Whythe unfolded the letter and skimmed it silently. Peer prodded him in the ribs with his elbow. “Out loud.”
“Just checking that there’s no bad news,” Whythe said.
He had taken to wearing his hair in a short braid at the base of his neck, and his caramel-colored locks were always falling free in curling clumps. Peer was inordinately fond of it.
Whythe began to read, his voice taking on some of Bray’s briskness: “Sorry for the slow reply, brother. Your last letter took a while to reach me. I’m glad to hear you’ve made progress with the fruit trees. I’ve told Ko-Jin there will be peaches when we visit this winter, and he’s asking me to remind you that five years ago you promised him a pie, and that peach is his favorite.
“I’m telling him that I remember this conversation differently. He’s insistent. I’m telling him that you can’t bake. He’s saying that Whythe probably can, being an artist.” Whythe frowned at the paper, then turned to Peer with an arched brow. “Baking is not an art.”
“I’m bettin’ bakers would disagree,” Peer said. “I agree with Ko-Jin. You’d probably make excellent pies.”
“And would you like me better if I baked you pies?” he asked, his tone a warning that he better not answer in the affirmative.
“Well, I wouldn’t like you worse,” Peer said.
Whythe gave him a fake pout, and Peer couldn’t resist nipping at that protruding lower lip. “Keep readin’ please.”
Whythe rolled his eyes and returned to the page. “I’ve reminded Ko-Jin that Whythe is probably the one reading this letter—hello, Whythe—but he’s now just chanting the word pie. So annoying. Am moving to a new place to write.
“Okay—alone, at last. How are you? I miss you. We’ve been doing well, all of us. We were in New Brans last, and Glans Heath before that. Oh, and we spent a week in Accord. Arlow tried to steal my husband, as usual, but I managed to keep him.
“Our lessons have gotten a lot stronger recently. Ko-Jin and I are starting to figure out how to better structure the program. The constant travel can be trying, but then you remember that. Still, I think we’ve done some real good. There was a young woman in New Brans who left a bad situation after her first lesson with me, and I’m sure you can appreciate how that made me feel.”
Whythe paused, darting a quick glance at Peer. “I haven’t found any more new Chi’santae for you this fall. Did the boy Jenson make his way down to you yet? He was so keen, it was really very sweet. You should have seen his face when Ko-Jin showed him the Ada Chae.
“We’re planning to head to Jedoh after this, so send your next letter there. I wish you could come. Last time, the kids all asked after you. It’s getting cold up here, already. I’m dying for the hot springs.
“Yarrow says hello, and Darl misses you. Write back with all of your news so I don’t go crazy. Will see you in two months, three tops. Stay out of trouble. Yours, Bray.”
Peer slumped against the cushions, a sad smile playing on his lips. Whythe must have sensed his mood, because he laced their hands together and curled into his side. Peer let his head fall, so that their brows were touching. “She sounds well,” he said.
“She does,” Whythe agreed, squeezing his hand.
Peer allowed himself a few more moments to miss his dearest friend. Then he took a deep breath and stood. “Come, let’s finish packing up. Our shift starts soon.”
Whythe studied him, so he did his best to appear unaffected. It wasn’t difficult. He was happy. He had purpose and love and fulfillment. Bray had those things, too. It was only a pity they’d found them in vastly different situations.
Whythe planted a warm kiss on his lips. “I love you. Cheer up.”
“I’m cheered,” Peer said, laughing.
They had already packed for the short trip and their overnight out-of-doors, but there were a few last-minute tasks to attend to. Whythe added his drawing pad and charcoals to his pack, and Peer finished re-lacing his boots.
They slipped through the curtain that was serving as a temporary door, out into the hot early evening. The section of Nerra where the Chi’santae had taken up residence was every day looking less like a ruin and more like proper civilization.
The pyramid at the center of the long-abandoned city cast a mighty shadow, alleviating the ever-present heat. Peer wrapped a thin scarf around his head and face, to protect himself from the sand, then set about filling their canteens.
