Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) (42 page)

22

Peer paced the upper deck of the ship and stared at the skyline, willing their port to emerge from the misty horizon. Storms had greatly delayed them, but once they reached Dalyson it would be a short journey to Accord. If they pressed hard—as they no doubt would—they would arrive in the capitol with a few days to spare.
Spirits willing.

“Blight it, Peer. Could you sit still for two seconds?” Bray said.

He spun, brows raised at her snappish tone. “Sorry.”

She glanced up from her notebook, all of the information she had gathered about Quade. She ran a hand over her face. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just…” she shook herself and made a sound like “blagh,” gazing up at him with weary eyes. She hadn’t slept much since leaving Jedoh, he knew.
 

He sank down beside her and draped his arm along the back of the bench. “Not to worry.”

She reclined against him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “We’re going to make it in time, right?”
 

“Mhmm.”

She yawned. “And everything’s going to be alright?”

“Sunshine and daffodils.”

She snorted, then smacked her lips sleepily. “Liar.”

Her breathing slowed as she fell to sleep. She clutched her notebook to her chest, her feet drawn up on the bench. Peer leaned back with a sigh.
 

The sail of the ship whipped in the wind above them, cordage groaning. The cold sea breeze felt, to him, more bracing than unpleasant. A peaceful moment, likely the last to be had in a while.
 

Peer slipped into the warmth and comfort of memory, thinking of happier days; he imagined brighter futures, impossible things. It was a bad habit he’d developed, but he couldn’t make himself stop. His mind could craft such beautiful lies. One day he would have to cease lingering in fantasies, but not just yet.
 

He detected soft footfalls behind him and turned his head. Su-Hwan approached, her pin-straight hair flowing around her face. She took a seat beside him, but perched on the edge, like a bird prepared to take flight.
 

“It is good she sleeps,” she whispered, with a long look at Bray.

“She’s needing the rest, for sure.”

Su-Hwan licked her lips, dark eyes on the horizon. “I have been thinking…”

“Dangerous pastime,” he said. “Why don’t you sit back, you’re making me nervous like that.”

“Oh,” she said, and scooted back on the bench. She twined her hands in her lap. “I have been wondering what will happen if we succeed, what will happen afterwards.”

“Don’t follow you.”

She swallowed. “I mean, what will happen to the Elevated. I am Cosanta, but I do not feel like Cosanta. My brothers and sisters, we are something else. With no Quade, with no Elevated, what will we be? Nothing. Like pieces crafted for the wrong puzzle.” She shook her head. “We are not like the Chisanta. We were not raised to pursue scholarly interests, or to even make our own choices. How will we fit?”

Peer exhaled with puffed cheeks. “Hadn’t even thought of that, to tell truth.”

“I am used to not fitting, that has always been the case for me. But for the rest of the Elevated, I foresee a crises of identity.”

“You fit just fine with Bray and me, you know. Even Bray likes you, and she doesn’t like a lot of people. Don’t have to, of course, but you’re welcome to stay with us, even after.”
 

She regarded him with eyes that gleamed wetly, her smooth face, even in its expressionlessness, evoking gratitude.
 

Peer cleared his throat and glanced away. “Ah, and as for the rest of ’em, I have a feeling things are going to change. I’ve got this sense that we’re all on the cusp of something, like we’re turnin’ a corner—one of those moments that end up in history books.”

Peer smiled as he spied the shape of the shoreline in the distance—still a good few hours off, but an encouraging sight none the less. Bray would most likely want to be informed of their imminent arrival, but he’d let her sleep a bit longer.
 

“On the cusp of what, I wonder,” Su-Hwan whispered.
 

 
They sat in companionable silence for a while, as the coastline grew sharper through the fog. Deckhands scampered about, preparing for landfall. Peer began mentally to review all that they must do upon disembarking: find a newspaper, eat, figure out transportation to Accord…

Bray jerked awake. “Yarrow?” Her head shot up, disorientation clearing from her features. “Oh.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said.

She shed her sleepiness in an instant, fierce eyes focusing on the approaching dock. “Almost there,” she said under her breath.

Within the hour, they made anchor. Peer exhaled, more at ease as soon as his boots hit the dock—glad that their travel should no longer be dictated by the weather.
 

The port in Dalyson was not large, nor densely packed, yet it felt as though many hundreds of eyes were upon them as soon as they disembarked. Peer couldn’t tell if this was paranoia on his part, or if they were indeed recognized. It set his teeth on edge, the way Quade seemed to be everywhere. The way he sometimes fancied he saw flashes of the man in other people’s eyes.
 

Bray wasn’t bothering with disguise or circumspection. She strode with purpose, notorious face unhidden, seemingly unaware of the crowds around her.

The people of Dalyson parted before her march, scurrying away.
 

A little boy pointed. “Ma, ain’t that the lady from the posters?”

The woman hushed and pulled the boy aside, clearly fearful. Peer grimaced. No doubt, there would be telegrams to Accord within minutes.

Peer reached for Bray’s arm. “Bray, maybe we should—”

“There isn’t time, Peer,” she bit off. There was such uncharacteristic fear in her eyes. “We have to find Yarrow. I’ve got this terrible feeling…”

Peer frowned. They had a strategy, and this was not it. “Quade’ll know we’re coming.”

“Good.”

Peer jogged ahead and made her stop. She set her jaw, but he held up his hand. “You’re worrying about Yarrow, I understand, but don’t forget we’ve got a plan. This can all be over.”

“He already knows we’re coming, Peer. That was the whole point, he wanted to draw us out. Well, mission accomplished. Here we come.”
 

“She is right,” Su-Hwan said. “He will know.” Bray gave a sharp nod of thanks. “He no doubt has Whythe with Yarrow at all times.” She added for Bray’s benefit, “An Elevated who shares the same gift. Quade will believe we are playing into his trap, but we will not.”

