Free The Griever's Mark (The Griever's Mark series Book 1) by Katherine Hurley Page A

keeps her sword neutral. She is conflicted. Maybe I can use that.
    Arcon Aronos tries to step around Logan, but Logan blocks him. Aron shouts, tries to shoulder past. Logan grabs him, and the lantern swings crazily.
    Other Earthmakers, perhaps a dozen of them standing back from the conflict, stir uncertainly.
    I take a shuddering breath. I cannot run from here. There is only one escape. I breathe deeply, feel for my mooring, feel for the Drift. There! It feels wrong—sluggish, far away—but it’s there. I try to slide into it, to will myself deep into its far off energies, but nothing happens. I am frozen, shocked.
    A blast of air knocks me loose. The Drift vanishes. I slam into a body behind me and hear a surprised cry. A sharp pain slices my back. My knee bangs painfully against stone. My elbow lands on something soft.
    The young Warden and I untangle ourselves. Her sword, which slid across my back, scrapes against the stone floor as she scrambles away from me. I stagger to my feet and look to the real threat.
    The Arcon’s lantern is rolling across the floor, its light extinguished, its glass face broken. The Arcon, face red with anger, grabs the front of Logan’s shirt.
    “Stop!” commands a smooth, melodious voice.
    A woman flows into the hall, her light ivory robes tied with a silken coral sash. Her neck is long and slender, and blonde hair curls down her back.
    “Mother!” shout Logan and the Arcon at once.
    Understanding clicks. They are brothers. Primo Loganos. Brother to the Arcon.
    Their mother glides over to them, moving quickly without seeming to hurry. Like water.
    She lays a light hand on the Arcon’s arm, and he lets go of Logan’s shirt.
    She looks from one son to the other. “What is going on?” When Logan, favoring his right leg, steps back from his brother, she cries, “Loganos! What happened to you? Aronos?” Her voice is a warning. An accusation.
    “I didn’t do that!” Aronos exclaims. “He came in that way. With her!” He points at me. “She’s a Drifter, Mother, and a servant of the Unnamed !”
    Along the wall, the hovering Earthmakers mutter. One steps forward, a man in loose night clothes.
    “Prima Gaiana?” he directs at Logan’s mother.
    Prima. Logan’s mother.
    Primo Loganos.
    “Polemarc Clitus, please help Korinna.”
    Polemarc Clitus. I know that name. And that title. Commander of the Wardens.
    No.
    Oh no.
    “Mother!” Logan exclaims, but I don’t hear the ensuing argument. I have more immediate problems.
    Polemarc Clitus, who is short and thick for an Earthmaker, strides toward me. He is frowning, determined. Even in night clothes, with loose pants and his tunic hanging halfway to his knees, he looks dangerous. I edge away.
    “Be easy, Drifter.”
    I step back again. I know I can’t escape, but I can’t just let him take me. Better to die fighting than to sit in a cell and wait for a headman’s axe.
    “Clitus! Clitus!”
    Logan jogs—limps—toward us.
    Clitus pauses. “The Prima has spoken, Loganos.”
    “I know. Just—wait. Let me help.” Logan’s eyes, swirling with color, are pleading.
    Clitus’s jaw tightens, but when no counter-command comes from the Arcon, he nods, and Logan brushes past him. Approaching me. I back away again. He is helping them. He is turning on me. Of course he is , sneers a voice deep inside me. What did you expect?
    Logan raises a hand as though to calm a frightened animal. “Astarti. Let them take you. You cannot fight them. We will figure this out.”
    “You’re the Arcon’s brother,” I accuse him. I know he had no reason to tell me, that his part was well-played, but I still feel tricked, a little betrayed. He is a prince of Avydos. He will never help me. He probably never intended to. Once again I think: Straton is right about me, I am stupid. I’ve played right into their hands, given myself to them.
    “You must let Clitus take you.”
    I edge back again, feeling hopelessly for the Drift.
    “You cannot drift