MARKS- Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

A new loneliness fills my days. One for Ward when he’s away. I dye and help print the Lyran words, and every minute feels heavy with Ward’s absence. He hasn’t been here in weeks. But I’d beat him to a pulp if he showed up. It’s too dangerous, him leaving the city so often.

Besides, this little cavern and the people in it are the closest thing I’ve had to home since before the war. Liddy stays attached to my hip, and Reid comes with me every time I collect things outside. My little room has stacks and jars full of leaves and walnuts.

Nolan has fully recovered, though he still favors his other leg. Obviously he’s back to normal though, because Blair has been throwing up after every meal and letting out her dresses. The children don’t know yet, but when I guessed her secret, she beamed and asked me to keep quiet.

It thrills me that there’s new life here. And Blair’s baby isn’t the only one. I, too, feel alive, a rebirth of sorts. I’ve dared dream of the future. Of a life outside this cavern, in a place where the King doesn’t rule. Of days full of laughter and hope. Of a small cottage filled with people I get to keep.

Two more days pass when Ward ambles down the tunnel into the main room. I call up every drop of self-control I have to keep from sprinting across the room and tackling him to the ground.

Like I could. Ward is as solid as a wall. Unbreakable, even by me.

Remarkably, I manage to eat lunch and clean up afterward without throwing down my stew and kissing him senseless. He saunters up to me just as the last dish is stowed away in its box.

“I’m going fishing,” he says. “Want to come?”

“Am I expected to fish?”

He grins. “No, just keep me company.”

“I’m an excellent company keeper,” I tell him and follow him out the tunnel.

Sunlight spills over the countryside. The branches of the trees are flush with buds and the sky is blue, the color of spring and promises. Ward leads us downriver, and when we’re out of view from the men standing guard on the bluffs, he takes my hand. His hands are large and calloused from his sword. Mine are dyed a million colors, and way more deadly than his.

Around a bend the river opens into a wide turn. Ward heads to a group of large rocks and I sit while he casts his line into the river. It’s still chilly for spring, but the sun heats up the rock underneath me.

Silence hangs over us like a sky of stars, shimmering and open. My mind no longer explodes with a million words. I don’t string together sentences of threats or invent lies to cover my truths. Now words are just words, and not ammunition.

The sun lulls me into a half slumber, and I’ve almost forgotten Ward is here when he yells.

“Got one!” He pulls in a fish, flopping and wriggling on the line. He unhooks it, then in one clean motion flings the fish at my face.

I throw out my arms and of course, the fish lands right in them. “Ew!” I bat the fish away.

“Don’t lose it!’ Ward lunges for the fish before it flops right off the rock and back into the water.

My hands are coated with slime and dear heavens, they reek. “Why did you do that?”

Ward laughs. “I thought you liked fish.”

“To eat, yes, not to have them flying at my face.”

Ward grins. Surely the boy was made large to contain all his sass. I glare at him and his grin only widens. I think I’ll be the victim of his teasing the rest of my life.

Not that I would mind it. I go and rinse my hands in the river then come and stand beside Ward on the riverbank.

He casts his line into the river again. “I take it fish is not your favorite food, then?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Probably not.”

“What is?”

“The bakery next door to Houghman’s sells cinnamon buns that I absolutely adore.”

He grins. “Cinnamon buns, huh?”

“Tell me your favorites.”

He gazes across the river. “My favorite food is apples, because you can put them in your pocket and take them with you.”

Oh so sensible. “Season?” I ask.

“Spring.”

“Color?”

He catches my eye and smiles. “My favorite color is green.”

“What kind of green?” I tease him, remembering how he egged me on about blue. I look at him, a smile tugging at my face and a retort brewing in my mind in case he answers back with sass.

His mouth drops out of a smile and he tilts his head. “The color of your eyes when you’re smiling.”

His words are like a clap of thunder, so powerful I feel as though my body has been thrust backwards. I snatch my eyes away from him but then back up. Because I have to look at him. I have to. And because impulses are my driving force, I smile broadly before biting my lip and turning away.

I don’t ask any more questions while Ward catches more fish. Instead I watch the afternoon sun toss its light onto the trees and send it skipping across the river’s waves. It pools over Ward’s face, and I study his features as the light dances off them. I could get lost in Ward. He’s all the colors I know. Eyes brown like rich velvet, the golden flecks in his hair the color of ripened wheat or fresh hay. His laugh is orange, bright and bouncy, and his smile is the color of magic.

If hope had a color, it would be the same color as Ward.

When Ward’s basket is full, he takes my hand and we work our way back to the cave. I drop his when the man standing guard at the cave’s entrance comes into view. Ward grabs it as soon as we’re down the tunnel. We’re halfway to the main room when he drops his basket and pushes me against the wall. His lips skim over my cheek and down to my chin, then they move under my jaw and up to my ear. I reach my hand out to his stomach and my fingers tiptoe up his chest.

We kiss in colors. The first one’s always pink, fresh and timid. Then blue like a crisp winter wind, so forceful it nearly knocks you over. The kisses turn green as they grow wider and deeper, then we kiss in purple, fierce and loyal. Kisses that feel like sunbursts are always orange, and the red ones are my favorite - sweet and sure and with the full backing of power, as if a thousand armies were behind each one.

When footsteps patter up the tunnel, Ward pulls away and we walk into the room, our lips swollen and my heart thundering so loud it’s a wonder all eyes in the room don’t turn and look at us as we walk in.

