“That isn’t my gift.”
“What, you think you’ve only got the one?” Dedrre asked, his eyes blazing. “We have more to offer than just what we gain from the Aeght a Seve. You’ve got plenty of gifts, lad. Who else is going to find that answer? Who else alive has years of experience reading and interpreting those texts?”
Yarrow listened to the ball of emotion that was Dedrre in the back of his mind—heard the patter of earnestness, the thrum of pride, the hum of affection. It nearly brought tears to his eyes.
Yarrow sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Aye, I know I’m right, lad.”
“I just fear I may read until my eyes bleed and find nothing. I’ve not read a thing about this dwindling of our kind… not in tens of thousands of pages.”
Dedrre sighed, causing the hairs in his mustache to flutter. “Is it possible that isn’t what’s happening here? That you’re looking for the wrong thing?”
Yarrow’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Dedrre said, “all we know for certain is that we can’t find fifty. We don’t know for a fact that they don’t exist.”
Yarrow shook his head. He’d had this conversation so many times. “How could these kids go missing before they are even located? Disappear without a whisper or a clue? It can’t be possible.”
“Perhaps not,” Dedrre said, “but it is a poor researcher who searches for a pre-formed hypothesis instead of looking only at the facts.”
“What facts do I have to…” Yarrow trailed off mid-sentence as a fragment of something he’d read earlier that day prodded him in the brain. His heart leapt in realization.
“Great Spirits!” Yarrow said, pulling the transcripts from his bag and flipping through the pages so quickly he risked damaging them. He found the sought-for passage and his eyes zoomed from line to line, searching.
“Here,” he said. “‘Fire conceals truth in times of marked famine.’”
Yarrow looked up triumphantly and was surprised to see Dedrre’s face look so utterly nonplussed.
“Don’t you see?” Yarrow jumped to his feet. “The fire—the girl in Greystone. And ‘times of marked famine,’ that must mean what’s been happening—‘famine,’ as in shortage—we have a shortage of marked children.”
Dedrre laughed. “If you say so lad, I never can make anything out of that stuff.”
“I’ll have to cross-reference…look for other mentions of ‘marked famine’ in the texts…” Yarrow said, thrusting the book back into his bag.
“No, lad. That’s not what you need to do.”
Yarrow stopped. “What do you mean? This could be a breakthrough!”
“If you’re right,” Dedrre said. “And I’m sure that you are, what you need to do is go to Greystone. You need to see what truth that fire was meant to conceal.”
Yarrow collapsed back into the chair and took a sip of his tea with shaking hands. “Field work?”
Dedrre nodded solemnly. “You heard that a party of Chiona are going to investigate the incident. You should accompany them.”
Yarrow choked and sputtered. “Accompany a party of Chiona? Surely not…”
“It is tradition that matters of concern to the Chisanta as a whole be handled by a mixed party.”
Yarrow clutched at his bag. “It might be traditional, but it hasn’t happened in decades. Certainly not since tensions have reached such a peak. They’re liable to slit my throat in my sleep.”
The Adourran snorted. “Don’t be hyperbolic, lad.”
Yarrow offered him a level look.
Dedrre rubbed his chin and nodded. “Maybe ask your friend Ko-Jin to go with you, just to be safe. Who would be foolish enough to pester him?”
The carriage pulled up to the Chisanta Temple as the sinking sun set fire to the horizon. Bray peered out the window. She had visited many times, but upon arriving she could never help but recall the first time, so many years ago. The Temple was unchanged; its many domed buildings, beautiful gardens, and breathtaking view of the sea were stunning as ever.
Bray and Peer helped Adearre out of the carriage and the three of them made their way through the entrance, across the marbled foyer, through the gardens, and into the Chiona sector.
Dolla Adder waited for them, a solitary figure perched at a massive round meeting table.
“You’ve made good time, sister,” she said, her voice familiar and comforting to Bray’s ear.
Bray crossed the room and kissed the woman on the cheek.
“Not shot again, are you, Adearre?” Dolla asked, eyeing his bandaged shoulder.
“I am afraid so,” Adearre said, as he lowered himself gingerly into a chair. “My own fault. Must mind where I stand.”
