have the power to extinguish life. You will understand the nature of this counsel in a moment. Come.”
Yarrow followed Adearre along the side of the spire until they came to an entrance. It was not a door, but rather a great, glinting aperture, like the opening to a mighty cave. Adearre stepped over the threshold and disappeared—there and then gone.
Yarrow followed.
His ears popped, and he was transported. He did not arrive in any kind of entry or foyer. Rather, he appeared right in the center, right in the heart of the Spirit’s Home.
His head fell back, mouth parting in silent awe.
The interior of the spire was like a towering amphitheater. Gleaming crystal balconies ascended to such heights that his eyes could not discern the uppermost regions. And ensconced upon those balconies, seated and watching and waiting—Spirits, an infinitude of them, so many Yarrow was left dazed. They were all gazing down at him, as he stood alone upon the nadir of this unnatural obelisk. A speck of sand at the bottom of a depthless sea.
Adearre was no longer with him, and he could not find his friend’s face anywhere in sight. Yarrow spun on the spot, searching for anything familiar, his blood pounding.
The place was silent—so completely and absolutely silent that it felt as if something were pressing against his ears, dulling his senses.
Movement caught his eye, a snatch of shifting shadow directly beneath his feet. He stood upon a moving image, much like those he’d seen outside, but this one was far larger. It occurred to Yarrow that the host above might be staring down at this, and not at him. It was a comforting thought.
He shuffled back several paces so he could see properly, and beheld an enormous image of Quade Asher. The man was ranting and raving, his mouth twisted with rage.
But Yarrow’s eyes moved right past him, to something far more fearsome that hung at his back. A black cloud, a moving swirl of darkness with malevolent eyes. The Spiritblighter. It lingered beside Quade with a kind of hungry fixation. And Quade seemed not to sense it, appeared unaware that his spirit was doomed.
The image went blank, the floor returning to clouded glass. A beam shone from above, a blinding column that landed squarely upon Yarrow. He shielded his eyes from the sudden glare. This light spoke of expectation, but he still did not understand his purpose here.
“I…” he said, a question in his voice. What now? “I don’t…?”
A man materialized at Yarrow’s side. The watchful multitude appeared to undulate, as they all simultaneously leaned forward.
“Yarrow Lamhart,” the man said. “Welcome. We have been waiting for you.”
This spirit was familiar to Yarrow, though thousands of years stood between his death and Yarrow’s birth. “Charlem Bowtar,” Yarrow said, bowing deeply from the waist.
This was the father of the modern Chisanta. He looked as he had in Yarrow’s vision, a young man with a clever smile and the eyes of a troublemaker.
He took Yarrow by surprise when he bowed in return, just as deeply. “You honor us,” he said, “Speaker for the Living. I am most anxious to hear your judgement.”
Judgement on what? Yarrow meant to ask, but the floor beneath him began to tell a story.
It was a tale far older than Quade Asher. Yarrow could do nothing but watch it unfold—the history of the Chisanta. His kind had brought such good to the world: science and medicine, technological advancements, sound advice and aid in times of war.
But the marked had done harm, too. Quade was not the only Chisanta who’d used his power to sow violence. There had been many before him, and even now he was far from alone.
Yarrow saw Dedrre’s revolving pistol. He watched Bray ki
ll a yellow-haired man in a Dalish forest. Most alarmingly, he saw himself.
The glass showed him deciphering a passage from the Fifth and then writing a letter. He’d passed along tips for perfecting a sedative to Vendra Alvez. She would later use that drug to kill innocent civilians in Quade’s name. The glass lay bare the consequence of that single missive: hundreds of families burning alive in their beds, too drugged to wake and flee.
His head hung, and his heart turned to stone in his chest.
The story asked a clear question, one he had never considered before. The Chisanta: had they done more good or more harm? Were they worth the price mankind had paid?
Are we worth the price, or should we never have been?
Chapter Six
Peer could never sleep the night before a battle.
It was nearly dawn; time to give up on shut-eye and start his day. Exhaustion clung to his mind like fog. As soon as the cannons began to fire, however, he knew he’d come fully alert. He always did.
