Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) (26 page)

“We could work on that,” Ko-Jin suggested.

“Yes, maybe later.” Yarrow stood back up. “For now, I want to continue cross-referencing. Maybe I’ll find something useful there.”

Yarrow trudged up the stair and retreated into the privacy of his and Ko-Jin’s room. He retrieved several volumes and spread them out, poising a pen and pad for scribbling notes. The frustrations of the day quickly receded as he lost himself in the familiar, methodical process of research.

The light beyond the window dimmed unnoticed by Yarrow as he scanned through page after page of tight script, searching for any reference to ‘fire’ or ‘famine.’ When his eyes finally locked onto a promising passage his heart jumped into his throat. He read the lines several times, memorizing them:

‘He will read these words. He will know the famine when nothing is left but ash, nothing save for the unknown vinous offerings beneath the ground.’

Yarrow paced about the room reciting the words in his head, his pulse quickening. ‘Nothing is left but ash,’ certainly suggested a fire. The word ‘famine,’ he felt confident was in reference to the ‘marked famine,’ the lessening in their numbers. It was possible that it referred to an actual famine, a food shortage, but given two separate passages that linked fires and famines, he highly doubted it.

The part of it that sent a chill down his spine was the start, ‘He will read these words.’ If this fire was in fact the one referenced, that would mean the he—Yarrow Lamhart—was
the
he. The idea of a Fifth—Mirrana Alvanaz to be specific—predicting that he would read her words made his mind spin in circles. Had she, three hundred years ago, seen him at this exact moment? Surely not. To believe himself so important would be egotistical in the extreme. But it would be easy enough to discover the truth. If this fire was the one spoken of in these texts, then it would have ‘nothing left save for the unknown vinous offering beneath the ground.’ In other words, a secret wine cellar.
 

He continued to pace, pounding circles around the floorboards, his thoughts chasing each other with dizzying rapidity around his mind. Now, he would see the crime scene, and nothing Bray Marron could say would dissuade him.

Bray was grateful for the breeze that cooled her flushed cheeks as she walked beside Arns Fielding to the Parron residence. The constable chattered away about local gossip, but she could do no more than nod and make encouraging noises now and again, as her mind was otherwise occupied. She reviewed what had transpired at the inn—specifically Yarrow’s insult about her lack of wisdom, delivered so coolly. She positively hated the man, she decided. What a pity. He had been such a nice boy.

“Just around this corner,” Arns said, placing a hand on her back to guide her to the left. She did not like being touched. She sped up to outpace him and his hand.

The charred husk of the building crouched like a skeleton in the alley. It lacked a roof entirely and many of the walls had collapsed; the bottom level was a heap of charred wood and ash. The smell, like a bonfire, still hung in the air, despite so many days passing since the incident. Bits of white ash floated in the air like snowflakes.

“As you can see,” Arns said. “There isn’t any evidence to speak of.”

Bray had to agree. She had seen burnt-down buildings before—though perhaps they had been extinguished sooner—where there had remained pieces of burnt furniture, charred bits of personal items: teddy bears, shoes, books. But here, there was truly nothing left but the jagged shards of wall asserting themselves from the rubble. She looked to Adearre, wondering if even his keen eyes could discern more.

Adearre cautiously made his way into the building, but he held his hand out, signaling them to remain without.
 

“I’m not so sure it’s safe, Adearre,” Peer said.

Adearre did not respond. He inspected the walls with absorptive interest.
 

“What made you believe this was caused by lightning?” Adearre finally asked.

“Several eyewitnesses came forward; they said they saw it strike,” Arns said. He, too, looked at the remains, as if hoping they would suddenly speak to him, as they clearly had to Adearre.

The Adourran shook his head. “This was arson.”

“What makes you say so?” Bray asked.

Adearre pointed to several points where the wall was entirely burnt out. “You can see, clear as day, multiple points of origin.” Bray did not think this was clear as day, but she nodded all the same. “Not one of those points started at the roof, but on the floor of the second story.” He stepped carefully to the east-facing wall. “You see this pattern in the charring here?” He brushed his fingers against the brick and sniffed the soot.

“Well?” Arns asked.

“Turpentine,” he said confidently. “Turpentine was the accelerant.”

Bray smiled at Adearre. He might occasionally look down at her from his moral high ground, but he sure was good at what he did.
 

For the next hour, Adearre searched the debris for additional clues with the help of Peer. Bray sat Arns down and had him walk her through all of the evidence he had collected.

“Where in the house did you find the bodies once the fire was extinguished?” she asked.

“Well, there wasn’t much left of them or the house by then, but it seemed they were all still abed.”

“And these three men who claimed to have seen lightning—they all came forward four days
after
the fire?” Bray said, paging through the folder.

“Yes.”

“Strange, isn’t it? That they should all wait so long.”

“Yes,” Arns said slowly. “I suppose it is.”
 

“I’d very much like to speak to Breeson Parron,” Bray said.

“I thought that you might.” Arns jotted a note in his diary. “He’s been in a terrible state since the incident, I’m afraid, but I’m sure he’d be more than willing to answer your questions.”

“Could you arrange it?” Bray asked.

“Certainly, would tomorrow suit?”

“No, tonight if you please.”

Arns frowned but nodded. Bray looked up at the sky—the day dimmed rapidly. She hoped her companions had enough light to see by.
 

