Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2)

by March McCarron

  The palace grounds came into view and the foot traffic slowed. Bray found herself behind two older gentlemen having a conversation seemingly intended to carry. “If it were put to a vote?” one of them was saying. “There would be no question.”

  The other, a short man clutching an expensive cane, bowed. “I’m all agreement. Mr. Asher has been just the tonic this city needed. I read in the Times yesterday that there hasn’t been a single incident of crime since his arrival.”

  Bray’s brow dimpled, if possible her thoughts growing bleaker. She scanned the crowd, but lower this time, searching for the poor of Accord, realizing abruptly that she had seen none the entire time they had been walking the streets—not a single beggar or pickpocket.

  A young man distributing political pamphlets was stationed near the palace gates. “A manifesto on governance! Get your manifesto, here!”

  Yarrow steered them in that direction and accepted a leaflet, tucking the slip of paper in his coat pocket, and then they strode further up the drive.

  The palace rose before them, a great, white, gleaming monument sitting high on a grassy slope.

  Bray veered away from the entrance, wandering along the perimeter. She was careful to maintain a casual pace, but her eyes kept darting to the palace, as if hoping to see Peer through the walls. The grounds were unusually empty. It seemed the only people within were Elevated, walking briskly from one place to another. Her hope that they might slip in amidst civilian tourists dried up.

  When they came around to the backside of the palace, they found a group of ten or so Elevated training. The thwacking of wasters resonated. It was a strange sight, Chisanta training within the royal gardens.

  “What do you think?” Yarrow asked at length.

  Bray heaved a sigh. “Could you teleport us right into the prison?”

  “I’m not really certain how far underground it is. I’d hate to miss the mark.” She shuddered at the thought. “But Jo-Kwan described where the stairway is, I could take us there easily enough. If anyone is nearby they might hear us arrive, though, even if they don’t see us.”

  “There’s little chance we’ll accomplish this unseen, anyway. Let’s just be quick. If we can’t find him, we’ll take one of these kids back with us for questioning.”

  She took hold of his hand, her own fingers icy against his. As ever, her stomach lurched as her surroundings were suddenly stripped away. They reappeared in a shadowy alcove, with white marble floors beneath them. The stairway was at their back, tucked discreetly behind a gleaming suit of armor.

  “Wait,” she whispered, straining to hear. Silence alone greeted her ear; it seemed the atrium was deserted. She smiled. “A bit of luck, at last.”

  They crept soundlessly to the oaken doorway. It was locked, as she expected. Still gripping Yarrow’s hand, she phased and they slid through the thick wood.

  There were no lights, no windows. Blackness clung to her eyes, absolute in its opaqueness. She reached out blindly, searching for a handhold. Eventually her fingertips found the stone wall and she trailed down it to a wooden railing.

  They progressed with almost painful slowness, clutching to each other, inching feet forward to feel for the edge of each step. The further they descended, the more persuaded Bray grew that they had been mistaken.

  There were no guards, no illumination coming from below. The air was thick with dust, frigid and stale as a mausoleum. The dark pressed upon her like a physical thing, a slow suffocation. Still, she had to be wholly certain.

  Yarrow shuddered and yanked his hand from hers. Her heart thumped in her chest. “What is it?”

  “Sorry,” he whispered. She sensed he was still moving, but couldn’t see. “Cobweb.”

  They travelled terribly deep into the earth one blind step at a time. Despite the ever increasing chill, she was sweating. The darkness made the air dense, hard to breathe.

  Something brushed against her arm, and as she jerked, her foot caught on her petticoat and she tumbled forward. The air exploded from her lungs as she somersaulted downward, body connecting painfully with the lip of each stony step along the way. She landed in a stunned heap.

  “Bray!” Yarrow yelled. She could hear him scuffle down the remaining stairs.

  “I’m alright,” she called, once she was able. She’d have some interesting looking bruises, no doubt, but thought embarrassment might be her primary ill. “Just not used to these stupid skirts.”