Peer rolled over to face Whythe, who slept beside him as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The bruise on his neck, where the drug-laced dart had pierced his skin, bloomed blue and fearsome. Peer’s heart lurched every time he saw it, because some poison more sinister than a sedative might have entered his body. He could have died out there, beyond the wall. Only his value to Quade had saved him.
Whythe smacked his mouth sleepily, a crease forming between his brows. Peer, smiling, ran a lock of his bevolder’s hair through his fingers. Whythe’s nose twitched, his eyelids fluttering.
“’S it time?” he slurred.
“No, not yet. Get some more sleep.”
He darted a kiss on the other man’s brow, intending to slip quietly away. But Whythe had other ideas—he hauled Peer into his cocoon of blankets.
He was sleep-warm and languid-limbed, and when they kissed Whythe’s mouth was soft, hot, and dreamy, as if he were not wholly awake. Peer fell into that kiss like a man succumbing to quicksand. And though Whythe was giving off the heat of a small hearth fire, the skin on Peer’s chest pebbled.
“I know you’re wanting a few more hours,” Peer said breathlessly, thinking of how tired Whythe had been of late. Today was not the day to walk about in a sleepy haze. No, today that could prove fatal.
“That’s not what I’m wanting,” Whythe said, his breath hot against Peer’s ear.
“And what is it you’re wanting?”
His bevolder’s hand glided along his abdomen, heading south, and Peer let out an involuntary groan.
That—and everything that followed—was the reason Peer found himself, well after sunrise, frantically searching for his shirt and belt.
“Calm down,” Whythe said. “You’re not late.”
He lay on their bed, his head propped in his hand, looking self-satisfied. Peer tried to frown, but didn’t quite manage it. “I told Ko-Jin I’d be there at first light,” he said.
“It’ll be fine. First volley’s not to start for hours yet.”
Peer did battle with the laces of his jerkin, his fingers clumsy. “I’m meant to be…organizing, leading…”
“Doing captain-y things?” Whythe said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Yes,” Peer said with a laugh. “Captainy things. And you’re makin’ me shirk my captainy duties.”
“I don’t know,” Whythe said, with a slow smile. “I thought you comported yourself with military-like thoroughness this morning. Very dutiful.”
Peer rolled his eyes as he strapped on his holster, though a flush of pleasure stole over his cheeks. “Right. Come find me in a bit. Bring food.”
He headed for the door, but Whythe called after him, scrambling from the bed. His bevolder pulled a shirt over his head, so he wasn’t standing naked in the middle of the room. Which was a pity.
“Peer, I just wanted to ask…”
“I’m in a hurry,” he said gently.
Whythe stood in a halo of morning light, light that indicated Peer was now quite late. “I know, I know. I just want to ask—I just wanted…” He smiled sheepishly. “Do you think you’d marry me, Peer?”
For some reason, this made Peer laugh—which seemed a poor reaction, so he quickly hid it behind a cough. “You askin’ cause you think we’re gonna die today?”
“No,” Whythe said, his maple eyes wide and earnest. “I’m asking because I think we won’t. You know, looking ahead. The future and all that.”
Peer had difficulty answering, as a smile had stolen control of his mouth. “Alright then.”
Whythe grinned. “Alright then.”
They stood for a long moment, smiling at each other stupidly.
“You’re late,” Whythe reminded him.
“Right. Late,” Peer said, patting his holster and pockets, turning to the exit once again.
“Hey, kiss me goodbye at least. We just got engaged!”
Peer laughed and swept back into the room. He pressed one hot, forceful kiss on his bevolder’s lips, then shook his head. “Such a distraction.” He jogged from their chamber, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t be forgettin’ the food. I’m starved.”
Peer swore at the sun, which sat high and bright in the sky. Hopefully Ko-Jin wouldn’t be too put out. Of course, these days, Ko-Jin was always put out. So, little hope there.
Peer would have to tuck away his smile soon, so he let it linger while he traveled. He was punch-drunk with happiness. It was not, perhaps, the right mindset before a battle, but there was nothing for it.
