Division of the Marked (The Marked Series)

by March McCarron

  “You’ve a point there,” Ko-Jin said slowly. “I hadn’t thought before, but what kind of hitman carries around rendezvous information?”

  “Good thing the two places are so nearby,” Peer said with thick sarcasm. Yarrow frowned—he was right. If they chose wrongly, it would send them weeks in the wrong direction.

  “We could split the party and investigate both leads,” Ko-Jin suggested.

  “We could…” Bray chewed on her lip for a moment. “Well, before we do anything, I want to head down to the post office to see if we can find out a bit more about this.” She held up the telegram.

  Yarrow and the others stood to join her and they walked out into the sunny common room.

  Bray paused. “Yarrow, can I have a word?”

  “Sure.”

  They slipped into an alcove between the kitchens and the common room for privacy. He hadn’t been this close to her since they fought. She smelt good, like herbs and leather.

  “I know you think we should go to Che Mire,” she said. Yarrow nodded. Vendra could be in danger—how could they even consider ignoring that? Bray pressed on, “I just wish we had a bit more to go on. I was wondering if you’ve worked at all on what we talked about a few days ago—about using your gift?”

  “Well…” Yarrow said. In truth he hadn’t thought of it at all since his conversation with Adearre. His mind had been otherwise occupied. “A bit.”

  “I was thinking—if you could manage to tap into Vendra’s feelings, you’d probably be able to tell if she is in trouble. You two seemed like you were…close. So—”

  “I hardly know her,” Yarrow cut across, sensing Bray’s pang of jealousy and wanting to ease it. “Her grandfather is a good friend of mine, that’s all. But I can try.”

  Bray smiled, her emotions ratcheting back to a normal, happy equilibrium.

  “At this point, how well do you know your siblings?” she asked.

  Yarrow took a moment to digest this. She was entirely right, he didn’t know his brothers and sisters well at all. His youngest sister had been a baby when he left. He didn’t know a single thing about the girl she was now. Yet, he felt all of them in his mind, they thrummed with their constant frustrations, joys, and fears.

  “The people who you’ve come to love since receiving the gift, can you remember the moment they popped into your mind? What were you thinking? What was happening? I’d consider that. We’ll go question the telegraph worker. There is no sense in rushing off to the wrong place with only partial information.” Bray reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Good luck.”

  Yarrow’s heart pounded at the intimacy of her touch. His skin seemed to tingle where it had met hers.

  She left then, clearly unaware of the effect she had on him.

  Yarrow wandered back up the stairs to his room and kicked his shoes off out of habit. It seemed as good a place as any to conduct this strange experiment. To ease the whirling of his mind—the worry and self-doubt—he began to perform the Ada Chae. His limbs formed each stance of their own accord. His senses began to drift as his body relaxed, allowing the Aeght a Seve to take him.

  The Place of Five was, as ever, warm, dry, and bright. The grass blew against his legs and the leaves of the single great tree rustled in the breeze. Aside from the wind, the place stood silent. Unnaturally silent—no bird songs, no insects droning, no people.

  Yarrow decided to stay a while and meandered toward the tree. Perhaps the place that gave him his gift would help him to open it further.

  Its bark looked strange up close, as smooth as driftwood. The sunshine hit its polished surface in overlapping smears of light, giving the impression of a watercolor painting. Not for the first time, Yarrow wondered what the Aeght a Seve really was. Did it truly exist somewhere?

  He sank down onto the grass and leaned his weight against the trunk of the tree. Idly, he pricked the palm of his hand against the stiff tips of grass, while he focused his mind—love.

  What is love, really? Yarrow laughed quietly to himself. What a ridiculous, hackneyed question. One he was utterly unqualified to answer.

  But he had promised Bray he would make an effort, so make an effort he would. Her prompt had been a good one—Yarrow decided to review in his mind those three significant occasions. The first had been Ko-Jin. Yarrow closed his eyes and tried to relive the moment.