  Yarrow joined her on the landing, and after a bit of blind searching, they found each other again. “Are you sure you’re unhurt? Sometimes a fall can—”

  “I’m fine,” she said, and when she thought that sounded a bit curt, added, “Really.”

  Bray turned her head, scanning her surroundings. She could make out nothing whatsoever. Her hopes plummeted. Surely if the prison were in use, there would be torchlight.

  Still, to be positive, she cried out, “Peer!”

  “I don’t think he’s here,” Yarrow whispered.

  She ignored him. “Peer! Peer!”

  Her own voice alone bounced back at her, a forlorn echo. Yarrow applied supportive pressure to her shoulder. “Plan B, then?”

  She wanted to weep, she was so frustrated. She’d been sure he would be here, had imagined the whole scenario. His absence filled her with a leaden, strangling dread. What if he’s dead? Please, please don’t be dead, Peer.

  Bray squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, though it didn’t change her perspective—both being equally dark. “Plan B, yes.”

  She rose up gingerly, testing her joints. Her left elbow protested with a twinge, but all else seemed merely battered. A blessing, she supposed.

  “Should we take one of the youths training in the yard?” Yarrow asked.

  Bray shook her head, then remembered he wouldn’t see the motion. “I think we’d be best served snagging someone with administrative responsibilities. Quade is no doubt using the king’s quarters as his own.”

  “No doubt,” Yarrow agreed.

  “He’s liable to have a secretary or something, someone organizing the comings and goings of the Elevated.”

  “I can take us to the far side of the grounds, so we can steal in more quietly. Unless, of course, you’d like to take the stairs again.”

  Bray heard the humor in his voice and could have punched him, if she weren’t afraid of missing in the darkness. “For Spirits’ sake, just get us out of here already.”

  His hand ran down her arm and clasped around her wrist. One moment they were crouched in that black, dank cellar, the next there was sunshine overhead. Bray squinted against the abrupt brightness, but breathed easily once again, even the cold breeze welcome.

  Once Yarrow’s eye’s adjusted, he scrutinized her with raised brows. His finger gently probed at her cheek. She winced at the touch. His searching gaze descended, seeking evidence of further injury.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just a few bruises. Let’s go.”

  She tugged on his sleeve and he followed, walking along the outer wall at the back of the palace. “Did Jo-Kwan say which floor?”

  “He said the throne room and offices are on the first and the royal living quarters are above.”

  Bray put a finger to her lips, then pointed to a window. They crept up to the opening. It was too high for her to see into, but Yarrow, on tiptoes, managed to peek inside. “It’s vacant.”

  “Good.”

  Bray phased and they passed through the wall into an unused meeting room. A large round mahogany table surrounded by padded leather chairs dominated the space. The chairs looked new—however, the table was oddly rough and worn-looking for such a royal office. In fact, there was a large score in the center that appeared to Bray rather like the work of an axe. Above, a chandelier glittered, casting minute patches of gleaming light across the room like speckles.

  “It’s the Accord Table,” Yarrow said, his voice hushed. She shot a glance up to find his eyes gleaming, a small smile on his lips. He relea
sed her hand to run his fingertips along the irregular wood, lovingly. “The treaty that formed Trinitas was signed on this very surface.”

  “How interesting,” Bray said, but she wasn’t really listening. Her eyes had latched onto the far wall of the office, where many hundreds of papers were pinned to a massive bulletin board. She approached, and her frown deepened when she understood what she was seeing.

  Names—all the names, listed alphabetically, of those Chisanta whom Quade had labeled ‘defectors.’ Beneath each, personal information was listed, clearly still in the process of being accumulated, judging by the empty slots and varied handwriting. Bray glided along the wall until she came to the Ms and found her own name.

  Bray Marron (Ch) - At large

  Occupation: Criminal Justice

  Gift: (1) Pass through Solid Objects (✓)

  POB: Mountsend, Daland

  DOB: 31/03/0192 (age 24)

  Family: Parents deceased (coal miner), no siblings; An uncle living: Rance Marron, 224 Rightwing Court, Mountsend

  Bray stared for a long minute, her heart slapping unevenly against her ribs. The mere sight of her uncle’s name on paper, written so boldly in black ink, caused her to break into a sweat. Rage curled in her fists. She made herself look away, swallowing.