Dolla nodded and took up her seat. She had a sharp, intelligent face. The bristle of hair atop her head was snowy white, and her fair skin heavily lined.
“You wired us that a marked girl was murdered?” Peer prompted as he took a seat across from Bray.
“She is dead for certain,” Dolla said. “The murder remains to be proven.”
“How was she killed?” Bray asked.
“Her house caught fire. The whole family perished.”
“That does not sound like murder,” Adearre said, wincing as he adjusted his position.
“It may not be,” Dolla said. “But the girl was marked. With our numbers shrinking, I am inclined to think the worst.”
“So the fire happened before the carriage could pick her up?” Bray asked.
“The fire happened on the eve of Da Un Marcu,” Dolla said. “We only know that the girl was marked because her uncle had stayed late that night and seen the symbol on her neck. The fire occurred shortly after he left.”
“Where?” Bray asked.
“Greystone.”
“We’ll leave at first light.”
“No, you will not, I’m afraid.” Dolla extracted a small roll of paper and passed it across the table. Bray unrolled it and read:
‘Cosanta reps departing to join GrySt team. ETA 4 days.’
Bray read the words twice. “This must be a joke!”
She passed the telegram to Peer. He made a sound half way between a gasp and a cough.
“It is not,” Dolla said, frowning. “This is a Chisanta matter, as the girl was marked, and the Cosanta are within their rights to demand a representative in the investigation.”
“And has any Cosanta studied criminology?” Bray asked. She had spent the last ten years learning all that she could—examining crime scenes, following Dolla from one end of the kingdoms to the other, and reading every book available on the topic.
“Not to my knowledge,” Dolla said grimly.
“Fantastic.” Bray ran a hand over her face. “Now I’ll have some dancing ninny tagging along, mucking up my investigation. Why can’t they just keep their noses out of it?”
Heat crept up her neck. The Cosanta were unbearable. They believed themselves so superior, she could read that clearly enough in their cold, passionless faces.
“Truth be told,” Dolla said. “I find their desire to be involved highly suspicious. I fear they may have an ulterior motive.”
Bray thought this over and nodded. The Cosanta had, quite wisely, kept an increased amount of distance between themselves and the Chiona of late. It was no mystery why. First, there was the murder of Ambrone Chassel. Each year since that time, fewer marked children were found. And when those who were found went through testing, far more of them were Cosanta than Chiona. The Chiona’s numbers were shrinking far faster. It was all seriously suspect, especially given the Divisionary Prophecy.
“I would advise,” Dolla said, her tone dark, “that you keep a sharp eye on them. Do not give the Cosanta an opportunity to obstruct your investigation.”
“I will watch them closely,” Adearre said.
“Don’t worry, Dolla.” Bray cracked her knuckles. “I won’t let them near the crime scene.”
Yarrow stumbled
out of the carriage gracelessly, his legs still not accustomed to solid land after several days aboard a ship.
He, like all Chisanta, had been free to travel as he liked since reaching the age of eighteen. Both Ko-Jin and Arlow had taken full advantage of this fact—Arlow had visited Accord several times and Ko-Jin had traveled to several weapons masters across the kingdoms. But Yarrow had not. His interests were not to be found outside a Chisanta library, so he had little cause to leave. As a result, he had not set foot on his native soil since departing ten years ago. The sight of the Chisanta Temple was like slipping back in time. He could remember so exactly what it had been like then, to taste the sea air for the first time. Bray Marron had held his hand as he crossed this drive…
“Are you alright, Yarrow?” Ko-Jin asked.
“It’s just strange to be home,” Yarrow said.
Ko-Jin laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You really must get out more.”
They crossed the multi-colored drive and passed through the entrance. A woman sat at the front desk. For a moment, Yarrow thought her the same woman who had led him to his testing as a boy—but, no, that woman would be older now.
She bowed her heads to them. “How may I help you?”
“We are here to meet the Chiona party investigating the crime in Greystone,” Yarrow said.
“I believe everyone is in the arena for testing,” the woman said.