When they had first arrived, well over four years ago, the city had seemed inhospitable. But that first day in the Confluence, the Spirits had told Peer where to dig, and water had gushed up from the earth in great geysers.
With the help of Avearra, whose upbringing in this area made her a veritable expert on desert living, they’d learned how to survive. They’d planted trees and crops, and soon a green patch of life had bloomed in defiance of the surrounding desert.
“Hey, Peer!”
“Roldon. Trevva,” Peer said with a wave at the couple. Roldon appeared to be negotiating with a flock of chickens—not that they could understand him without his gift—while Trevva gathered eggs in a basket.
The bevolder pairs had all come with him to Adourra. Actually, most of the old Chisanta had come. They, like him, had been eager to find new purpose after their marks disappeared.
It had been Yarrow’s suggestion: that perhaps the Chisanta might revert to its previous function. To become Chi’santae again. Once, they had been called the Tree Guard. They had protected the Confluence and communed with the Spirits.
Peer would never forget that conversation. It was like the chamber of a pistol turning over and clicking into place. He had been so uncertain what he would do with his life, and then, all of a sudden, he’d been filled with resolve.
More Chisanta greeted him as he passed through the streets of Nerra, and he tried to acknowledge everyone. Whythe insisted it was important he show equal regard to all the factions here—Chiona, Cosanta, Elevated, and these new, never-marked Chi’santae—because people paid attention to what Peer said and did.
He would never understand why his people looked to him as their leader, but after so many years he’d accepted his role. He had little choice; no one was keen to take the job off his hands.
They walked past the training arena, where Enton and Avearra were giving lessons to the small batch of new Chi’santae. Though they were not marked, Bray had recognized the spark in them. According to Yarrow, this was how it once was. The marks had been earned after years of training, and were simple tattoos. But unlike in those days, Peer intended for this new crop to learn and study all together.
Peer and Whythe came to the edge of their settlement, where the horses were penned. They were beautiful, wild steeds—mustangs raised to withstand short trips in the desert. There was one in particular that Peer was wholly smitten by, a spirited filly named Midnight. But then, he’d always adored horses.
Whythe neither shared nor understood this preference. He rode with his entire body locked stiff, clutching the reins tight with fear. Which, needless to say, went poorly all around.
They approached the gate and Peer whistled through his teeth. Midnight came trotting in his direction, black hair streaming out behind her.
“Well,” Peer said. “What’s it to be?”
Whythe’s eyes narrowed, his mouth puckering in distaste. “I can’t keep riding with you. It’s emasculating.”
Peer rather liked it when Whythe rode with him—it was possible he liked it a little too much—but he kept his expression neutral. “Very well. You can take Peony.”
“That mad beast?”
Peer guffawed. “She’s grandmotherly. You’re not gonna find a more docile ride.”
After saddling Midnight, Peer saw to Peony. He did this despite knowing it was a waste of time. “I’ll help you up.”
Whythe took his hand in a vise-like grip and slid stiffly into the saddle. Peony nickered, shaking her head, and Whythe winced. “Fine,” he said, voice high. “I’ll
ride with you.”
Peer tucked his smile away. They went through these motions every few months. Whythe was fortunate he was charming.
They rode across the stretch of desert between Nerra and the Confluence. Peer would never grow bored with this excursion—of cantering through sweeping dunes, with the brilliant night sky overhead and Whythe’s back pressed against his chest.
He grinned beneath his protective scarf, his heart hammering a carefree beat.
Peer had never had a home as a boy. He’d had orphanages and foster homes, and never one for long. He’d spent much of his early adulthood traveling with Bray and Adearre. He’d found a home in those friendships, but he had still been rootless.
Now he had a place. This desert might not be hospitable. It wouldn’t be attractive to most sane spirits. Peer liked it better for this reason. Indeed, he felt a kinship with this land. They were, both of them, long unwanted. Abandoned.
