Free Marked by Jenny Martin Page B

third—Anda lan —and you’ve just insulted a woman, calling her a faithless wife.”
    â€œIf you’re a native of this planet, you’d catch on,” Miyu interjects. “But if you’re an IP, or an occupying soldier, you’d need a lot of patience and a very sharp ear to make an arrest.”
    I picture the IP—Benroyal’s corporate mercenaries—running from boat to boat, chasing false leads. Miyu’s right. The Manjorans are resourceful, and I’m sure Cash—Crowned Biseran Prince, Duke of Manjor—would’ve approved. His brother, firstborn Dak, gets to claim Bisera’s capital, Belaram. But this city was always meant to be his, a clever seat for a second-born son.
    Now I am here to find myself and carry on the work he left behind. Somehow, I have to claim whatever fortune my uncle might have saved for me. If I can, I’ll use everylast credit to take down Benroyal, end the Sixers’ rule, and bring Cash home.
    I look up. Larken and Miyu are talking. I’ve drifted off, and this is no time to lose a second of focus.
    â€œYou must take care,” Larken says. “This city is built on false fronts and misdirection. It’s the Manjoran way, and the city’s survived for over a millennia because of it. It’s still the last great stronghold of Bisera. No invading army or conqueror has ever been able to take this port and hold it. The IP might have a presence here, but they’ve never been able to subdue it.”
    â€œGrace says that you don’t leave your mark on Manjor; it leaves it’s mark on you,” Miyu adds.
    â€œTrue enough,” Larken says. “But if all goes according to plan, you won’t be there long enough to find out. Are you ready?”
    I take a deep breath. “I hope so.”
    Larken puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll watch IP movement and keep track of what’s going on in the city. You and Miyu slip in quietly, and I’ll keep an eye out. Don’t worry. Miyu knows where to go and what to do.”
    Miyu looks at me, straight-faced and calm underneath her mourning mask. “We can do this. The two of us; it’s perfect. They won’t be expecting a couple of scrawny monks.”
    I nod. Pretend I’m prepared, steely-eyed and certain.
    â€œGet in. Get what you came for. Get out.” Larken adds. “Check in often. If you run into trouble, flex or call, and I’ll send an extraction team. And if you don’t check in, you better believe I’m sending one.”
    â€œYou’re putting a whole lot of faith into this plan.”
    After a second or two, Larken laughs, then finally looks back at me. “It’s not the plan I’ve put my faith in. I’ve put it in you, Phee. After all, who better than public enemy number one?”

CHAPTER TEN
    THE RICKETY SHIP-TO-SHORE BRIDGE EXTENDS LIKE A DIRTY needle, injecting Miyu and me into the city like an experimental serum. Soon after we step off, the market day bustle of the dockside street unexpectedly mutates. A procession of black armored rigs turns onto the busy street. A diplomatic motorcade, by the look of it. I spy Bisera’s Evening Star on the flags they’re flying.
    And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. A second later, the hum of the market crowd becomes a riot-shaped roar, and half the people surge, determined to follow the rigs. I stumble back, but Miyu grabs my arm and we’re swept down a footpath in a chaotic tangle of push and shove. Even growing up on the lawless end of Capitoline is no preparation for this.
    We keep moving. The air is a thick, eye-watering cloud of sweat and sea mist and smoke. I cough, taking an elbow to the ribs, and the next breath burns. There are many languages spoken, murmurs and music and shouts, and in the bright howl, I strain to catch a few phrases.
    â€œManjor arrast! Bisera arrast!”
    â€œBerren set an kalangkiver. Set