Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) (30 page)

Yarrow thought about this for a moment. It was not how he had ever considered the matter, but it rang with a kind of truth.

“Where does one find their loving eyes, then?” he asked with a smile, expecting no answer.

“You love Bray Marron?”

This took Yarrow so completely aback he jumped. He turned to Adearre with raised brows and a pink face. “I…”

“Do not lie. I have excellent vision and above-average intelligence,” he said with a smirk. “What I suggest is that you use the eyes through which you see her to look at others.”

Yarrow bit his lip. It was sound advice.

“How did you know?” he asked.

Adearre chuckled. “It is an obvious thing. Evident in your body language, your behavior, the look in your eyes.”

“And that is your gift? Noticing small things?”

Adearre flicked the reins and clicked his tongue. “Noticing and understanding, yes.”

Yarrow nodded, but refrained from asking a follow-up question. Gifts were a personal business.

“You wonder why I have it?” Yarrow shot him a sidelong glance. His perceptiveness was downright eerie.

“When I was young, shortly before I was marked, I knew a boy named Salve.” Adearre’s gaze grew distant, the deep musical timbre of his voice detached. “He was…very important to me. His mother was found smothered by a pillow in her bed. An untrustworthy eyewitness and circumstantial evidence led the constable to believe Salve the culprit. They hung him—hung him despite the fact that I testified he had been with me at the time of the murder.”

“And he was just a boy? That’s terrible,” Yarrow said.
 

“The worst of it came several days after his execution. I was helping Salve’s sister clean their mother’s room, and I found a blonde hair in the bed. No Dalishman had ever set foot in that house, yet there was a blonde hair. If I had only noticed the damn thing earlier… It could have saved my friend’s life.”

Yarrow surveyed the Adourran appraisingly. A mere month before, he would not have believed a Chiona could possess such sensitivity.
 

Another hour passed, during which they spoke of nothing but inconsequential things. The light began to dim and the air chilled.

“And now,” Adearre grabbed the reins from Yarrow and pulled up, “I think it is time to make camp.”

The four black steeds slowed and halted; their other companions exited the carriage.

“Why are we stopping so early in the day?” Ko-Jin asked, looking up at the sun.

“The land gets marshier the closer to Accord you get,” Bray said. “Trust me, you don’t want to camp there.”

Peer, as ever, tended to the horses while the others made camp. They spent rather more time than usual collecting firewood, both because it was scarcer and because otherwise the bugs would be unbearable.

An hour later, they encircled a cheerfully crackling fire, eating provisions and sipping tea. The deep orange clouds on the horizon looked, to Yarrow, like a scene from a painting, especially the way the light reflected in the uncountable pools of water stretching out towards the flat horizon.
 

When they had all finished their meal, Yarrow approached Bray. “Shall we begin our lessons tonight?”
 

“What?” she asked. “I only said I’d think—”

“I made this for you,” Yarrow cut in, handing her a sheaf of paper.

She leaned in to the firelight and studied his offering. “When did you find time to do this?”
 

“Last night.” Yarrow shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. Cosanta have an innate knowledge of the
Ada Chae
, so we don’t ever need a study sheet, but I don’t see any practical reason it can’t be taught this way.” Yarrow pointed. “See, I’ve written in the names of the poses at the bottom. The pictures each show how you should be positioned at the start of the move, and I’ve drawn in arrows to demonstrate which way you will shift.”

Adearre snagged the paper from Bray’s hand and looked it over, his brows raised. “You have a good hand for art, Yarrow.”

“Thank you.” He turned back to Bray. “Anyway, I thought I could teach you the first few moves to start and build on it from there. This is just a reference tool.”

“But… I didn’t even agree…”

“Really? I thought we’d settled that.”

She looked up at him with shrewd eyes, understanding his ploy, but finally let out a beleaguered sigh and stood. She led the way slightly apart from the others, though still within the ring of light.
 

“Very well,” Bray said. “What’s the first step, dance-master?”