Preparations were well under way. No doubt Ko-Jin had begun as soon as Yarrow made the prediction. Soldiers had expanded the ramparts, reinforcing places where the wall might take cannon fire. The morning was abuzz with activity, the mood frenzied.
People waved and nodded as he passed through the bustle. Several Chisanta inclined their heads to him, a sign of respect he’d never grow used to. After so many years standing contentedly in Bray’s shadow, he’d never dreamed anyone would look to him for leadership. But, like it or not, they were looking now.
Peer was responsible for organizing the Chisanta. It was an important role, but at this point everyone knew their places. A siege was full of redundancies. The crafting of these battle plans had been tedious work, but now there was little for him to do.
Still, he should be here. He should be seen. He shouldn’t be lingering all morning in bed with his sweet-mouthed lover. Fiancé.
“Peer!” Ko-Jin called out to him, his voice drifting from halfway up the rampart. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Ah, sorry,” he said. He loped up the stairway to meet the general.
Ko-Jin was in a black mood. Not an uncommon occurrence over the past month, but this sharp-eyed Ko-Jin was still alien. Jealousy wasn’t a good color on him.
“Quade stirring yet?” Peer asked.
“He’s not left his tent, but his men are making preparations. It’ll be a long one, I think.” Ko-Jin narrowed his eyes. “Why are you smiling? Stop it.” Peer transformed his smile into the mockery of a frown. Ko-Jin stared at him blandly, mouth down-turned. “Talk to Clea. She’ll need a sense of where the other Chisanta will be.”
“Alright. Hey, you doin’ okay?”
“I’m preparing for a battle,” he said. “How should I be doing? Get your job done, man.” He swept away, leaving Peer to gaze pityingly at his back.
Peer climbed to the top of the rampart, and his blood chilled at the sight of Quade’s sprawling encampment. So many men. Thus far, Ko-Jin had thwarted every advance—thanks entirely to the sacrifice of Yarrow Lamhart—but each time they engaged, Peer feared it wouldn’t be enough. Such a force, it could sweep them away no matter their preparation. And all Quade needed was one breach in the walls, one opening, and he’d leach into the city like poison into wine.
“Not a pretty sight.”
Clea leaned at his side, though he hadn’t heard her approach. Her silver hair swirled in the morning breeze.
“No, it’s not.”
/> “Looks like he’s going to throw everything he’s got,” she said, her eyes locked on the army below.
“Good thing we’ve got you,” Peer said.
The Elevated girl bit down on her lip, looking young and vulnerable in Peer’s eyes. She was only sixteen, and yet so much rested on her slight shoulders. “One of these days I’m going to miss one,” she said softly. “I wonder if it’ll be today.”
“You haven’t missed yet,” he said.
She stood straighter, and Peer watched her slip on her mask of bravado. “Of course I haven’t. So, Ko-Jin says we need to touch base?”
“We’re running this one just like the others,” Peer said. “Wynn’ll keep close, in case you need a boost.”
Clea stared down at the soldiers gathering just across the plain. “Ko-Jin’s ordered me to redirect everything Quade throws right back at his men,” she said. Peer’s brows shot up. Until now, they’d done their best to kill as few of Quade’s soldiers as possible.
“How you feelin’ about that?”
Her lips thinned. “Like I don’t want to be a killer. I’ve taken enough lives because of that man…”
Peer shrugged. “Then don’t. We’re not soldiers; you don’t have to follow orders. Do what you need to sleep at night.”
She snorted. “Little hope there. What about Ko-Jin?”
“Screw him.”
She laughed, a bright, tinkling sound that seemed most out of place given the circumstances. “Now that I wouldn’t mind.”
Peer bit back a laugh. “Any other questions for me?”
“No,” she said, turning to face him with warm eyes. “Thanks, Peer.”
He patted her shoulder as he walked past. Many of the elite Chisanta had already taken up their posts, though it was early yet. He swept along the gangway, exchanging greetings and answering queries as he progressed.
Below, Quade’s men made ready. They formed up just outside longbow range. Peer stared at the cannons and siege weapons. His nerves jangled.
The Complete Marked Series Box Set Page 121