  They had been living at the Cape for about a month at the time. Ko-Jin had been in high spirits that day. It had been his fifteenth birthday and he had won a sparring match against a much older Cosanta. They had walked from the library to the dining hall when a telegram boy had entered the hall and given Ko-Jin the familiar slip of paper. Ko-Jin, a smile still on his face, had unrolled the message and read. Yarrow could remember with perfect clarity how his friend’s face had crumpled. He stood stock still, despite the bustle around him, staring at that telegram, as if hoping the words upon it would change.

  “What’s happened?” Yarrow had asked.

  “It’s my step-father.” His voice hitched as he spoke. “He died—his ship foundered in last night’s storm.”

  Yarrow had felt such a pang of sympathy for Ko-Jin, imagining how horrible it must be to lose a family member. Then, quite suddenly, he didn’t have to imagine any longer. He could feel Ko-Jin’s pain like a sharp lance through his own heart. He pulled Ko-Jin into a tight embrace and his friend had cried onto his shoulder. Yarrow’s own eyes had not been dry.

  Mentally, Yarrow jumped forward nearly a year in his mind, to the day he had first felt Arlow. He, too, had received news about a relative—good news. He’d learned that his uncle had been knighted and asked to remain at court. Arlow had looked as though he would explode with happiness.

  “You know what this means, of course?” he had asked, enthusiasm spilling over. “When I turn eighteen, I shall have an introduction to the royal family!”

  Arlow had looked into Yarrow’s face with an expression of such wild joy—and despite the fact that the happenings of court were of no interest whatsoever to Yarrow himself—he couldn’t help but feel overjoyed on his friend’s behalf. That had been the moment. Arlow’s exultation drummed in his own mind.

  The third case, Yarrow abruptly realized, was much the same. It had been the week before Dedrre’s sixty-fifth birthday. Yarrow had come for tea.

  “I’m so glad I’ll finally get to meet Vendra,” Yarrow had said, as Dedrre sliced their cake. “I’ve never heard so much about a person without actually meeting them.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait on that pleasure, lad,” Dedrre had said. Yarrow noticed the way his mustache drooped, the carefully casual tone in his voice. He had been looking forward to seeing his granddaughter with great excitement. She was so continually abroad, he barely ever saw her.

  “Work keeping her away?” Yarrow had asked.

  “Yes.” Dedrre cleared his throat. “You know how hardworking she is.”

  Yarrow felt a pang of such pity that—pop!—Dedrre’s emotions burst into his mind.

  Returning to the present, Yarrow opened his eyes and got to his feet. He began to pace, plowing a groove in the long grass.

  Each of these three occasions were prompted not by the person doing something for him, but by him feeling an intense sense of empathy with them. However, the answer could not be that simple. After all, he felt for people all the time. He certainly wasn’t cold-hearted or callous in nature. So what about these three cases were different? Was it merely a matter of intensity?

  Yarrow’s throat clenched with a sudden wave of nausea and he was overcome with lightheadedness. He found this puzzling until he remembered that he had not actually eaten much yet that day, or, for that matter, the night before. He decided that the common room would be as good a place as any to continue this contemplation, and perhaps with a full stomach the answer would present itself.

  He refocused on his body, still performing the Ada Chae in his bedroom, and pulled himself back to reality.

  The comm
on room bustled, especially considering it was that odd time between lunch and dinner. Yarrow took a seat in the corner.

  A sweet-faced girl in a snowy white apron came to take his order.

  “The beef stew and an ale,” Yarrow said. He smiled, but the girl was too embarrassed to meet his eye. She curtsied and hustled away, returning with commendable speed bearing a cold mug and a loaf of bread. Yarrow thanked her and took a deep draught, letting the murmur of chatting patrons wash over him.

  His thoughts swirled in pointless circles, like a dog chasing its own tail. He had felt wretched for Ko-Jin, pleased for Arlow, and disappointed for Dedrre. But these emotions, in and of themselves, could not possibly be love, could they? No, he had felt all three for other people and not been any the wiser of their emotional state. It must be something else…something more.

  The serving girl interrupted his introspection with a platter of piping stew. She blushed scarlet and asked the grain in the table if it would be needing anything else.

  “No, that’s all, thank you,” Yarrow answered on the table’s behalf.