Yarrow laughed. “You won’t think it’s a dance for long, I assure you. But you’re ahead of yourself. Before we get to the first step, you need to learn how to stand.”

“I’ve been standing quite well for over two decades, Yarrow,” she said. “Let’s not make this needlessly tedious.”

“As you wish.” Yarrow bowed to her, a smirk on his lips. “Then, form your best stance and let’s see if you can keep your footing.”

Bray spread her feet apart and sunk into her knees. Yarrow could tell, even in the limited light, that her alignment was not ideal.
 

“Raise your forearm. I’ll apply pressure,” Yarrow said. “Simply try to stay grounded.”

Bray set her mouth stubbornly and nodded. Yarrow leaned into her arm with a moderate amount of strength and Bray stumbled backwards. She glared up at him, petulant.
Spirits, are her eyes green.

“It’s because you’re stronger.”

Yarrow smiled and shook his head. “Ko-Jin?” he called over his shoulder. “Care to help me demonstrate?”

“Surely,” Ko-Jin said and bounded towards them eagerly. His mouth was quirked with amusement. He, like Yarrow, took no small amount of pleasure in besting a Chiona physically. They were always so conceited about their superior strength, and so very blind to their weaknesses.

“As we all know, Ko-Jin is much stronger than I am,” Yarrow said. He aligned his body and felt the metaphysical roots sprout from his feet, grounding him. He raised his arm and nodded for Ko-Jin to proceed. Adearre and Peer rose to join them, clearly intrigued.
 

Ko-Jin pushed and Yarrow remained unmoved.
 

“He can’t really be trying,” Peer said.
 

“You’re welcome to try yourself,” Yarrow offered.
 

Peer stepped forward and shoved with all his strength. Yarrow felt the force move through his arm and into his core, where he redirected it down into the ground.
 

Peer’s icy eyes narrowed. “I’ll knock you over.”
 

He backed up to the other side of the fire and charged, running at full speed toward Yarrow’s unmoving form. He looked positively triumphant as he knocked into Yarrow. The expression changed when he found himself flying back through the air, landing in the dirt with such force that he somersaulted before coming to a graceless stop.

“But…” Bray said, awed. “You didn’t move!”

“No,” Yarrow agreed. “I was rooted. I had all the force of the earth—and the harder you hit an immovable object, the harder you are repulsed.”

Peer got to his feet and dusted off his pants and jerkin. He looked accusingly at Ko-Jin. “Why didn’t you teach us this?”

Ko-Jin tried to repress a smug smile and failed. “You said you wanted to learn Adourran fighting techniques, not the fundamentals of the Cosanta.”

By the time they had turned in for the night Yarrow had acquired several new pupils, grudging though they were.

The streets of Accord stood, as ever, utterly gridlocked. Bray was sorely tempted to hop out of the carriage and walk, but the sidewalks were equally packed and the wind without harsh and chilling.
 

The sheer massiveness of the city baffled. When it had reached its physical limits in the form of the Rocky Gulf, it had grown up and in. Almost no free space remained in the entire city, every nook and cranny being occupied with homes, shops, restaurants, and business headquarters. Riding through the roads of Accord was like traveling to many miniature cities—a poor district yielded to a working class district, a working class district to a fashion district. The city was spotted with decay and poverty like a head of old cabbage with maggots. However, there was no space to keep the impoverished suitably separated from the privileged—a single turn could take one from style to destitution.

Her eyes flitted over the ever-present beggars, merchants hawking wares, solemn-faced policemen in crisp blue uniforms, and the handsome face of the Pauper’s King, gazing confidently a hundred times over from the wanted posters plastering the city walls. Bray wondered, inanely, why the artist always drew him smirking. She shrugged and turned from the window.
 

Bray hated this city. She hated the affluent set, who could live so complacently while others suffered under their very noses. She hated the smell and the distrust and the suffocating lack of space. But, being a haven of crime, she could not help traveling to the capital more often than she liked.

