The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  The word amalgam struck me like a bolt of lightning. I’d never believed the stories about the amalgam were true, but I found myself wondering—briefly—if maybe I’d been wrong all along.

  “You can’t hornswoggle me!” I said. “Everyone knows there’s no such thing as an amalgam.”

  “Sure there are!” Quill protested, laughing. “Vicious creatures, too. I’ve heard they can do magic. People say their eyes are two different colors, and that they have the power to force anyone to do whatever they want.”

  “I suppose I’ll be sure not to look any of them right in the eye then,” I said wryly. My tone more serious, I asked, “But, Quill...would you consider it? Helping me?” I looked down, nervous. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was control over my own life. And, like you said, you stand to make quite a profit.”

  Quill raised his glass to me. “To profit and freedom, then. Let’s hope Mal can be convinced.”

  I smiled at him, daring, for the first time in a long time, to hope.

  “Take a sip. That’s a carmenere from northern Denor. My da sure does know a good bottle when he sees it. I’m surprised you haven’t done more damage to that cabinet.”

  I sniffed the wine experimentally. It smelled tart, and the alcoholic fumes burned my nose. “Never saw the point of drinking piss to wind up acting a fool and clutching my head come morning.”

  Quill laughed, a deep belly laugh, and swirled the wine in his glass with expert grace. He sipped and sighed contentedly. “The worst thing my da ever did was give me a taste for good wine. Go on. Try it. It tastes like cherries and chocolate and spice.”

  I took a cautious sip, and the flavors exploded in my mouth. I tasted cherries and spices, as he’d said, but no chocolate. “Won’t your father be angry that we’re drinking this?”

  “No, not at all. What’s in this room is his private stock. He’s got a soft heart, my da—thought that if we were going to keep a person locked in these rooms for the whole passage, they should at least have something nice to drink. He always says that good wine’s meant to be drunk and shared.”

  There was a brief tap on the door, and Quill rose. He produced the long brass key that was now familiar to me, slid it into the lock and unlocked the door. The shipboard locks were the old-fashioned kind that required a key to lock and unlock the door from either side. Easy to pick, if you had the right tools. Mal entered, carrying a tray that held three plates covered with silver domes. He smiled at me, and I wondered if he could be convinced to go along with my idea as easily as his brother had been.

  Quill said, “About time. I’m starved. I’m glad you insisted I come. Vi is a delight.”

  “Nice to see you, Mal,” I said, cool as I could manage with so much of my future hanging on the line. “I’ve just been getting to know your brother.”

  Quill’s eyebrows shot up. “There are the manners I’ve heard so much about. I half thought Mal was lying to me!”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Mal said to me, shooting an exasperated look at his brother. “Allow me to apologize for Quill. He does mean well, but his own manners are atrocious. May I set this on the table?”

  I nodded and moved the bottle of wine to make room.

  “I see you’ve already opened the wine, and no idea what our supper will be, eh, brother?” Mal turned to me. “That is, if you don’t mind us having our supper with you. I thought you might like the company.”

  I glanced at Quill and felt that inevitable blush curling up my cheeks again. “Of course not. I’d love it.”

  Quill grinned. “I’d put heavy odds on stewed goat and rice. I heard Da cursing about one of the nannies having gone dry. I’ve opened a carmenere.”

  Mal whipped the covers off two of the plates, and fragrant steam filled my nose. My mouth watered. Flaky golden pastry encircled a thick slice of pink meat. There were root vegetables, gleaming like gems in their glaze, and next to them, a swirl of white fluff that promised to be potato or turnip.

  Quill gasped and let out a low whistle. “Are you being fed like this every day?”

  “It’s the best food I’ve ever had,” I said, tucking my feet up under me. “Though if I keep eating this way, I’ll burst my seams and have to go about in a robe all the time, like some kind of gadabout noblewoman.”

  The twins exchanged a look and burst into gales of laughter. Mal went to the cabinet and retrieved a glass. When he was settled in the empty chair, Quill poured more wine, distributed plates and discarded the tray.

  “We should have been volunteering to take meals with you all along. Da never feeds us this well. This is first-class food,” Quill said.

  Mal grinned wolfishly at his twin. “She’s not half so ferocious as you thought, eh?”

  Quill’s face darkened. “Not to you maybe, but she’s no innocent lamb. She was trying to hop the railing when I came in. Girl has a taste for the ocean.”

  I put my fork down with rather more force than was necessary. “I certainly was not. I saw a pod of whales. I bloody told you that.”

  Mal scrutinized me, and exchanged another of those infuriatingly meaningful looks with Quill. It seemed that these two were another pair that could nearly read each other’s minds. I wondered if my twin and I would have been so obnoxious if she’d lived.

  “I wasn’t!” I insisted. “I only wanted to see if I could catch another glimpse of the baby.”

  The twins snorted, and I forced myself to breathe. If I pretended that I’d known them as long as I’d known Sawny and treated them like they were old friends, perhaps they’d begin to see me that way. But as we ate, I found myself relaxing more and more in Mal and Quill’s company—they were so easy to be with. Where Mal approached every sentence, every gesture with earnest thought and consideration, Quill was sharp-witted and vocal about his deeply seated opinions. Though they were identical twins, they were so very clearly their own men that I would’ve been able to tell them apart after a single sentence, even if not for their different hairstyles.