  Yarrow had found his own name during her distraction. “Why?” he asked, still gazing at the bit of paper, his jaw tight. “He’s listed my whole family, every single sibling along with their addresses. Why?”

  “He’s collecting weaknesses, I should think,” she said. “What do you think the check marks mean beside the gifts?”

  He tilted his head. “There’s only a check beside my second. Gifts that can be shared with skin-to-skin contact, perhaps?”

  Bray nodded, thinking this a likely answer, as she walked along the wall, taking in all of the names. She was happy to see so many question marks in the place of gifts. Clearly, the Chisanta had been wise to keep that information close to the chest, even amongst brothers and sisters.

  She paused when she caught sight of another dear name.

  Peer Gelson (Ch) - Apprehended (uncooperative)

  Occupation: Criminal Justice (Inspects Conditions of Orphanages / Foster systems)

  Gift: (1) Read in all languages

  POB: ?, Daland

  DOB: 18/11/0191 (age 24 25)

  Family: No known living relatives

  Bray closed her eyes and hung her head for a moment. His birthday…

  The scrape of a key fitting in the doorknob jerked her head to the right. “Down!”

  She and Yarrow scurried under the table—the historically significant table, if Yarrow had the right of it—before the door was thrown open.

  She watched the lower halves of two individuals, a man and a woman by their dress, enter the room. It felt rather ludicrously infantile, to be hiding in such an obvious place, but unless the Elevated had reason to look she expected they should remain undetected.

  “Just write it in,” a female voice said. “Neatly.”

  “Right, right,” a young male voice answered. “I’ve got excellent penmanship, thanks very much.”

  Bray spied a pair of dusty boots crossing to the bulletin board. The lad still wore a heavy overcoat, had a worn valise slung across his back. All reasonable signs that he served a transitive role of some kind—courier? A good candidate to be informed of what the Elevated did beyond the palace.

  “You’re writing all of that down from memory? Don’t you have notes to consult or something?”

  “I got it all right up here,” he said, and though Bray couldn’t see, she suspected he’d tapped his head. Either he was an arrogant fool, or he had a perfect memory—a useful gift, for her purposes.

  She turned to Yarrow, kneeling beside her. He had his head craned at an awkward angle, the table not being tall enough to comfortably accommodate him. She touched his hand to claim his attention and gave a meaningful jerk of the head towards the young man.

  “Him?” Yarrow soundlessly mouthed.

  Bray dipped her head.

  It was the work of an instant—they sprang up from their hiding spot, knocking two chairs over in the process. The two Elevated barely had time to register surprise. Yarrow grabbed the kid by the back of the neck, and then they were gone.

  With a sharp pop, the three of them reappeared on their crag in south Daland. Before them, the rundown cottage piped chimney smoke into the late afternoon sky, feeling strangely like home to Bray.

  The boy struggled against Yarrow’s grip, his feet clearing the grass. His face had turned a violent shade of red beneath a silky crop of white-blonde hair. “What the—where’ve you brought me?” His voice broke, betraying his youth, and he kicked wildly.

  Bray helped Yarrow push the struggling youth up to the cottage. Before they reached it, the door was thrown wide and warm firelight spilled out onto the drive.

  “Brought a souvenir back, I see,” Ko-Jin said.

  The boy swung a punch. Ko-Jin, looking almost bored, grabbed the small fist, twisted it behind the youth’s back, and hauled him into the cottage.

  As soon as Yarrow entered the cottage, his shoulders loosened. He sank down onto the couch, lumpy and malodorous though it was, and watched Ko-Jin tie their captive to a spare kitchen chair.

  “They’ll come for me. You better let me go, or you’ll get it for sure,” the lad bellowed.

  Ko-Jin peeked over his shoulder at Bray, who had meandered to the window facing the backyard. “Run into trouble, did you?”