Adearre and Peer drove. Within the carriage, Ko-Jin, Yarrow, and Bray sat in comfortable silence. Ko-Jin gazed out the window, but Bray had the feeling his mind was elsewhere. His dark eyes did not linger on anything that passed. Yarrow had his own eyes screwed closed, his brow creased in concentration. He was attempting to split his mind, as she had taught him. He had not yet had any success—she did not expect him to, in all honesty, but she had to admire the way he continued on, undeterred.
 

Out the window, Bray glimpsed the great central clock tower. A landmark which meant they had nearly arrived.
Spirits be good!
 

When she returned her attention to the others within, she found Yarrow’s eyes had opened.

“I nearly had it that time,” he said. “I think…”

“You’ll get it,” Bray assured him, the lie sounding false and high. He seemed not to notice.

“Do you think we’ll see the King?” Ko-Jin asked.

“I doubt it,” Bray said. “I’ve been here many times and have yet to see him.”

“As Chisanta, aren’t we permitted to present ourselves at court?” he asked.

“Yes.” Bray nodded. “I believe, though I’ve never felt terribly inclined to do so.”

Ko-Jin looked at her, mystified. “You
don’t
want to see the King? That’s not very patriotic, Bray.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing him—or his son,” she added with a smile. The prince was reported to be an exceptionally handsome man. “It’s all of the other courtiers I’d rather avoid. I have a low tolerance for horse shit. Besides, I’d have to buy a dress…”

“Well, I’d like to go,” Ko-Jin brushed his braid from his shoulder. “What about you?” he asked his friend.

Yarrow shrugged. “It would be something to see, I suppose.”

Peer stopped the carriage outside their usual inn, The Heavenly Accord. It was a pleasant enough place—its red brick face bearded in ivy, the pathway to the entrance lined with rose bushes. Several well-dressed women sipped tea, visible through the wide, gleaming bay windows.
 

Bray hopped out of the carriage, her soft-soled boots hitting the stone with a muffled thump. She drew stares, as ever, but the nature of the stares in Accord were different. These people were cultured enough to know a Chisanta when they saw one.
 

Stable hands came forward to park their carriage and tend to the horses. Bray led the party up the steps and into the well-polished, sunny foyer. The middle-aged innkeeper, wearing a spotless apron, bowed to them with respect.

“Masters and Mistresses of the Chisanta, welcome,” she said formally.
 

They procured five rooms—in Accord a Chisanta would not be allowed to double-bunk—and a dinner in a private dining room.
 

“Should we make our way to the library?” Yarrow asked.

“Spirits, man!” Peer said. “We’ve only just arrived. The books aren’t going anywhere. I, for one, am going to bathe.”

Bray hadn’t had a proper bath in an age; sinking into a hot tub sounded absolutely divine. “I agree. The library won’t be open much later anyway. We’ll go in the morning.”

Yarrow’s mouth turned down marginally. Bray suspected that, for him alone, a library promised more pleasure than a hot soak.

“Could we have a letter sent to the palace?” Ko-Jin asked the innkeeper.

“Certainly,” the woman said. “I keep a boy on retainer for delivery at all hours.”

“To whom would you be writing?” Adearre asked.

“Arlow.” Ko-Jin grinned at Yarrow. “I’m curious to see how our friend is taking to his new lifestyle.”

Yarrow returned the smile. “Like a fish to water, no doubt.”
 

Bray left them to compose their letter. She would admit herself vaguely curious to see Arlow again, but that prospect held much less interest than the smell of soap and the feel of clean skin.

A serving girl had just dumped the final bucket of steaming water into the brass tub when Bray entered her chamber. The girl curtsied and departed. Bray unlaced her jerkin while she kicked off her boots, unbuttoned her blouse and shimmied out of her leggings. Lastly, she took the two rings she wore about her neck and placed them on the bedside table, then slipped with a grateful sigh into the tub. Perfumed with rose petals, the fumes of the bathwater cleared her head. The heat released tension in her shoulders. She let out a second long sigh and it cast ripples in the surface of the water.