Blair fries up fish for dinner, a welcome diversion from the simple oats and boiled potatoes we’ve had for weeks on end. The fish melts in my mouth like chocolate. Maybe fish is my favorite food. Conversation around our little fire has all but ceased as everyone relishes their dinner.

Suddenly Liddy’s voice pops over the silence. “I saw Ward kiss Gretta on her lips.”

Ward nearly chokes on his fish as my head snaps up. Liddy grins ear to ear, satisfaction and glee dripping from either end of her mouth because she knows a secret. And has now told everyone.

Ward is still coughing when Nolan speaks up. “Don’t give away all of Ward’s secrets, honey.”

Nolan doesn’t even look up as he says it, and the boys snicker. Liddy grins even wider, and the girl is so adorable I can’t be mad. Besides, Blair sends a wink my way, and I realize I’m not the one embarrassed. I glance at Ward but he won’t even look at me. Too embarrassed to have our relationship flaunted in front of his family I suppose.         

The leftover speckles of potato on my plate suddenly become very interesting, and I analyze them while everyone takes their sweet time finishing their meal. Finally, when they’re done, I stand and walk to the dishpan. Ward approaches and I hold out my hand for his plate, not daring to look him in the eyes and see him avoiding me. But instead of handing his dish, he takes my hand and pulls me from the dishes.

He heads to the tunnel and I stumble after him. “Where are we going?”      

Ward halts and presses his lips close to my ear. “Somewhere Liddy can’t find us.”

He spins, my hand still in his, and leads out of the room. Every eye is on us, but Ward doesn’t care.

And neither do I. My eyes are on him, my lips buzzing with anticipation. How did I ever think Ward was mean or cold? He’s nothing but grace and surety, a solid rock I could live my life on. So large he may shatter me, but gentle enough I’d concede to it. Funny that all my life I’ve wanted freedom. And being with one of the King’s guards is the place I feel freest.

####

Ward doesn’t drop my hand when we walk back, my heart full and lips swollen and my hair looking no doubt like a windstorm swept through it. I’m so caught up in stealing glances at him and trying not to grin like an idiot, I don’t notice at first that the main cavern is quiet. Not just quiet. Completely silent.

We come to a halt, both seeming to notice the empty room at the same time. Muffled voices bounce off the walls from somewhere. A scream echoes through one of the tunnels.

Ward rushes down the tunnel to the back entrance. I sprint after him. Oh Saints. Guards? But it can’t be. Everyone clusters around something. I can’t see what, not with everyone huddled around. I spot Blair’s head in front of us a few rows. She’s holding Liddy in her arms. I’m about to call out to her when she uses her hand to cover Liddy’s eyes.

Dread spreads through my veins like ice. Ward pushes through the crowd, and since he hasn’t dropped my hand I’m pulled through the bodies with him. I want to tell him to stop, because whatever this is, it’s not good. And somehow I’m still childish enough to think if I just can’t see it, the bad will go away.

But Ward presses on until we’re standing in front of the source of everyone’s silence.

A body.

A woman, in her thirties maybe. Her blonde hair is pulled back away from her face, the wisps that have fallen out of their bun unable to cover the grey pallor of death that covers her face.

"Who is she?” Ward asks.

Nolan bends over her. “Damon found her in the sewers on his way back from the city.”

Ward crouches next to Nolan. “Someone dumped a body?”

Nolan shakes his head and glances at the throng of people around them before lowering his voice to a whisper. “She was right at the door. As if someone knew Damon would be coming by.”

I study the woman’s lifeless features. Who is she? Who comes home today to a missing wife or mother? My knees hit the cold ground as I kneel beside her. I brush her hair out of her eyes then run my hand over the woman’s arm, as if I can give her one last touch of compassion. The woman’s dress is blue. Blue like November skies when it’s cold and snow is in the air. Blue the color of heartache and sadness.

My fingers skim over her sleeve where it’s pushed up her forearm. I grab the end to pull it down, as though she can feel the chilly spring air and I can make things better for her. A sliver of a marking peeks out from the edge of her sleeve, and I pause. Inch by inch I tug the sleeve up, my throat squeezing out air as I do.

“Oh my word.” I raise my eyes to Ward. “Look.”

I turn the woman’s arm so that Ward can see. Three dark lines crisscross her arm.

Ward looks at me. “Are they real?”

I rub the marks, but I don’t need to. They’re just like the marks I’ve carried on my own left arm all my life. I nod. “She’s Lyran.”

Murmurs break out around us as my words carry through the crowd.

“Ward,” Nolan says. “There aren’t any wounds on her body.”

Knowing begins to settle in my chest. I yank on the woman’s other arm, exposing seven dark lines on that one. And I know - I know - that another Lyran carries a black mark on their arm for killing her. No wound. Her death was written, and so happened, though not through a wound. A heart attack maybe. Or poison. Or simply she gave up her will to live.

A Lyran all used up, and out of words.

Words of truth flow out of my mouth before I even think them. “She was left on purpose,” I say. “As a message.”

Silence falls as soon as my words have time to echo in the still air around us. A dead Lryan left on one of our routes. In the sewers, the same sewers Ward and I took when I first came here. The same one we took just a few weeks ago when he rescued me from Breck for the second time. Sewers we took without checking to make sure someone saw us.

I look from the woman’s marks to mine, then to Ward. “They know we’re here.”