Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3)

by March McCarron

  Peer watched Su-Hwan’s back as they skirted the perimeter of the hall, dodging the odd person or chair that came crashing their way. He scoured the mass of bodies, searching for the petite brunette who could put a stop to this. Su-Hwan moved on the balls of her feet, craning her long neck this way and that, trying to see through the chaotic hive of violence.

  “There,” she said at length, extending a thin arm to point out the small form of Elda.

  At that moment, she was squared off with a larger Chaskuan woman. The Chiona made to strike, but her fist and body went rigid mid-swing. Elda punched her squarely in the nose, summoning a stream of blood.

  Cheap trick, Peer thought, but shoved towards the girl nonetheless. A body smashed into his side, but he rooted himself and kept his footing. He pushed further forward, trying not to be swallowed by the violence. Elda noticed his approach, her teeth bared like a threatened alleycat. Blood trailed from her temple. She cocked her fist, but Peer merely held up a hand to stall her. “Stop.”

  She seemed to recognize him and, after a moment’s thought, let her arm fall. Her face transitioned from feral to calm in an instant. “Why?”

  He leaned in so she could hear him over the pandemonium. “They won’t be letting us stay here if we cause property damage. Like the roof over your head?”

  She shrugged, as if indifferent. “You want me to immobilize ’em?”

  “Can you? So many at once?” Peer recalled that one of Quade’s ‘five’ had been able to amplify the gifts of the others. He hoped he would not have to find that girl as well.

  Elda’s dark eyes slitted, plainly taking his question as a challenge. She gave an uncaring flick of the wrist in answer, and the room turned to sudden, perfect stillness.

  Peer felt his mouth hang open as he gazed around the hall. Some two hundred people all stood frozen, bodies poised as if in motion. A scattered thunking sounded, as those caught in moments of poor balance tipped over and hit the ground. The silence which followed was abrupt and total.

  “Spirits…” he said. The girl at his side shrugged, but appeared pleased.

  He scanned the immobilized people around him. Now that they were stationary he was better able to recognize individuals. He suppressed a snort of amusement when he saw Ko-Jin, stopped in the midst of flipping a much larger man over his back. That must be uncomfortable.

  Nearby, Whythe was grinning like a loon, his fist extended towards a Chiona who had plainly dodged with success. Peer stared at him for a moment.

  “Think you’ve got their attention, boss-man,” Elda said. She smiled, and that expression, too, was catlike.

  Peer sighed—he obviously needed to say something. But what? He was no orator. And what could he possibly say to such a band of fools? He would simply have to speak his mind and hope for the best.

  “Quade Asher,” he said in a voice that was loud if not powerful, “is killin’ us. He’s sending his people into the city, and leavin’ us dead and bloody in the street.” He swallowed. “And I gotta wonder why he’s botherin’, since we’re so ready to kill each other for him. Blighter!” He strode between the frozen figures, looking into eyes where he could. He wanted them to see his earnestness, to feel his censure. “Are you imbeciles not seeing the stakes, here? Are you so bleeding dense to have missed it? Quade wins, and free will dies. For you, me, the unmarked—all of us. And this group of idiots I’m lookin’ at, this is all that stands between Quade and total control. If we can’t start workin’ together—if we can’t even coexist, then may the Blighter take us ’cause we’re already lost.”

  He folded his arms and glared around him. This seemed as good a time as any to lay out his new scheme. He had a captive audience, after all. “Startin’ tomorrow, we’ll be having pairs of you patrolling the city—keeping an eye out for any of Quade’s Chisanta. The pairs will be one Cosanta and one Chiona, and I suggest you extract your heads from your collective asses and try to learn something from each other, because if we stay divided—we lose.” He stopped walking. “Anyone who doesn’t willingly participate will be removed from the city, and best of luck to you.”

  He sighed and shook his head, having nothing left to say.

  “Want me to unfreeze ’em?” Elda asked, not appearing terribly chastised. He hoped his words had had more of an impact on the others.

  “One at a time, sending each out the door.” Peer said. “And don’t be in a hurry about it.”

