Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) (29 page)

Ko-Jin, as it turned out, was not only gifted physically. He had traveled around Trinitas studying every known fighting technique. He had a mastery of every major weapon in the kingdoms, and he was well-studied in military history and battle tactics. He was the most lethal person Bray had ever seen or heard of, which puzzled her. Shouldn’t he be Chiona?
 

“I’m sorry,” the serving girl said, as she attempted to sop up the spilt tea.
 

“It’s no matter.”

The girl’s eyes continually darted upwards through her lashes at the three shirtless men. They were, all of them, rather easy on the eyes. But Ko-Jin was something else altogether. Bray wished he would put his shirt back on…

She felt something brush against her leg and started, but when she looked down saw it was only a cat. “You’ll receive no love from me, beast,” she told the wide-eyed creature, as it tried to rub up against her boot. “Off with you.”

Yarrow, beside her, had declined the sparring lessons, saying he had important research to conduct. She suspected, in truth, he had no interest in fighting. She had rejected the offer for a different reason. She did not trust herself to remain calm and clear-headed while being schooled by a Cosanta.
 

Yarrow poured over a massive tome—the transcripts of the Fifth. She marveled at his ability to focus so intently on his reading. He hadn’t stirred or looked up once, even despite all of the commotion their companions were making.
 

Almost as she thought this, he looked up at her. “Can I ask you something?”
 

She gestured for him to proceed.
 

“Are you familiar with the mathematical principle of tertiary equivalence?”

This was so far from what Bray expected him to say that she laughed. “No. I can’t say that I am.”

“Well, it’s the notion that if one thing is equivalent to a second thing, and a third thing is also equivalent to that second thing, then the first and third things must also be equivalent.”

“What are you getting at?” Bray asked. “I’ve no interest in mathematics.”
 

“I was thinking of the nature of Chiona and Cosanta—and of the
Aeght a Seve
. We both go to the same place, but we get there through different doors. And if the
Ada Chae
leads to the
Aeght a Seve
and the
Tearre
leads to the
Aeght a Seve
, then it stands to reason that they must be fundamentally the same.”

“They aren’t the same at all, Yarrow,” Bray said. “You know that.”

“Not in their practice, but in their nature. I don’t see why I could not enter the
Aeght a Seve
through the
Tearre
and you through the
Ada Chae
. You see?”

“It seems…unlikely,” Bray said, thoughtful. Her eyes were on Ko-Jin—he was demonstrating the most effective ways to render a man unconscious. She thought it awfully trusting of him to dispense such a weapon to an enemy. “What would be the point of the separation of the marked if there was no real difference between us?”
 

“Just because one is innate does not prove the other impossible.” His gray eyes gleamed with such earnest enthusiasm she found it difficult not to agree, ridiculous though his theory was.

“What would be the point?” she asked.

“To better understand ourselves, our nature, and how we fundamentally differ and align. What would be the point in
not
studying such a thing?”

Bray did not like where this conversation was going. “So you want me to teach you the
Tearre
?”

“Yes. And I’d like to teach you the
Ada Chae
.”

She snorted derisively. “Absolutely not.” Spirits, how she would be mocked—there would be endless jabs about her putting on dancing shoes, turning soft, growing a braid…
 

“Why?”
 

“I’m no ballerina,” she said, “and the
Tearre
is not for the weak of heart.” She expected him to be insulted, but there was a patient stubbornness in his expression. He would not let this go so easily.
 

“You see, it is that kind of lack of understanding that engenders such unfounded—”

She set her tea cup down with a forceful clink. “No lectures, please.”
 

“You
did
say you wanted to work on trust, and I truly believe this kind of sharing would help.”

She exhaled dramatically. “I don’t recall saying that at all. You must be misremembering.”
 

He crossed his arms. “Come. What’s the worst possible outcome? I am wrong about the
Aeght a Seve
, but you strengthen your defensive skills.”

This made her pause. Yarrow himself was a self-professed non-fighter, who appeared to spend far more time honing his mind than his body, yet in combat he was bloody hard to hit. That would certainly be a useful skill to learn…

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

He nodded, and turned back to his book.
 

“Now, may I ask a question?” she asked.

He placed a bookmark in the seam, closed the volume, and turned to give her his full attention. “Certainly.”

“Even if it’s a bit rude?”
 

His eyes twinkled. “Especially if it’s a bit rude.”

Bray ran a hand along the bristling hair on her head. “What is your gift?”

This must not have been what he expected—he looked startled, then embarrassed. It was considered the height of indelicacy to ask of someone’s gift, since they so frequently revealed what had once been a fault.

“I know it is not something one asks,” Bray said, “but it would really help me to trust you if I knew.”

Yarrow frowned. “I wasn’t hiding it. It hasn’t come up because it isn’t useful.”

Bray waited for him to continue.

His cheeks grew pink. “I know how people are feeling, their emotions—”

Bray cut him off. “Are you kidding? That is incredibly useful, especially in an investigation!” Though this excitement was closely followed by a minor panic—he knew how
she
felt?
 

“No, you don’t understand. I only know how some people feel, and I know it no matter where they are. It’s like having a little ball of someone else’s emotions in the back of your head.”

“Like who?” Bray asked. It seemed a strange gift that would pick and choose its targets.

“Like my parents and siblings.”

“Oh,” Bray said, “Only family? I suppose that is a bit useless.”

“Well, no. Not just family. It’s only people I…”

“Love?” Bray offered.

“Yes.”

Silence settled between them while Bray considered this. She thought of what Adearre had said about Yarrow appearing to react to unseen stimuli. This would certainly explain that. She wondered who all he had bouncing around in his head. Any women?
 