Of course. It was a week after Da Un Marcu and midday—there would be testing. Yarrow would rather not witness that again, but he nodded and headed toward the arena. It would, at least, be a neutral place to meet these Chiona. He sincerely hoped he would not have to enter the Chiona sector.
Ko-Jin and Yarrow followed the not-forgotten cobbled path through the gardens to the amphitheater. It was all so eerily exactly as it had been—the beautiful flowers, the tittering birds, and, above all, the gut-wrenching spectacle of the testing itself. It was a Chiona, still, conducting the test, but not the same woman as before. This one was Chaskuan and quite young. The plebes still wore black uniforms. The only noticeable difference was the number of them. Surely, by this time ten years ago, there had been thirty or more. Now there were only eight. Those coming from the far east of Daland and Adourra would still be on their way, of course, but still, the scantness was chilling.
Not wanting to disturb the proceedings, Yarrow and Ko-Jin took seats at the far back, behind the plebes.
“Next?” The Chiona woman taunted. “I believe it is your turn, young lady.”
A diminutive Dalish girl with light hair and pale skin stepped forward, trembling. Yarrow felt sick to watch her. Surely they had not been as small as this lot? They were positively children—they should be playing games, going to school, and receiving good-night kisses from their mothers, not entering a fighting arena.
The girl, big-eyed and with trembling lips, turned to face the Chiona woman. The Chaskuan struck a flashing blow. The dull, sickening sound of fist meeting face reached Yarrow even at his elevated seat. The girl crumpled, bloody-mouthed, on the dirt.
“This is horrible,” Ko-Jin murmured beside him.
“You should have seen yourself…” Yarrow whispered back, remembering.
They waited for the next victim to be called, but it seemed they had witnessed the last test of the day. The plebes filed out, looking small and battered in Yarrow’s adult eyes.
“I suppose we’d better introduce ourselves,” Ko-Jin said. Yarrow nodded and the two of them descended the stairs and crossed the arena.
“Yarrow, is that you?” Ander asked, extending a hand enthusiastically. “It is good to see you, brother.”
Yarrow smiled. “And you, old friend.”
“What brings you here?”
“We’ve come to help in Greystone,” Yarrow said.
Ander’s bearded face looked solemn. “Of course, of course. Good man.” He shot a darting glance to the Chiona. “You’ll want to be careful what you say and do,” he whispered. “The peace here has been tenuous.”
Ko-Jin and Yarrow nodded. Ander eyed them until satisfied they had taken his advice to heart. He then turned and searched the faces of the Chiona. “Dolla.”
An old woman with short white hair and sharp eyes turned.
“Here are our representatives.”
Dolla came to them, looking Yarrow and Ko-Jin up and down with a penetrating gaze. Yarrow had the distinct feeling that, in that half-minute, the woman had gleaned everything about him from his greatest character fault to his shoe size. Dislike was etched into the lines of her face.
“You made fair time,” she said in a crisp voice and extended a hand. Yarrow clasped her forearm and Ko-Jin did the same.
“You are leading the party to Greystone?” Yarrow asked, not quite hiding the alarm in his voice. This woman made him feel like a fresh-marked boy again.
Dolla laughed, a humorless sound. “No boy, my eyesight isn’t as good as it once was.” Yarrow sincerely doubted this. “My protégé has been seeing to such things for years now.”
Yarrow looked at the faces of the other Chiona and wondered which was Dolla’s protégé, but the older woman did not summon anyone for an introduction. Instead, she continued to stare at Yarrow, her mouth downturned.
“You are young,” she said.
“Yes,” Yarrow agreed, for lack of a better thing to say.
She then examined Ko-Jin. Her eyes lingered on his arms, on the breadth of his shoulders. Her frown deepened.
“Why were you sent?” Dolla asked. Yarrow shuffled his feet but did not avert his gaze.
“To accompany the Chiona to Greystone.”
“Yes, boy, I’m not a dunce. I meant, why were you sent. What is your area of expertise?”
“I study the Fifth.”
Dolla’s eyebrows shot up. “And I take it you’ve read something that refers to the tragedy in Greystone?”
“I believe so,” Yarrow said shortly. “I’d be happy to tell your protégé all about it.”