  “Aye, aye, boss.”

  “The general first,” Peer said. “He’s likely got obligations elsewhere.”

  Peer walked to the door and strode back out into the cold afternoon. He kicked at a clump of snow and thrust his fists into his pockets. He imagined what Adearre would’ve said to that speech.

  “Who’re you to judge?” he mumbled, tipping his face up to a bright, pale sky.

  But as soon as he heard himself say this, he knew he was wrong. Adearre might not have thought much of the words he’d used, particularly not his off-color language. But Peer was overcome with the certain, warming knowledge that his departed friend would be proud of him.

  He watched a cardinal flit by, and smiled after it.

  Chae-Na folded her arms and glanced once more at the grandfather clock at the end of the gallery. She did her best to swallow her disappointment. Plainly he was not coming. But she remained in that cold space anyway, obliged to stand as the room lacked furniture.

  She walked another circuit around the long hall, gazing up at the wide and varied collection of art. It was a section of the palace she had seldom visited, as up until recently it had been open to the public.

  She stopped before the famous painting of the first Bellra king, who had united the three kingdoms and carved a new capital city out of Dalish swampland. An achievement accomplished through sheer willpower, or so it seemed. She gazed at his features for a time, finding only a slight resemblance to her more handsome brother.

  The sound of running feet drew her attention, and she turned to see Ko-Jin. He sprinted in her direction, clutching the hilt of the sword at his side to keep it from jostling. “I’m late,” he said, catching his breath.

  “You are,” she agreed. There was a brightness in his eyes, evidence of a better-than-usual mood. Looking at him, she found she could not remain irritated by his tardiness.

  “I’m sorry, there was a bit of a commotion up at the university.”

  “It’s no matter. But we shall have to reschedule our lesson. I must leave in ten minutes for my dinner engagement.” She wondered if he, too, could hear the dread in her voice. If she could not persuade Veldon Gorberry to support Jo-Kwan, even while she was breaking their understanding, the city would suffer for it.

  “Ten minutes is enough,” he said. When she quirked a brow in question, he amended, “Well, it’s a start at any rate. No sense in carrying a dagger if you’ve no notion how to use it.”

  “A stabbing motion with the sharp end, I should think.”

  He laughed, and the sound warmed her. “Well, yes. But let’s focus on the how and the where.”

  Chae-Na bent to pull the stiletto from her walking boot, but Ko-Jin stalled her with a gesture of his hand.

  “We’ll use this for practice,” he said. He fished into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a wooden replica of a dagger, its edges blunt and smooth. Unlike the slender and deadly stiletto he’d given her, this had a utilitarian look. She accepted the false blade, settling the glossy hilt into her palm.

  “Alright, tuck the knife into that sash at your waist to free up your hands,” Ko-Jin said. He squared his feet before her. “Now, let us pretend that I am a large, stupid man who has unwisely decided to attack you. Either with fist or sword, I would come at you with a big, strong motion—not fast or subtle, because I am foolish enough to underestimate a woman.” He mimed taking a great arcing swing at her with his fist, but slowly and without force.

  “An attacker will assume that you’ll try to back away, but instead you will come closer. As I swi
ng, I want you to raise your hands and strike me here,” he pointed at his upper arm, “like this.” He held up his hands, palms facing each other, and made a swift, simultaneous chopping motion. She mimicked him, and he smiled. “Good. Now, I’ll take a slow punch, and you block my arm. You’ll have to move in closer.”

  He reared back his fist and feigned a punch. She shuffled inward and blocked him, striking with the slim sides of her hands on either side of his bicep. His arm stopped in mid-swing.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Hold there. Now, I want you to take your right arm and snake it through the gap below my armpit. Yes, like that, but move in closer. You need to be tight to my side.”

  Chae-Na did as he asked, but her heart began to thud traitorously in her breast, and she worried he might hear. She’d never been quite this close to him before. Glancing up, she could make out all the individual black hairs in his brows, and see clearly the texture of his lips.