  “No, not really,” she answered, her gaze directed through the window panes.

  “Oh?” Ko-Jin said, eyeing the bruise blooming high on her cheek.

  She turned to him, and then understood his meaning. A flush crept up her neck. “This,” she waved dismissively. “Just, ah, tripped a bit. It’s nothing.”

  Their captive strained against his bindings, making the chair legs dance. “I’m warning you!”

  “Down stairs,” Yarrow added, meaning to come to her aid. It wasn’t as if she fell on level ground. She trained a sharp look on him, her mouth thinning.

  Ko-Jin nodded solemnly. “Perilous things, stairs.”

  She stuck her tongue out in his direction then pointed her thumb out the window. “What are they doing?”

  Yarrow presumed ‘they’ must be the royal siblings, by their absence.

  The Elevated boy threw his blond head back in frustration, a set of light blue eyes wild. “Blight you! Blight you all! Let me go!”

  “Setting up a little training yard. Figured if we’re going to be here for a while, might as well do something useful. They might need some martial skills in the future.”

  Bray tilted her head to the side. “Are they deliberately painting those target circles so…oblong?”

  “Ah, no. None of us seem capable of painting a proper circle. Yar? Think you could fix it for us? You’re good at that kind of thing.”

  Yarrow was feeling decidedly sleepy. He forced his eyes fully open. “I’d be happy to. Tomorrow.”

  “Quade will kill you all! He will, I ain’t lying. You better let me go!”

  “Should I gag him?” Ko-Jin asked, jerking his head towards their prisoner.

  “No,” Bray said. “I’ve some questions for him first.”

  The lad scowled. “I’m not telling you nothing!”

  Ko-Jin reached for the door. “Alright. I’m going out back then, if you need me.”

  He exited through the back door, leaving Yarrow, Bray, and the Elevated alone. The boy quieted, darting looks between Bray and Yarrow like a cornered prey. Then, all at once, he began to struggle again. The veins stood out in his neck as the chair tipped, tottered for a long comical moment, and fell over. The boy grunted as his arm slammed into the ground, but he glared up at them, still defiant.

  Bray crossed the room and squatted down beside him, a brow quirked at his predicament. “Comfortable?”

  “Blight you,” he spat.

  His light ha
ir had grown long enough to fall in his face, but was too short to be bound. His blue eyes slitted in cat-like suspicion, a pointy chin jutted up obstinately.

  Bray sat down, cross-legged, on the floor before him, not bothering to right his chair. “I thought you and I might have a chat.”

  The lad sealed his lips shut.

  “What’s your name?” Bray asked.

  Yarrow held his breath. He had seen Bray interrogate people, but only witnesses, never anyone she would deem an enemy. He wondered what tactics she would use. Surely she wouldn’t harm the kid—he was young, and hardly responsible for his alliance with Quade.

  “Like I’d tell,” the lad spat.

  “I’d merely like to know what to call you, for the sake of politeness. You may call me Bray.”

  He frowned at her. “I’ll call you whatever I like, lady.”

  She smiled. “You seem like a smart boy, so I’m sure you comprehend why you’re here. I need information.”

  “I’m not telling you nothing, lady. Besides, Quade doesn’t tell me his plans.”

  “I expected as much. I admire loyalty, but, you see, what I need to know isn’t really that important. And you should be aware that your life is contingent on your cooperation.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah right, lady. You’re not gonna kill me.”

  She shook her head, almost sadly. “I’ve killed a lot of people. And some of your friends murdered one of mine, so I wouldn’t test me if I were you.”

  Yarrow knew her to be bluffing, but the kid looked uncertain. His pale face visibly blanched. He assumed a cocky turn of the mouth, but his eyes held fright.

  “I want you to tell me about my other friend, Peer Gelson.”

  The boy snickered. “I ain’t telling you where he is.”

  “You mistake me,” Bray said, her tone calm and even. “I already know where he is. What I want to know is whether or not he is still drugged and how many guards are typically with him.”