“But it holds for all kinds of love?” Bray asked. “Like friendship?”

“Yes.” He ran a finger along the grain in the table idly, not looking at her.

“You know how Ko-Jin feels?”

Yarrow’s eyes flitted up to his shirtless friend, who had wrangled Adearre into an uncomfortable-looking position. Peer watched them, scowling.

“Very pleased with himself…and focused.”

“Hm…”
 

“What?” Yarrow asked.

“Perhaps it’s not as useless as you think. What does it take to love a person, really? To see the best in them? To care about their well-being? It seems to me, that if you could train yourself to love everyone it could be a very practical gift indeed.”

Yarrow’s brow furrowed. “I doubt I could trick it.”

“No, not a trick,” Bray said. “You would have to really love them.”

“That is an interesting theory,” Yarrow said. He stared off, pensive, his eyes following the progress of a lulling firefly. It was full dark and the small town around them stood still and quiet.
 

Ko-Jin, Peer, and Adearre bounded up from the gardens to the terrace with newly donned shirts, bringing the distinct aroma of sweat with them. Peer took the seat next to Bray on the small bench and stretched his arm along the rail behind her neck.

Bray wrinkled her nose. “Spirits, you stink, Peer!”

He placed his hand around her shoulder, as if affectionately, then pulled her bodily into his sweaty chest. “What, don’t you like how I smell?” He laughed.

Bray laughed too, and punched him in the ribs until he released her.
 

She sat up, red-faced and smiling. “You ass,” she said, smacking his shoulder.
 

“If you lovers are done.” Adearre stood and stretched. “I think we’d better be off to sleep.”
 

As they rose to depart Bray caught the fleeting, questioning look on Yarrow’s face that darted between herself and Peer.
Damn
.

Peer, Adearre, and Yarrow went into the inn, but Ko-Jin lingered. She rose and inclined her head to him in farewell.
 

“Yarrow told me what you can do,” Ko-Jin halted her. “Your gift.”

She turned back to him, a crease forming in her forehead. “So?”

“You didn’t use it against me when we sparred. Surely, with that ability, you could have beaten me handily.”

She shrugged. “It gives me an unfair advantage.”

“So does my gift,” he said. “It was honorable of you to hold back, especially as you were losing. I don’t know that I could have done that.”

She smiled, but felt a pang of guilt at accepting this praise. She had hidden her gift more out of suspicion than honor.
 

Again, she tried to reenter the inn. He jogged up to block her path. “It’s hard for me to find anyone who poses an actual challenge,” he said, his handsome features serious. “I would be honored if you would spar with me—and not hold back.”

“Truly?” she asked. Peer always accused her of cheating if she phased mid-fight. It would be refreshing to practice her skills at full tilt.

He bowed to her, and this time there was no mockery in the display. Then he smiled, revealing a wide, perfect slice of teeth.

She couldn’t bring herself to reject such flattery. “Alright,” she agreed.
 

The two of them spent an additional hour in the yard, fighting hand to hand. It was blissful—she would phase, rather than dodge his blows. She’d pass through him like a ghost, deal swift but softened punches to his kidney. At first, he could not touch her, and it seemed to delight him. By the end of the hour, however, he began to adapt to her style and advantages, and though she still could best him, they became more equally matched.

When she finally climbed into bed, exhausted but pleased, she thought that she rather liked Ko-Jin. He wasn’t so different from her, really. And his presence was simple. She never felt the need to analyze his every word. His company did not make her insides squirm. With a small smile on her lips, she slipped into oblivion.
 

By late afternoon the next day, Yarrow found himself driving the carriage with Adearre. The Adourran had volunteered to take a turn, and when Peer had rejected the offer due to Adearre’s wounded shoulder, Yarrow had offered to sit up front as well. He’d meant it kindly, but Peer had looked distinctly displeased by the arrangement.

Still a day south of the capital, the topography had grown marshy, an infinite stretch of small pools of water. The sky overhead blazed a dazzling, unbroken blue.

“So you want me to…do what, precisely?” Adearre asked.

Yarrow sighed, the conversation having taken an uncomfortable turn.
 

“It was Bray’s idea. I know the feelings of the people I love. She suggested I work on learning to love people, you know, to…”

“Use their feelings against them?” Adearre said, nodding. “Sounds remarkably loving.”

Yarrow glowered. “Very well, forget it.”
 

“No. I am trying to help, so listen. You Dalish are so strange about love. In Adourra we do not think the same way. There are many shades of love, it wears many faces, has many natures, but in its essence it is always the same. You have asked me to tell you about my good points because you assume that your ability to love is reliant on the quality of the object. It is not. Love has nothing to do with the object—thank goodness, as we, none of us, really deserve it. To love is a skill—it is to see with tender eyes. To render that which you see dear, not because of its inherent value, but because of your appreciation of it.”

Yarrow’s brow creased. “I fail to see the difference.”

Adearre locked intense golden eyes on him. “That is because your eyes are clouded. You need to find the right lens through which to see. You need to find your loving eyes. When you’ve got them rightly fastened in your head, you will understand.”

“But what you suggest means that all people are equally lovable, which can’t be true.”

“Of course it is true.”

“But what about natural affinities, what about the indescribable connection that exists between two people?”

“What you speak of is something else. It is another layer. Our relationships cannot be so easily summed up by just one thing. To love someone is to see them as valuable, to appreciate them, see their worth, hope the best for them. What you describe does not exist because the person is more lovable, but merely because they have more chemistry with yourself. It is a second thing. And then, of course, there is the third thing,” Adearre shot him a sly look, “of which I am sure you are familiar.”