She waved Arns off and returned to the crime scene. Adearre had just climbed out of the wreckage, Peer at his heels, as she approached.

“Did you find anything more?” she asked.

“We did.” Adearre held out a soot-blackened hand, a gleaming fragment in his palm. Bray took the small, thin object and held it up to the light.

“That is…strange,” she said. “Any theories?”

“Many,” Adearre said. “None with enough evidence to be sound.”

It was clear he would not continue, so Bray led the way back to the inn. With any luck, the Cosanta had retired early and she would not have to face them again that evening.

Yarrow returned to the common room. Ko-Jin sat at the bar, an ale clutched in his hand. Based on the gleam in his eyes, Yarrow guessed it was far from his first.

“You know what I was thinking?” Ko-Jin asked.
Yes, definitely not his first.

“No. What?”

“This whole thing,” he gestured emphatically with his mug, “between the Chiona and the Cosanta…”

“What about it?”
 

“It all comes down to attitude. In that, the Chiona have entirely too much of it.” His beer sloshed onto the counter. “I mean, we were perfectly amiable. You’re a nice bloke. And me? I’m delightful. But nooo…” He took a long gulp. “I bet she wouldn’t even help a handicapped boy up a tree anymore.”

Yarrow was forestalled from asking for further elucidation by the entrance of the Chiona in question. Adearre and Peer’s clothing were well-covered in ash. Bray clutched a folder to her chest. Yarrow checked in on her emotions and found that she no longer felt angry. That, at least, was a relief. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for a second row that night.
 

As she approached, he wondered what to say. He wanted to ask if they’d found anything, but was afraid it would sound like a reproach for not including him, which, of course, it would be.
 

They were all saved the effort by the entrance of a middle-aged, sandy-haired man. Yarrow had never seen such a wretched-looking person. His face sagged, his hair was unkempt, and his bloodshot eyes drooped like a hound dog.
 

“Breeson Parron?” Bray asked.

The doleful man nodded and Bray made introductions. She guided the man to the private dining room; Yarrow and Ko-Jin followed. Bray shot him a look of displeasure, but did not order them to leave. They all took seats.

“You were the last to see the Parron family, is that correct, Mr. Parron?”

The man cleared his throat and said in a hoarse, weary voice, “Aye. I’d been for dinner—it was our family tradition. A big dinner on Da Un Marcu Eve, and, if there was a fourteen-year-old, we’d creep up and check their necks before we went to bed ourselves. Ever since our mother died, Leina, my sister-in-law, has been hosting the event. Well, we had our dinner and sent the kids to bed. We just sat about having a few glasses of wine and chatting until midnight. Then Leina went up to check on Neera—she was fourteen this year, you see—and when she came back down, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. ‘Neera’s marked,’ she says, and we didn’t believe, so me and Klone, my older brother, went up, and sure enough the girl had that big circle printed on her neck, just like all of you. It was a lot to take in. They weren’t over-pleased, because Neera was a great girl. No one wanted to see the back of her. We sat and talked about it for a while, but it was late, past one in the morning, so I set off for home.” Breeson gave a great sigh. “I didn’t find out about the fire until the next morning.”

‘Thank you, Mr. Parron,” Bray said, her voice soft with compassion, “you’ve been very helpful. I have just a few questions for you. Did you see anything odd outside the house when you left?”

Mr. Parron rubbed his hound-dog eyes. “I don’t rightly know the answer to that anymore. I thought I did—I heard a kind of scuffle, like shoes on pavement, you know? And I thought I saw a bit of movement in the alleyway, so I says, ‘Who’s there?’ But no one answers, and I was right tired and my head was so full of Neera’s marking, that I just assumed I had imagined it and I went on home.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Bray said. “Where exactly did you hear the noise come from?”

The man shook his head and ran trembling hands through his thinning hair. “I probably imagined it.”

“Did you think you heard it on the alleyway to the left of the house or to the right?” Bray pressed.

“The left,” Breeson said, with a surprising amount of certainty.
 

Yarrow cleared his throat and Bray shot him a look of warning, which he ignored. “Mr. Parron, did your brother’s home have a wine cellar?”

Breeson’s brow creased. “Nah, that house hasn’t got a cellar. None of the houses round that neighborhood do.”

Peer fixed Yarrow with a suspicious look, but Bray acted as though he hadn’t spoken.

“Were any of the family on any kind of medications?” she asked.

Breeson managed to look mildly taken aback. “No, they were all in good health.”

Bray nodded and patted the man’s hand, which lay flat on the table. “Thank you, again, Mr. Parron, for your time.”

It was a dismissal, but the man did not move. He looked up at Bray with a kind of fierceness. “You’ve been over the site. Do you think it was lightning?”

“We have only just begun the investigation…” Bray evaded.

“Do you think it was lightning?” Mr. Parron repeated, fixing her with an intense, steady gaze.

“No, Mr. Parron,” Bray said at last. “I don’t.”

He nodded. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“I will let you know if we learn anything more, I promise,” Bray said.

Mr. Parron nodded, the animation draining from his face again, and he rose, bowed, and departed.
 

When the door had clicked shut behind him Bray turned to address Yarrow. “Why would you ask about a wine cellar?”

Yarrow half wanted to tell her, to explain what he’d found, what he suspected. But he could not—the hostility in her expression, the utter lack of trust, held his tongue. Besides, if he was wrong, he did not want her to know it. He shrugged. “Why did you ask about medication?”