Bray bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut.
 

“We’re not even sure Quade’s got Yarrow,” Peer added. “For all we know, Yarrow’s with Ko-Jin. And if we miss this opportunity, there mightn’t be another.”

“Alright,” Bray said at last, through gritted teeth. “I’ll wait to look for him until afterwards.” She puffed out her cheeks. “Sorry, I lost my head. I’m just…”

Peer squeezed her shoulder. “I know. I get it.”

“We should move, I think,” Su-Hwan said.

“Agreed.”

Peer pulled his collar up and they resumed their progress. He supposed it would not much matter if they were seen, as Bray said. Quade was drawing them all to Accord. He must be confident, to put all of his cards on the table in such a way.
 

They’d make him regret it, that confidence.

Arlow pulled his rough coat closer and muttered as he felt wind penetrate a ripped seam in the shoulder. What he wouldn’t give to have his own clothing, to feel silk against his skin, to smell of cologne rather than—his nose wrinkled—body odor. Such luxuries would have to wait, however.

Arlow led the way up a bustling street in downtown Accord, scanning the crowds for familiar faces and finding none. Mae walked quietly at his side.

“Where were you this morning?” he finally asked her, then feared the question sounded too demanding.

She appeared unfazed. “Linton had Poppy Seed brought up for me. Went to the mews for a visit.”

“Spurned for a mule; how cruel is fate.”
 

She laughed through her nose. “Not to worry, Poppy and me are just platonic.”

A smile quivered on the corner of his mouth. Was she implying that
their
relationship was something other than platonic?

“Let’s try here,” he said, pointing.

He stepped up to a small pub with the promising moniker etched into a hanging slab of wood,
The Sloshing Pint
. He searched the occupants: several elderly gentlemen hunched on stools, a barman in a snowy white apron painstakingly shining a stein. Arlow shook his head at Mae and trudged back out onto the street.

They strode further up the road, Mae clutching a tattered shawl tightly around her shoulders, the mist of her breath floating up from her mouth. Arlow surveyed the shops and restaurants, but didn’t pause until he came to another drinking establishment that seemed likely to have gambling,
The Tap House
. Again, he stopped inside just long enough to search the faces within—a party of rowdy young men, university students, he suspected—before exiting.

“Want to tell me what you’re lookin’ for exactly?” Mae asked.

“Elevated letting off steam,” Arlow said. “If we do find some, try not to listen. One of us has to remain clear-headed.”
 

“I heard they tend to frequent Midge’s place. My people been avoiding it lately cause of them.”

“Lead the way, then,” Arlow said.
 

Mae turned at the next corner and directed him to a large, welcoming brick property, the sign proclaiming it
Amidga’s Inn.
As they crossed the road, snowflakes began to swirl down upon them. Arlow decided that, Elevated or no, he’d not be leaving. He had enough gambling funds for a decent night at an inn.

Mae pushed open the front door and the warmth of the fire within wrapped around Arlow like a blanket. Midge’s was one of those rare establishments that simultaneously exuded elegance and comfort, and so appealed to patrons of all kinds.
 

Arlow spied a group of athletic-looking young people seated around a table in the far corner of the inn. One of them—a Chaskuan lad who was none too steady on his feet—stumbled past Arlow on his way to the outhouse, the mark on his neck visible above his collar.
 

Arlow grinned down at Mae. “Jackpot.”
 

She prodded him with her elbow, a smug smile on her lips. “You’re welcome.”
 

They claimed seats at a table not far from the Elevated, but not near enough to be in earshot. When the server came round, Arlow ordered them two plates of the daily special—in his experience, the only way to ensure one’s food was remotely fresh.

“And to drink?” the middle-aged man inquired.
 

“An ale,” Arlow said, thinking hard liquor should wait until
after
the delicacies of playing spy were completed.

“Two of those,” Mae said.
 

Arlow’s eyebrows rose, but she merely shrugged at him. The cultured women of Accord did not drink beer—wine or champagne, but never anything so common as ale.
 

Since leaving the Cosanta Temple, he’d been surrounded by women who were all affect: powdered faces, precisely chosen words and movements, hair and clothes designed to both seduce and demur.
 

Arlow gazed at Mae. He’d been, until that moment, uncertain why he felt such a pull to this woman who did not meet any of his usual standards. But
that
was it—she ordered beer, she hacked her hair off unflatteringly short, she snorted when she laughed. She didn’t care. Odd, that he should find such a quality enticing.

He had a sudden, consuming desire to feel her tongue in his mouth. Heat ran up and down his frame.

“What’s with you?” she asked. “You look like you’re thinking of eatin’ me.”

He winked. “Who says I wasn’t?”

Their drinks arrived, and Mae buried a flushed face in her mug. Arlow forced himself to focus on the task at hand, his attention shifting back to the table where the Elevated drank. There were five of them, all younger than himself, though not by many years. Four men and one woman.
 

“Got a plan?” Mae asked.

“Plans are constricting things.” He stood, and flashed her a smile. “I won’t be gone long.”

With his drink in hand, he crossed the floor as if heading towards the outhouse, then pulled up short with an expression of pleased surprise. “Brothers?” He gave a shallow bow. “Well met.”

They turned to him, at first with hard expressions of distrust. Arlow wondered at it until he recalled the condition of his clothing. He turned, allowing the candlelight to catch the mark on his neck.

“Chisanta or Elevated?” asked a young man with a rectangular face and rather little neck. The question might have sounded a challenge, if it were not uttered with the slurred articulation of the inebriated.
 

“I had understood the two were now the same,” Arlow said. “Though I have been undercover for the past month, and missed many recent events. Would you mind if I joined you a moment?”