  “Very good. Now turn your hand so that your palm is flat against my shoulder; step to the side if you need to. Yes. Now push your weight into that hand and break my posture.”

  It took her a moment to understand what he meant, but when she shifted her weight, he was forced to bend at the waist. His arm remained twined around her own in such a way that he could not strike her again.

  “And now you have brought my neck down to your level, and you may use your free hand to withdraw your blade and deal a killing blow.” He extracted himself from her grip, then drew a line down the side of his neck with his finger, from below the ear to the shoulder. “This is where you should strike, not the center of the throat. Let’s try it again. Slowly.”

  Chae-Na, knowing what was to come this time, was better able to inure herself to his proximity. She moved through the motions again—chopping with her hands, slipping an arm up and around to his shoulder, then pushing him off balance. She pulled the wooden knife from her sash and brought it to rest at his neck.

  “Perfect,” he said, with a flash of teeth. “Now just practice another thousand times or so, and it’ll be second nature. I think our time’s up for today, though.”

  She glanced to the clock to find he was correct. Certainly there had never been a shorter ten-minute span. She sighed.

  “You’re meeting Britt at the entry?” he asked. She nodded. “I’ll walk you, then.”

  They set off at a quick pace, as Chae-Na could ill afford to be late for such an important rendezvous. She wished that Ko-Jin might come with her, for a bit of moral encouragement, but he had too many obligations to serve as her personal bodyguard.

  “How do you like Britt, by the way?” he asked as they left the gallery and trotted up the west corridor. Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows, painting blocks of light on the floor at regular intervals.

  Chae-Na pictured the Cosanta woman whom she had first met two days before, and tried to think of a polite way to express her opinion. “Well, she is rather…”

  “Terrifying?” He chuckled at her expression. “Can’t blame you there. Arlow and I used to hide from her, when we were first marked. Why do you think I put her in charge of Chisanta palace patrols when she asked for the post? Too scared to turn her down.”

  Chae-Na found herself much diverted by the thought of this man as a boy. She wished she could have known him then. “And what of your friend Yarrow? You made it seem as if the two of you had been attached at the hip.”

  Ko-Jin’s smile turned inward, and she could see he had slipped into memory. “Oh no, Yarrow would never hide with us. He’s always been the sort to take it on the chin.” He shook his head, and concern for his missing friend flashed across his features. “But, to the point: Britt might not be the most sociable, but she’s serious and she’s tough. She will keep you safe. I would not have given her the position otherwise.”

  And with that, they swept into the bright entry hall. The woman in question waited near the door, her freckled face stern enough to put even Chae-Na’s most cantankerous governess to shame. Chae-Na said a quick farewell to Ko-Jin, and her maid helped her into a cream-colored woolen coat.

  The Cosanta woman didn’t speak until they’d boarded the carriage and set off. “Do you have any reason to believe this family might mean you harm?” Britt asked as they trundled down the lane, flanked by twelve royal guardsmen on horseback.

  Chae-Na’s brows rose in surprise. “No, none at all. I shall be safe once we arrive.”

  Veldon Gorberry might have his faults, but she would put her welfare in his hands without hesitation. She had fallen from a tree, once, as a girl—an activity her mother would have been horrified to learn of—and it had been Veldon who had carried her to the royal physician, running all the way. And then he kept her secret afterwards, even from Jo-Kwan, despite the fact that he plainly disapproved of her behavior.

  “Do not make the mistake of believing yourself safe anywhere, Your Highness,” Britt said, with a dark expression to match her dark words. “You are not.”

  Chae-Na shivered. She turned away from the severe, robed figure sitting across from her and peered out the window, where the streets of Accord stood unnaturally quiet. She caught sight of a weedy-looking man leaning against a lamppost, a cigarette in hand. His shadowed gaze locked on hers with the intensity of recognition, and with Britt’s dire words still in her mind, Chae-Na jumped back and jerked the curtain closed.

  As they passed through the gates of the Gorberry estate, Chae-Na realized that she had been gripping the fabric of her coat so tightly that her hands had cramped. She made a conscious effort to relax, flexing her fingers.