  He watched the girl as she scurried off to the other side of the room. She seemed embarrassed—perhaps because he was a Chisanta, or because he was a man. Maybe she thought him intimidating…or handsome? She ran drinks to a group of well-dressed women. Yarrow focused all of his attention on her, trying to empathize. How unpleasant it must be to work such a post, having to serve the wealthy set. He could only imagine the attitude they offered their waitstaff. But these reflections were to no effect. He didn’t know anything about her, not her fears or hopes—Spirits, not even her name.

  He frowned, and retracted his gaze. She wasn’t his target anyway.

  With a mouthful of stew, he focused his mind on Vendra—on the fear that she might now be experiencing. She was in trouble, he knew it deep down. He refused to think that she might be dead. No, certainly not dead.

  He summoned the full force of his mind, generating a blazing concern for her. He feared, pitied, worried, and lamented with such intensity, he thought his nose might bleed from the effort. But it was to no effect—Vendra’s feelings remained as uncertain as ever.

  “Yarrow,” Peer’s voice broke in. “What’re you doing, mate?”

  Based on the amusement in Peer’s voice, Yarrow suspected he’d been making a strange expression.

  “Oh, just trying to be more loving,” Yarrow said. He looked up to find not only Peer, but Adearre as well. They took seats at the table with him.

  “Not going to finish that?” Peer took Yarrow’s plate and began to eat the lukewarm remainders without permission.

  “So, what happened?” Yarrow asked.

  “The telegram was from Easterly Point.” Adearre slid his chair in closer. “We finished going through the last of the newspapers. The map shows a dramatic cluster in Eastern Daland, which leads Bray to believe our anonymous tip is sound.”

  “Where is she now?” Yarrow looked over Adearre’s shoulder to the entrance.

  “She wanted to question someone or other. I didn’t pay much mind,” Peer said, scraping the plate with the side of Yarrow’s fork to get at the last of the gravy. He motioned the serving girl to bring two more plates and mugs of ale.

  “How fares your quest to love?” Adearre asked.

  Yarrow’s shoulders slumped. “Not great.”

  “I think I can help,” Adearre said.

  Peer snorted. “What qualifies you?”

  Adearre feigned indignity. “I happen to be a very loving person.”

  “And what am I?” Peer asked, as he took a swig of Yarrow’s ale. “Some unfeeling lout?”

  Adearre offered Peer a closed-lipped smile and leaned back in his chair. “By all means,” he said with an inviting gesture, “teach us.”

  Yarrow laughed as Peer sat up straight and assumed his most teacherly expression.

  “Well, Yarrow—” he paused, leaned back to allow the serving girl room to deposit two more stews on the table. “The thing about love is this: it’s selfless. All love is one-sided—it might, you know, be one-sided on two sides, but on your part love is all giving and no taking.”

  “What a bleak take on the matter,” Adearre said.

  Peer took a great bite and wiped his mouth. “Nah, to love and receive nothing in return is noble. But what I mean, for your little project, is to remember that you don’t need to like the person. Them being likable is what they give you, not what you give them.”

  Yarrow nodded thoughtfully. Yes, that made sense. Half the time he didn’t much like Arlow, but he never ceased to love him. “But how am I supposed to feel empathy for a person without knowing what to feel empathetic about?”

  “You are still thinking about it wrongly,” Adearre said, “and Peer, actually, has a point.” Peer gave a flamboyant bow, as if he were a trapeze artist who had just performed a difficult stunt. “It isn’t about them, their characteristics, or their lives. It has to do with your ability to see their value.”

  Yarrow offered them a sour look. From the way they were talking, it was as if they thought him utterly uncaring.

  “Let’s practice on Peer,” Adearre said.

  Peer turned toward Yarrow and batted his eyelashes. “Alright, but this better not get weird.”

  Yarrow flushed, but he shifted to better face Peer and waited for the next step.

  “What’s going on?” Bray asked. Yarrow jumped in his seat. He hadn’t noticed her enter. She pulled up a chair, sat, and took a swig from Adearre’s mug.

  “Yarrow’s falling in love with me.” Peer winked.

