Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) Read Online Free

a single knife strapped to his forearm beneath his robes. It would have to do.
    He shot forward, forcing his weary muscles into a sprint, driving against the current of the crowd.  
    As he ran, he assessed. Twenty men, twelve with sword and eight with crossbow, plus two Chisanta. Average reload time of a minute and twenty-five seconds. Glare from sunset through eastern windows. Slick floors.
    He blocked the path of the nearest guard. “Might I have the use of your sword?”
    The young man let out a loud guffaw, clearly thinking Ko-Jin mad. He swung his blade, aiming to kill, but Ko-Jin danced away and, in a swift motion, sent the lad to the ground, depriving him of his weapon. “Much obliged.”
    The blade was of inferior quality; it felt clumsy in his hand. Still, he darted forward. He met with and dispatched a second guard. Beyond, he could see Arlow and Vendra mounting the dais, closing in on the prince and queen. A desperate powerlessness filled him. He was too far off; there were too many guards. He couldn’t possibly cross that distance in time.
    Then a gloriously welcome sound greeted his ear—a sharp pop —and Yarrow and Bray were there, just beyond the throne.  
    Ko-Jin breathed a sigh of relief and returned his attention to the royal watch. They had begun to organize into a ring around him, no longer approaching one man at a time. Pity.
    All eight crossbows fired, and a female scream pierced the air. I have a minute twenty-five, then .
    Ko-Jin took a steadying breath and rooted himself. His opposition shuffled forward, tightening their trap—six men in total—while Ko-Jin counted down the time. The ticking of his pulse matched his mental timer.
    As ever, he perceived the scene as if he hung above it, watching the circle of men approach like the minute marks on a clock shrinking in upon him. Overhead, he heard the guards turning the hand cranks of the crossbows, reloading. A minute fifteen.
    To kill these men would be a simple task. However, they could be under the sway of Quade Asher, and therefore innocent. He frowned, annoyed—killing was far easier than maiming.
    Ko-Jin evaluated his enemy: the man at twelve o’clock was small and wore a wrist brace. Ten o’clock, while strong, betrayed poor footwork. A minute five . Four o’clock suffered from hesitance. Eight and two o’clock appeared the most ambitious, though tall men like two o’clock tended to leave their legs unprotected. A minute, even.  
      Perversely, his mind flew to an old Dalish nursery rhyme he’d known as a boy—the sort of child’s song that concealed a black meaning behind a catchy tune. His opponents almost seemed to move to the beat.  

    Cannot stand,
    Cannot stand,
    Against the pressing, pressing hand.

    As if they’d reached a designated mark upon the marble floor, Ko-Jin flew into motion. His knife came to his hand and, with a blinding flash, lodged itself in eight o’clock’s boot. The man howled, pinned.
    Ko-Jin leapt towards four o’clock, his sword flashing in a swift slice, severing the tendons that joined shoulder and arm. Ko-Jin caught the guard as he fell and channeled that momentum onward, barreling the body into another guard. Fifty-two seconds .  

    No man wills,
    No man wills,
    To face that face, that face that kills.

    Ko-Jin turned, now outside their ill-thought ring. Two o’clock whipped his blade and Ko-Jin ducked, felt the whiz of the weapon swoop above his back. He knocked the man’s sword from his hand and, with a quick flick of his blade, severed his hamstring. Launching back to his feet, Ko-Jin felled two more men with calculated blows.
    He heard the whirr of a knife in the air and spun, taking his nearest foe with him. The hilt of the short blade bloomed in the guard’s shoulder. Twenty-five seconds .

    Feel the sting,
    Feel the sting,
    You merchant, peasant, beggar, king.  

    It was like a dance, and he alone knew the steps—each movement, each gesture possessing faculty and grace. A poem,