Dolla looked for a moment as if he had affronted her, but then the corner of her mouth twitched in the hint of a smile.
“Very well, boy. Come along. They are in the Chiona meeting hall.”
Ko-Jin shrugged at Yarrow and looked amused. The woman hadn’t spared him a second glance. They followed in her wake.
“Into the lion’s den we go…” Ko-Jin said softly.
“If they do not arrive tomorrow, we should consider leaving without them,” Adearre said, lounging in a chair around the great round table.
“Not sure we shouldn’t be leaving without you, too.” Peer eyed his friend with concern. “You need to rest.”
Adearre snorted. “I would like to see you try.”
“Bray, you think Adearre should come?”
Bray was only half listening. She leaned forward, examining a newspaper clipping. “I think Adearre should do as he likes.”
“Thank you, my love,” Adearre said. Peer frowned.
Bray’s eyes flitted over the usual national news—the food riots in the south, typhus in Adourra, the latest escapades of the Pauper’s King—until she found what she sought.
“Listen to this.” Bray pressed the newspaper flat on the table with her hand. “‘An investigation of the fire in Greystone has led authorities to believe the building struck by lightning. ‘The fire appears to have started at the roof and several neighbors report seeing flashes of light on the night in question,’ Arns Fielding, Greystone Constable, told reporters yesterday.’”
Peer shifted restlessly in his chair. “They’re meaning us to apprehend the weather, then?”
“We’re meant to gather evidence and come to a conclusive answer,” Bray said. “It seems too great a coincidence to me. Of course, the longer we wait, the more the scene is going to be disturbed. Blighted Cosanta…”
The door opened and Bray heard Dolla’s familiar footfall. Without looking up, Bray said, “Dolla, come read this.”
“We have company,” Doll
a said, and two people entered the room—two Cosanta men.
The one in front was a distractingly handsome Chaskuan man. Bray didn’t much like the long braids and robes of the Cosanta, but they both suited this fellow well. She shook herself. Being attracted to a Cosanta was akin to a betrayal of her kind.
His face broke into a perfect white smile. “Bray Marron?”
Bray’s brow furrowed. Surely she would remember having met this man before. He laughed at her lack of comprehension. “It’s Ko-Jin,” he said, putting a hand to his chest.
Ko-Jin…Ko-Jin…Bray at first could not place the name. And then she recalled—a small, crippled Chaskuan boy with a sweet smile.
“Ko-Jin? Surely not.”
The second man stood behind Ko-Jin, obstructed from Bray’s view, but a creeping sense of expectation filled her gut.
“Yarrow Lamhart?” Peer asked.
Her heartbeat quickened.
“Peer Gelson?” the second man said with a laugh of recognition. His voice was deeper, but familiar still. It pulled forth a slew of long unthought-of memories—Yarrow and her fourteen-year-old self racing in a sunny field, drinking a bottle of wine under the stars in Gallan, holding hands in the grass, nearly kissing in the pouring rain…
Yarrow crossed the room to shake hands with Peer and came fully into view, and it was him—Yarrow, her Yarrow. He was tall and lean, his dark hair pulled into the same intricate braid that every Cosanta wore, save for a few shorter pieces about his forehead that fell loose. He had the same light gray eyes ringed in dark lashes. His eyebrows looked thicker and his jaw line sharper, but all in all, he was very much the same.
He and Peer shook hands and Bray sat, staring foolishly. Finally, after a split second that felt like an age, Yarrow turned and locked his eyes on her. She saw the recognition there, saw the intensity of his gaze, saw the way the corners of his mouth pulled into a small, private smile.
“Bray…” he said her name softly, like a caress.
For an insane moment, Bray wanted to spring from her seat and throw herself into his arms, to laugh and recall old times. But that desire did not come from herself, at least not her adult, Chiona self. She slammed reason down on those fancies like a vise. She hated the Cosanta. And the fact that it was him—the only one of them that she would struggle to truly distrust—sent by the Cosanta, made their presence all the more suspicious. The cold, calculating bastards were blatantly trying to manipulate her, and in the process they tarnished a treasured memory. A fury filled her innards.
Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) Page 15
