Marked by Jenny Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

should have denounced the assassination; at the very least, he should have offered some token of sympathy. Instead, he fueled the rumors, making it soeasy to pin the lie on us. And my father . . . he couldn’t handle the pressure or the shame. He gave up his title. Locked himself away in his country estate, abandoning my mother and me. After that, we never fit in. Not even when the Skal finally came to its senses and put an end to my grandfather’s madness.”
    â€œYour throne, the one with the scar—”
    â€œThe council guard cut the old man down, right there in the tower. They left his chair, as a reminder.” Bitterly, he smiles. “Forgive me, if I’m not eager to sit there and take his place.”
    â€œLarken, that’s horrible. But they have to know none of it was your fault.”
    A shadow passes over him and for a second, I swear he’s a hundred years older. “They know I’m a madman’s heir, and a coward’s son.”
    The air’s quiet and thick; it’s an effort to suck in a breath. I have no title. I will never sit on a throne or lead a people. But I know what it’s like for Larken, to be abandoned.
    â€œAfter my father left, my mother bargained to hold our place on the council. I took my father’s seat. But we were never really accepted,” Larken adds. “The damage had been done. It was too late.”
    â€œBut you stayed behind,” I let slip. “You could have followed your father and run away.”
    He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. That deep sense of duty—it’s written all over him. For a moment, shoulder to shoulder, we sit in silence. He eyes the shifting flock of barden. “You asked me why we let the barden stay,” he says at last. “But they were here first, and they’ll be here after we’re gone.”
    I sigh. “And that doesn’t bother you, on your own holy ground? The barden stink. They drip all over the place.”
    â€œThey also keep the hill clear of things that slither and crawl. They eat pesky groats and wendel, and even their drip serves a purpose. It kills the weeds and fertilizes the poppies.” He’s too diplomatic to let it show, but there’s a slow-blooming smile on his face. “And if the birds seem to prefer roosting on Parabba’s family crypt, and a little extra falls on his ancestors, who am I to argue?”
    I cough, choking on a bit of laughter.
    Larken straightens, and a little of his reserve returns. He’s the commander again. “They stick together, this flock. Drive them away, scatter them a thousand times, and they will migrate back, drawn to each other. They do not surrender. They do not give up their ground.”
    I’m quiet once more. I close my eyes. My city, Capitoline, is light-years away, but I can almost feel its desert fire in the sun-glazed air. “I’ve done everything but hold my ground, Larken. I abandoned my world, and my people.These past three months, all this time . . . I’ve just been hiding out.”
    â€œYou can call it hiding out, but maybe it’s building strength,” he says. “After my father died, it took a long time to find my way. Sometimes, it takes a while to recover. You have to make the choice to come back from it. Come back a little stronger . . . a little wiser . . . and you can show them what you’re made of. Show them who you really are.”
    I freeze, uncertain.
    â€œOr not,” he adds. “You could just let him define you.”
    My fists begin to curl at my sides, but even as my temper flares, I know that I’m angry with myself, not Larken.
    â€œHow?” I ask. “You’re the military strategist. How do I take my identity back?”
    â€œEngage your enemy,” he says, as if the answer were obvious.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œFirst, you’ve got to choose a