  Yarrow sighed—why must he be saddled with such an awkward gift?

  Bray laughed. “By all means, proceed.”

  “Now, Peer here has many fine qualities,” Adearre pointed to his friend, “charming, intelligent—”

  —“Dashingly handsome,” Peer said—

  —“Noxiously arrogant,” Bray added—

  —“But none of that matters, not as far as you are concerned. It is like I told you the other day, you need to look with tender eyes—see a person, and know that they matter immensely to others. That they were born to a mother, that they have friends who care, that they love others themselves. Out from Peer stretches an entire network of connections. He is loved by many, and he loves many. If he were to not exist, just imagine all of those severed strands in the web. Know that Peer matters, that he has value, and feel the immense gratitude that he lives, the gratitude that you know others must feel.”

  As Adearre said this, Yarrow heard a burst of feeling from the place in his mind that Bray occupied. When Adearre had asked Yarrow to imagine that Peer no longer existed, Bray had experienced a sharp, deep, wrenching pang. As if she, too, had imagined it, and because Peer was a dear friend, it had been unbearable. Then a surge of affection filled her. Her eyes were on Peer, and Yarrow could see the tenderness in them. It was not a romantic love, but it was intense and deep; it was warm, soft, glowing.

  And it was this, overlapping with Adearre’s words, which triggered the change in Yarrow. He saw, for the first time, the real nature of love—the face below the mask of friendship, family, and passion. It was an impossible thing to adequately describe. It was universal. It was the acknowledgement that the beating heart in every human chest holds a multitude of feelings, and is therefore so much more valuable than a mere organ.

  And suddenly, it was as though the network that Adearre described blazed into existence. Yarrow felt Peer; his mixture of self-doubt and happiness. He felt Adearre, whose emotions were indescribably tender.

  But it did not stop there—he knew that the serving girl was flustered, that the stranger sitting by the window was envious, that the man behind the bar was distraught. He knew the feelings of Britt back at the Cape, of the man who ran the butcher shop in Glans Heath, of the constable of Greystone.

  As if a thousand stars suddenly burst into existence in his mind, Yarrow became aware of everyone he knew, even people he had only seen in passi
ng. He thought his mind would explode, he was so utterly overwhelmed by the magnitude of this new understanding, this mental invasion.

  He called out—called out with a thousand pains that were not his, and a thousand joys he did not feel.

  “Yarrow?” Bray’s voice broke through, concerned, before he felt the chair slip out from under him. The world, and its innumerable beating, feeling hearts, blinked into darkness.

  “I think he’s coming to,” Peer said.

  Relief surged through Bray as she saw Yarrow’s eyelids flutter and open.

  Adearre and Peer had carried him up to his bed and he had remained unconscious, though he jerked and sweated as if having a terrible fever dream. It had been nearly two hours since he collapsed in the common room, and Bray had begun to panic.

  “Yarrow?” she asked, trying to keep her voice soft and soothing.

  Yarrow’s eyes searched and found her own, and she gave a second sigh when she found them calm and sane. He reached up and massaged his head with his fingers and let out a small moan of pain.

  “The doctor is downstairs,” Adearre said. “I will get him.”

  “What happened?” Bray asked.

  Yarrow pulled himself up into a sitting position, three small creases still prominent between his brows.

  “It worked,” Yarrow said, his voice hoarse.

  “Are you saying you love me so much you had a fit?” Peer said. “That’s sweet, but—”

  “Not just you.” Yarrow took a sip of water from the glass at his bedside. “Everyone—everyone I’ve ever met. All at once.”

  Bray shivered. That sounded horrible. She marveled at his retained sanity.

  “And now?” Bray asked.

  “They’re all still there, but I’ve sorted it out. Silenced them—I’ll have to work harder to keep my mind to myself from now on.”

  “So what about Vendra?” Peer asked.

  Yarrow closed his eyes for a long moment. Bray imagined him sifting through some kind of file cabinet in his mind, searching for the V’s.

  “She’s…” Yarrow’s face hardened. “She isn’t afraid or in trouble. She’s kind of…jubilant. Her emotions are so harsh…”