But not any longer—this place belonged to him, and he belonged to it. It was a peculiar feeling, and one he rather liked.
They arrived before full dark, and Whythe eagerly scrambled down to the sand. He rubbed at his thighs, wincing.
Peer hopped from his saddle and tended to Midnight, making sure she had enough water for the evening. Then he and Whythe crossed through the archway and mounted the lonely stair.
Every time he climbed these steps, he expected it to be easier. And every time, it wasn’t. His limbs turned heavy, and an unnatural dread settled upon him. Whythe gripped his hand hard until they reached the top.
This was the easy part—leaping.
The Aeght a Seve came into existence around him. He could no longer come to this place in his mind—none of them could—but that was alright with Peer. The Confluence was better in person, anyway.
They walked through the grass, both unraveling their scarves and shaking sand free from their clothes.
“Hello?” he called.
A spirit always came to speak with him, usually right away. It was often Adearre, but not always.
The opportunity to speak with his dear friend again, when he had never dreamed such a thing possible, had been nearly his undoing on that first day.
He didn’t like to think of those early conversations. They had been painful for such a wide variety of reasons, and awkward given Whythe’s presence. But now they had all settled into a comfortable rhythm.
And Peer knew his heart better for it. He knew that he was built to love only in full measures. In choosing to love Whythe, he had let Adearre go.
“Hello?” Whythe called.
Sometimes it was Whythe’s mother who came. She looked a great deal like her son, with the same maple-brown eyes and perfect smile. She’d been killed so young. It would not be long before Whythe overtook her in age.
The shadow of the tree lengthened as a spirit stepped out.
“Su-Hwan!” Peer called, grinning.
His Chaskuan friend, with her solemn face and bright eyes, glided forward. Peer wished he could hug her. The last time he’d held her body, it had been cold and stiff with death.
“Peer,” she said, in a tone that for her, at least, was positively sunny. “It is good to see you. I apologize for keeping you waiting. The Company was finalizing the vote.”
Peer and Whythe exchanged significant looks. The Spirits had been ‘voting’ for years. He had begun to wonder if he should give up on them altogether.
“And?” Peer said.
“They have decided that it is time. The resolution passed.”
Peer stood silent. Thunderstruck.
He needed only one hand to count the times his life had transformed in a single moment: when he had been marked, when he recognized Whythe as his spirit-mate, and when his mark had disappeared.
And now this. The Spirits wished for the people of Trinitas to come once more, for pilgrims to commune with their dead.
Long ago, this had been the practice, and the Chi’santae had been the facilitators, until the Confluence had been threatened and later burned.
Peer’s job was about to get a lot more interesting.
“I’ll write to Arlow,” he said. “He’ll get the word out.”
Whythe appeared a bit dazed. “It’s strange to think of everyone knowing. Of all those people coming here…”
There was no doubt that the citizens would come—likely, at first, in waves too large to be handled.
The Chi’santae needed to prepare, to develop a strategy. Peer would call a meeting when he returned to the city.
Whythe reached for his hand, and that familiar touch calmed him.
His gaze roamed to the Confluence, to this new life sprouting from within the casings of death.
In a way, they were all like this tree. They were living on after death and hardship—living through it, picking themselves back up. Somehow still alive and growing despite everything.
It never stopped striking him as wonderful and beautiful and undeserved.
“Not gone after all…” Peer murmured.
The ship rocked, and Yarrow peered through the porthole. Through the mist, he could discern the isle of Jedoh in the distance.
After five years of traveling from town to town, it was always a comfort to come to those few places that felt like home. His own hometown was one such place, as was the palace in Accord. But this island perhaps more than the rest, because it put Bray at ease. He was always most comfortable wherever she was most comfortable.
In that moment, she was fast asleep in their cot, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her hair, now cut to a medium length more similar to a man’s, splayed out like a copper fan.
Yarrow leaned against the hull of the ship, smiled, and studied her face.
