Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) (34 page)

“What do you think?” Arlow asked, as they proceeded into the dining hall after the royalty.

“An impressive looking family,” Yarrow said.

“That they are,” Arlow agreed.

The dining hall was lit by a multitude of chandeliers, their warm light glinting off the gilded walls, gleaming silver centerpieces, and the instruments of the orchestra, which played a tune barely audible above the chatter and scratching of chair legs against the marble floor. Yarrow gazed around at the sheer size and grandeur with a growing sense that he had gotten in over his head. He understood, now, Bray’s reluctance to attend such an event.
 

He and his companions were ushered to a place quite near the head table—Yarrow wondered where he ranked, in the eyes of the gentry—and a troop of liveried servants assisted them into chairs. Yarrow found himself seated between his two brothers of the Cosanta. He exchanged a nervous look with Ko-Jin.

“Any idea what half of these are for?” Yarrow whispered, gesturing to the multitude of shining utensils arranged before him.

Ko-Jin shook his head. “Not a clue. Eight different forks and no chopsticks. How useless.”

The waitstaff delivered the first course with flawless coordination—each bowl set down upon the snowy table cloth simultaneously.
How many servants does the palace employ?

“So, have you made any progress in your investigation?” Arlow asked.

Yarrow took a spoonful of soup before answering. “More than I’d like. There is definitely a trend. We’ve already found fifty-six cases of fires on Da Un Marcu.”

“And you’re certain they’re related?” Arlow challenged. “On a holiday people are bound to be more careless with their candles.”

“What, dozens of them? Think, Arlow. We have shrinking numbers and there just happens to be an upsurge in fire-related deaths on the day of marking? It can’t be coincidence.”

Arlow leaned back, allowing the server to place the second course before him; Yarrow did the same.

Arlow took a delicate sip of wine, his dark eyes thoughtful. “But such a thing—what you’re suggesting—it would have to be an enormous operation. Think of how many people need be involved.”
 

“You’re right.” Yarrow nodded seriously. “What’s more alarming is that they know which houses to burn.”

“It sounds like you’ve got more questions than answers, friend.” Arlow slid a potato into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before he went on. “You should speak to the head constable. I can arrange it—he’s a good chap.”

“Bray is hoping to corner him tonight,” Yarrow said.

“Poor man.”

Bray spent the entirety of dinner straining to locate the high constable, fearing that he was not in attendance, that she had come to this horrid event for nothing. An hour and seemingly a hundred courses later, she located him on the other side of the hall, a handsome man in his forties with a false smile and drastically arched brows.
 

“Bray,” Yarrow called from several seats away. “Arlow’s gone to get the constable for you. They’re mates, it would seem.”

Bray watched, her view intermittently impeded by the shifting crowd, as Arlow approached the constable and bent in close to whisper something in his ear. The constable’s mouth twitched and his eyes shot clear across the room to where she sat. He stood, but continued to speak to Arlow for several minutes. An attractive Adourran woman with a long braid joined them—she leaned forward, her brow furrowed, as the constable said something.
 

“Yarrow?” Bray asked. “Is that a Cosanta?”
 

Yarrow’s gaze followed hers just as the woman turned and the mark upon her neck became visible.

“Yes,” Yarrow said in surprise. “By all the Spirits, that’s Vendra!”

“Who?” Bray asked.

“Oh—the granddaughter of a great friend of mine. I’ve only met her a handful of times. She does drug research and stays abroad most of the year.”

Vendra sat back down and Arlow guided the constable across the room to their table.

“Miss Marron,” the constable said in a charming voice. “How glad I am to see you again. Arlow has just been updating me on your findings. I would be very glad to be of assistance.”

Bray gestured for the constable to sit and he did, pulling his chair in closer to her than was strictly necessary. He smelt strongly of cigars and his eyes, as ever, probed indelicately at her. The examination felt more invasive in a dress, with bare shoulders and accentuated waist.

“We have found, so far, four house fires in Accord—each of them on the Eve of Da Un Marcu and fatal to all in residence.”

“How terrible,” the constable simpered.

“Mr. Abbort—how is it that neither you nor anyone in your department has noticed this terrible trend?”

The constable pulled himself upright in his chair. “My dear girl, in such a large city, I assure you fires are common things. So common, in fact, that we have an entire department we dispatch on such occasions.”

With an effort, Bray reigned in her annoyance at being called ‘girl’ and spoken to like a simpleton. “Are you aware that we have not found fifty marked children on Da Un Marcu in ten years, Mr. Abbort?”
 

“Yes, of course, such an alarming—”

“And you were, I assume, also aware of these fires. Each on Da Un Marcu.”

“Fires occur—”

“I can forgive you for this oversight, my dear Constable. With so many things to occupy your mind, I’m sure it is natural for some issues to slip through the cracks.”

“Yes, I have been very—”

“But, I can only assume, now that this error has been brought to light, that you will make this matter your chief priority. I will require every scrap of information you have on these fires, and any other incidents that led to death on the Eve of Da Un Marcu in the past ten years.”

Mr. Abbort, looking flustered and thoroughly unhappy, nodded. “As ever, Miss Marron, I will be most pleased to offer you my support and assistance.”

“You travel tomorrow, I am told?” Bray asked.

“Yes—to the west.”

“I trust you can find time to have the information I require sent before then?” Bray asked.

The constable stood, his nostrils flaring. “I will have my assistant attend to it. If you will excuse me.” He offered her a jerky bow and hurried away. Bray watched him go with satisfaction.
 

“Ah, Bray Marron,” Arlow said, his dark eyes glittering. “No one could accuse you of having a gentle touch. Don’t you think he would be more helpful if you had been civil?”

“No.”

