Page 4 of Ash and Roses

He’d never wanted this life. Twenty-six Marked came before him, so he knew the fate he’d share.

Perhaps I should have let him die then, but when you have hundreds of people screaming at you to stop an act of cruelty, how can you stay silent? They don’t know the cost of a Marked. To them, I’m just the princess with the power of mercy. If I’d refused, I may as well have held the whip myself.

I swallow again and raise a trembling finger. “Him.” The word is barely audible on my lips.

“Sacrificing the fittest?” The Commander clicks his tongue as he grabs the man and yanks him from the tent. “Why not put one of the weaker ones out of their misery?”

I shield myself from his words. I may know nothing about the man I’d chosen, but I know that he wants this. Whether he sees it as a way out or if he’s doing it to protect the others, it matters not. He made this choice so I wouldn’t have to.

We follow the Commander to the edge of the woods. I stop a step behind the chosen man, and the other Marked halt just behind me. They could run if they wanted to, but there’s nowhere for them to go. Running would mean starvation. At least with the humiliation this life entails, there’s the promise of food.

I’ve never been this close to the forest before, just mere steps away. Somehow it seems even darker, as if I were staring into the void of a starless night. What cursed creatures lurk just beyond those trees? Very few who enter the woods return. Some villagers who live along the edge of the forest have crossed the line in desperation. Some have even returned with small game like rabbits or ground fowl, but those instances are rare. Not just because of the low survival rate, but because of my father’s temper. Close to half of the Marked were deemed deserters when they ventured into the forest in search of food for their families. They were labeled traitors to Lunae and dragged into the city to be whipped in the streets. Their deaths would not only increase the rations for the remaining people, but also provide a fattening meal for the pigs.

I shudder at the thought. I hate everything about this. The Marked, the desperation of our people, and especially my father’s way of dealing with it. There is so much wrong in the world, but what else can be done? The kingdom along the Jade Coast was long since destroyed by a great wave. There may be civilizations across the mountains, but one would have to pass through the Gods’ domain. The mountains are forbidden to mortals, and it’s said that nothing lives beyond our shores. That land once belonged to the dragons, and all that remains now is bone and ash.

The Commander shoves the chosen man forward, his exposed back gleaming in the moonlight. None of the Marked are permitted to cover their scars—not even the women, though many of them tie a thin strap of cloth over their breasts. A few don’t, and I’ve often wondered if it’s because it acts as a deterrent to unwanted stares. Even men avert their eyes because it’s considered shameful to have relations with a Marked. If that’s why they do it, more power to them. I know what it’s like to have all eyes on me. To compare myself to the Marked is probably unfair. They will always have it worse than I do, but we’re more alike than anyone realizes.

The man keeps his head high and shoulders squared as he begins his march to the forest.Hisfinalmarch.I suddenly become sickeningly aware that I don’t know his name, and that’s wholly unacceptable. This man is sacrificing himself not only for the other Marked, but also for me, so the least I can do is learn his name.

“Wait,” I call after him. He hesitates, but doesn’t turn to me. Perhaps he isn’t as composed as he seems, or, just as likely, he doesn’t know how to react to my command. Save for the customary greeting, I’m not supposed to speak to the Marked, just as they aren’t supposed to speak to me. “Tell me your name.”

A long moment passes where silent air hangs heavy. Who am I to request something from him now? This is my fault. His blood will be on my hands, and there isn’t a person here who isn’t thinking it.

“Merrick,” he says, just before he’s swallowed by the looming darkness between shadowy trees.

* * *

The rest of the evening goes as it always does. Under the Commander’s watchful eye, I parade the Marked around the edge of camp in a wide circle. The Commander walks with us, though all too close for anyone’s liking. We time our pace to the crack of his whip. I asked my father once why we do this, and he said it was a reminder to both the Marked and the people what happens when they step out of line. I think it’s much more than that. This is cruelty for the sake of cruelty, and I think we do it because the Commander enjoys it. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s manipulated my father.

It’s nearly impossible to stop myself from flinching with each crack, and I don’t need to look behind me to know the Marked share the same tendency. The sound likely does more to them than it does to me, but that doesn’t mean I’m unaffected.

I notice Arabella still seated by the fire where I’d left her. Her eyes meet mine for only a fraction of a second before she brushes a lock of pale blond hair behind an ear as an excuse to look away. She really is the embodiment of moonlight, with her pale skin and almost silver hair.

I gaze around the cluster of fires in search of one face in particular. From what I can tell, Jade isn’t with the other Guardians. He’d likely been given his own ragged tent and left to his own devices. He’ll be lucky if someone remembers to offer him a plate of food since he won’t be eating with the Marked tonight.

Despite that, I can’t help the wave of disappointment that washes over me in his absence. This is the first Marching he hasn’t been forced to take part in, and I can’t blame him for wanting to keep his distance. Still, his presence was the only thing that ever made this bearable. No matter where he stood among the Marked when the Marching began, he’d end it only steps behind me. Perhaps it had always been a fantasy. I’m a princess and he’s a Marked—or at least he was. There was never even the faintest breath of a future for us. All we ever had was the Marching on this night, bathed in the light of a poison moon.

I can’t be sure what has my head turning away from the circle of fires and gazing off into the dimness. It might have been movement or the feeling of eyes on me, but whatever it is, I’m grateful because my eyes find Jade. Marching with us—with me—just far enough away to be but a ghost in the night. If anyone cared enough to look past me and the line of Marked, they’d probably miss him altogether. But that doesn’t matter. His part in this now isn’t for them.

I breathe a sigh of relief at seeing him there, back no longer exposed to the moon. The shirt he wears is tattered, but the fact that he has a shirt means everything. He’s a person again. The first Marked, and the first to be freed from that title. With that comes freedom from the law, too. No longer does he have to keep his head down in my presence, nor are his eyes forced to steal only wavering glances in my direction.

No. Tonight, on this Marching, Jade looks at me and I look at him—and soon enough, the repetitive cracking of the whip is replaced by the beating of my own heart.

CHAPTERTHREE

ABBY

Crack.

The man has long since stopped screaming, but still the lashes come.

Crack.

His back is flayed, and his once golden skin has turned wet with scarlet.

Crack.

Very few in the crowd still watch. They were forced to be present for this just as I was, though this is nothing new to them. When they look away, the image will still haunt them.

---