  The driver took them around the looping lane and drew up just before the entrance. When the head footman opened the door and offered his hand, Britt pushed past him and would not permit Chae-Na to follow until she had assessed their surroundings.

  Chae-Na stared up at the impressive face of Hawthorn Manor as she descended from the carriage. Unlike the palace, which was wide, airy, and modern, the Gorberry’s city home seemed a place out of time. With its four turrets, eight chimneys, and old slate roof, it might have been imposing, had it not been built with the slightly iridescent Delt’s rose limestone.

  “I believe the manor’s masculine pride,” a familiar, rasping voice sounded, “has never quite recovered from a certain young princess calling him ‘the pink house.’”

  She spun and found Veldon trotting down the stair to greet her. He looked just as he had for years—slight of build but fit, with a dark, tightly trimmed beard and clothes that were well-tailored yet understated. That he wasn’t smiling, despite having made what might pass for a joke, did not confuse her. His countenance was naturally stony; it had been since childhood.

  “And are estates not usually lent the feminine pronoun?” she asked.

  “To my knowledge, ships alone are granted that distinction.” He bowed over her hand and darted a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Welcome, Your Highness. It has been too long.”

  His icy gaze swiveled to Britt, and he inclined his head. “Greetings, Mistress Cosanta.”

  “Thank you,” the woman answered, with a slight bow. “As I am here today for security, you have my leave to ignore my presence, so that I may remain vigilant.”

  Chae-Na schooled her face, not allowing her amusement to show. She thought Britt and Veldon might pass for two pieces of a matched set, both so outwardly hard as to make mere conversation a trial. Though, glancing between the two of them, Chae-Na felt the need to amend this impression: they might both be steely in demeanor, but Veldon didn’t seem so perpetually vexed.

  “I appreciate your candor and your service to the crown. You may move freely through my property.” His attention swiveled back to Chae-Na, and he raised his arm. She took hold and allowed herself to be guided up the stair and through a cavernous foyer. She could not hear Britt moving at her back, but sensed the woman’s presence.

  As she sat down on a new settee, she regarded the drawing room. It was done up in a simple, decidedly mascul
ine style. “When did you redecorate?”

  “Several years ago,” he answered as he took a seat in an adjacent armchair. “I never did share my late mother’s fondness for frills.”

  Chae-Na smoothed her skirts as she settled in for the usual polite conversation. The hearth at her back warmed her neck and shoulders, which was well as the rooms of Hawthorn Manor tended towards draftiness. “And how fares Peroline? She must be much grown.”

  “In accomplishment if not height. My sister will join us for dinner, and will be very pleased to see Your Highness again. I trust the king is well?”

  “He is in excellent health, I thank you.”

  Veldon laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on his knees. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his face. “I understand he has made many interesting new friends of late.”

  She kept her expression neutral, though she was surprised that he should push for information quite so early in the tête-à-tête. He had not yet inquired after the condition of the roads, or even commiserated over the poor weather. “Interesting times call for unusual allies.”

  “Most unusual,” he said, leaning forward. “In fact, I have heard a rather spectacular rumor that he means to meet privately with the self-proclaimed Pauper’s King.”

  Behind him, Britt moved into view. She appeared to be listening, though her face was turned to the window.

  “I am not my brother’s schedule keeper; he meets with a great number of subjects to discuss important matters of state.”

  “Not merely subjects,” he said, his scrutiny growing too direct to be genteel. “He seems to surround himself with quite a number of Chisanta, as well. Such as this new general of his. The talk surrounding that man, you must know, is quite scandalous.”

  “How so?” The question was asked too sharply. Fearing she might have betrayed herself, she took a measured, calming breath.

  “Surely you have heard of his mother? She was granted a position of honor at the king’s coronation, yet they say she…” He finally broke eye contact. “Forgive me, Your Highness, for speaking so crassly, but they say she took a second husband while her first yet lived. A polygamous seamstress set above the local aristocracy.” He shook his head, mouth drawn thin. “I am sure you can understand what a stir this caused.”