“Stop watching me sleep,” she grumbled.
“I’m not,” he protested, a laugh in his voice.
She buried her face in the pillow. “You are. I can feel it.”
“Well, you look so sweet when you sleep.”
“I’m never sweet.” She made a grasping gesture in his direction. “Come. Lay with me.”
It was not a large cot. Yarrow scrambled over her, pressing his back to the wall, and she squirmed into his arms. “See?” he said. “Sweet.”
She clicked her teeth together, as if threatening to bite, and he grinned. “We’re nearly there,” he said.
That seemed to rouse her. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Thank the Spirits.”
She stretched, arching her back in a way that Yarrow found rather attention-grabbing. He let his hand trail down to her hip. She looked up at him with an arched brow. “What are our chances of being interrupted?”
“Ko-Jin’s watching him.”
“So, fifty-fifty,” Bray said with a smirk. She pressed her hands to Yarrow’s chest and pushed him flat on his back. “I’ll take those odds,” she said.
She kissed him.
No matter how many times they kissed, Yarrow never stopped feeling like he had that first time, waist-deep in the Painted Mere. Like the sky had been knocked out of alignment and then slammed back into place again.
I adore you, he told her with the brush of his lips. She began unbuttoning his shirt, and he began to burn.
And then—
Their door banged open, and their son came careening into the room. Darl was four, and while he had Yarrow’s looks, his wild spirit was all Bray.
He leapt onto the bed, half-tackling them. “Ma!” he shrilled. Yarrow winced at the sound. “We’re almost there!”
Ko-Jin appeared in the doorway a moment later, leaning into a cane. He made this look natural, comfortable even. As if the walking stick were an accessory, and everyone should have one.
“Sorry,” Ko-Jin said. “He slipped his leash.” He smiled apologetically. The scar on his cheek made his left dimple spread like a starburst. He knocked his cane against the hatchway. “Come on, lad. Let’s go taunt the seagulls.”
“Why do I have to?” Darl asked, crossing his arms. He wriggled deeper into
the space between Yarrow and Bray, claiming his spot.
The former general of all Trinitas clucked his tongue. “Do you want siblings or not, man?”
“Ko-Jin!” Yarrow and Bray cried simultaneously.
He lifted his hands, as if in repentance, but his eyes glinted in a self-satisfied way.
“We’ll come up to the deck,” Bray said, sliding out of bed. Yarrow couldn’t feel truly disappointed, not when they were bound to find more privacy once they were on the island.
Darl pulled Bray along, forcing her to walk half-bent. Yarrow watched them with an unconscious smile on his lips.
He often still thought of the daughter he’d seen in that vision, long ago. Arella. When Bray had been pregnant, he’d wondered if that was the child they’d have.
But it was not to be. Either because the vision he’d experienced had only ever been hypothetical—in it he’d still been marked, so that was not this future—or because his sacrifice had unmade her.
That possibility still haunted him, but it was a sadness that did not touch the love and joy he felt in his son. They were discrete entities within his heart, grief and joy, and one did not affect the other.
On the deck, Darl released Bray’s hand and ran to Naeve, who leaned against the rail.
Being Ko-Jin’s spirit-mate, it was little surprise she was an interesting woman. She was a natural storyteller who knew ‘magic tricks,’ and so Darl worshipped her.
Though not half so much as Ko-Jin. When those two locked eyes, Yarrow always felt like he was intruding, and that he should leave the room.
But for now, they all set their faces to the wind and watched the isle of Jedoh approach. Bray and Ko-Jin would teach their self-defense lessons, as usual. And Yarrow would work on his book, or try to, also as usual. But still, this stop felt far more like a vacation. Perhaps because they were always welcome here. Not all towns were so receptive.
The children who studied at the art school were waiting for them on the pier, including Tenny, Bray’s nephew, whom Darl usually trailed like a shadow.
The Complete Marked Series Box Set Page 149