She turned to Adearre. “Well?”
 

Adearre’s mouth pursed, as if he had a foul taste on his tongue. “That man tells more lies than truths.”

Arlow bristled. “I don’t think it’s fair to judge a man so—”

“Adearre’s a master at detecting lies,” Bray said.

Arlow’s eyes locked on Adearre with alarm; he looked as though he had bit into a particularly sour lemon.

Bray laughed at his expression. “Don’t fret, Arlow. We already knew you were full of—”

“He is not going west,” Adearre cut in. His golden eyes still followed the constable’s progression across the room.

“What?” Arlow asked. “Where is he going then?”
 

Adearre shrugged.

“What else did he lie about?” Bray asked.

“I believe he knew about the fires,” Adearre said. “He would not look you in the eye and his ears turned pink when you asked him directly about them.”
 

Arlow’s mouth hung open while Bray’s thinned with displeasure.
 

“Surely not Mr. Abbort. He comes from a very good family. He gave me tickets to the theater!” Arlow said.

Bray, so caught up in the investigation, had nearly forgotten she was at a ball—until the music silenced and the crowd hushed.
 

The King and Queen descended from the head table and made their way to the dance floor. They turned to face each other, the King’s back perfectly straight and the Queen a picture of poise. The music swelled and they spun into motion, twirling so the Queen’s crimson skirts billowed out around her. After a few moments, the Prince led his sister onto the dance floor as well. They were a handsome pair. Bray’s eyes lingered on the Prince’s broad shoulders. When the music faded and began anew, the dance floor filled with spinning couples.

Peer’s fingers tapped to the tune on the linen. “Pity we don’t know any of the dances.”

“Speak for yourself,” Arlow said. He stood and approached an attractive Adourran woman in a yellow dress. She blushed prettily, accepted his hand, and the two of them joined the many twirling couples. He danced well, Bray thought. She watched them without envy. Her own feet hurt too badly to do more than sit.

Adearre’s foot tapped to the music beside her, but his gaze focused intently on Arlow and his pretty partner, his mouth downturned. Bray was about to ask what was bothering him when she became aware of a person standing just behind her chair. She heard the clearing of a throat.

The Prince of all Trinitas gave her a wide, boyish smile and a deep bow. She stood hastily and curtsied without grace.

“Your Royal Highness,” she said, hoping that was the correct title.

“Jo-Kwan, please,” he said, his voice a rich, deep timbre. “I apologize, I do not make a habit of approaching a woman without an introduction, but as you are Chisanta I thought perhaps such rules might not apply.”

She smiled. “You thought quite right. I am Bray Marron, and very happy to make your acquaintance.”

Bray introduced Peer and Adearre, both of whom received a polite bow from the Prince. She would have introduced Yarrow and Ko-Jin as well, but they were no longer at the table.

“I had hoped I might have the honor of your hand for the next set,” he said.

Color crept into her face at the thought of fumbling about on the dance floor with the future king.
 

He must have misread her emotion. “Unless, of course, you are engaged.”

“No,” she said, “I’m not...it’s just, you see, I don’t know the steps.”

He flashed her a charming, white smile. “Never fear. I am an excellent leader.”

He bowed once more and departed. Bray’s heart beat faster as she sat back down. She glared at the orchestra, willing them to continue this song indefinitely, for when the music faded her public humiliation would begin. She didn’t know how to dance—especially not in such a heavy dress and impractical shoes. Spirits, why had she not left as soon as she’d finished speaking with the constable?

“Lucky girl,” Adearre purred in her ear. Bray glowered at him and crossed her arms. She searched the crowd, wondering where Yarrow had gone, then gulped down the half glass of wine that remained from dinner.
 

The song ended far too quickly. Adearre pattered her shoulder. “Off you go, love.”
 

She rose and made her way towards the dance floor, resigned to the inevitable embarrassment. The Prince stood, waiting for her, at the top of the floor. He held a hand out to her, just like a storybook prince, and she took it. He gazed down at her with dark, friendly eyes until the music swelled again. With his palm resting on her back, hers on his shoulder, and their other hands clasped in a kind of fingerly embrace, Bray reflected that dancing was a rather intimate thing. Even the fact that he was handsome didn’t lessen her discomfort at the closeness. Though, as she glanced up at him, she thought closer proximity did not diminish his good looks. He had an angular chin, a small scar running along the jaw bone. His eyes were a dark brown, but flecked with warmer shades.
 

His fingers shifted against her own, and she couldn’t help but think of a different hand she had held recently, and how much pleasanter it had been.

The heavy material of her dress shook like a great bell against her legs and her stomach fluttered. She stepped on his foot within the first few beats, but he was chivalrous enough not to laugh or scorn.

“You are the Chiona woman who investigates crime, I am told.”

“I am, Your Highness.”
 

“Please, Jo-Kwan. I am sick to death of ‘Your Highnesses,’” he said, guiding her effortlessly through the steps. He had been right, he was a good leader. “I would love to speak to you about your experiences. Why is it that you succeed where the constables do not?”

Her shoe slipped but she managed to cling to it with her toes and only miss a single step of the dance. Again, he politely drew no attention to her blunder.

“Aside from more extensive training, I have the ability to cross borders without regard to jurisdiction.”

The Prince nodded. “That is what I expected. I’ve been urging my father to overhaul our criminal justice system and create something more universal. Your input would be invaluable. Would you mind terribly if we talked shop? I know it is a ball—”

“On the contrary,” Bray said, feeling more at ease. “I would be delighted.”

Prince Jo-Kwan launched into a well-researched and well-considered plan for an overarching justice system, and Bray was so engaged in the conversation that her feet began to move instinctively, the act of dancing itself becoming a nonissue.