  After supper, Quill produced a deck of cards and suggested that we play a hand of brag. I forced my expression to impassive. Sawny, Lily, Curlin and I had learned brag when we were bitty little things, and it hadn’t taken long for one of the older temple wards to teach us how to cheat well enough to take a good bit of money off unsuspecting folks in the End who’d had a few too many. The trick was, we’d learned, to make them believe you were just learning the game.

  “I’ve nothing to stake on a game. You could sell everything I packed, and you wouldn’t get more than a few measly coins. Not even enough to buy your sweetheart a poesy,” I said, and paused, doing my best to contain the smile that so often accompanied my lies. “Plus, I don’t know brag.”

  “That’s fine. We can teach you. And Mal will lend you a few tvilling to get you started. Just promise that you’ll pay him back when you make your fortune in Ilor. Shake on it?” Quill offered me his hand, and Mal shot his brother a confused look.

  “I suppose I could try,” I said, pushing reluctance into my words.

  Quill shuffled. By the time he’d dealt, he’d explained the rules of brag fairly thoroughly and set a stack of copper tvilling in front of each of us. “Think you understand the basics, Vi? We can have a practice round, if you’d like.”

  “No point in playing a game without stakes,” I said. “If I win, I’ll pay you back what you lent me, but I get to keep any profit. Sound right?”

  “Sure,” Mal said, laughing. “Do dimmys have beginner’s luck, or is it negated by your bad luck?”

  Quill punched his brother’s arm. “Rude,” he said. “Just rude.”

  I laughed and looked at my cards, then drew from the pile. “Don’t worry, Quill. At least he’s not trying to throw me overboard.”

  “No,” Quill quipped, laying down a set. “You did that yourself.”

  I lost the first few hands on p
urpose as we bantered, getting a feel for how Mal and Quill played.

  “Did you know that there are sixteen places to sit in this room, if you include all the tables?” I asked suddenly.

  Mal blinked at me. “What?”

  “I haven’t had much to occupy my time. A girl can only read for so many hours in a single day.” I drew another card.

  “I could stop by in the afternoons when I finish my duties, if you like,” Mal offered.

  Quill arched an eyebrow at him. My heart beat hard in my chest. They were both so handsome, the thought of it made me blush, and Mal had been so kind to me, had taken time out of his days to bring me little comforts. He was the softer of the two, the more straightforward. And yet somehow, despite all that, I wished it’d been Quill who’d offered to spend his time with me.

  “I’m all in,” I said, dodging Mal’s comment.

  “Are you sure?” Quill asked.

  I nodded. A bell sounded, and the twins both sighed in resignation.

  “It’ll have to be our last hand,” Mal said. “I fold.”

  Quill eyed me, a light in his golden eyes. “I’ll go all in, too. No sense in leaving money on the table.”

  He pushed his tvilling to meet mine in the center of the table and laid his cards down. I screwed up my face, but couldn’t help grinning as I showed them my hand.

  “Looks like I win,” I said, winking at Quill. “I guess dimmys do have beginner’s luck after all.”

  Mal, laughing, started to collect our dishes and glasses and arrange them carefully on the tray he’d brought.

  Quill took a long, betrayed look at his cards before gathering them up. He stood and walked over to the deck door, locking it with a long brass key. Seeing the annoyance on my face, he shrugged apologetically. “You were nearly over the railing when I came in earlier. I’m sorry to lock you in, I am, but Uncle Hamlin would have my head if I let you out there alone after a stunt like that. It’s for your own good.”

  A surge of anger swept over me like a wave. My jaw clenched, my eyes narrowed and I bit my lip to keep a string of curses from spewing out of my mouth. “I see,” I gritted out. I could pick the lock, of course, but I didn’t want to sacrifice a couple of pins for the sake of fresh air. Not if I didn’t have to.

  “Sorry, imp. That’s the way it is,” he said. “By the way, tomorrow’s laundry day. Do you have any that wants doing?”

  I grimaced. “I’d love that. Everything I have is in need of a good cleaning.”

  “All right, then. I’ll come by in the morning to get it.” Quill grinned broadly at me and plucked a book I’d been reading off the end table. He shuddered. “The Pirates of Calavance. That one gave me nightmares for weeks.”

  “I like adventures,” I said. My heart fluttered in my chest as I gathered up my courage. I’d have a better chance of convincing the Whipplestons to help me out of my temple sentence if I could get both of them on my side. “And, Mal, I would like it if you visited in the afternoons. If you have time, of course.”

  He grinned at me and started toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  I smiled, and pulled two leather billfolds from my pocket. “Might not want to leave without these.”

  Quill’s and Mal’s faces contorted with an identical series of emotions—confusion, recognition, anger—before they both erupted in peals of laughter.

  “How did you do that?” Mal asked. “I never even got close to you!”

  “You think that, you need to pay closer attention. I’m not even a half-decent pickpocket. Never had anyone to teach me the trade.”

  Quill guffawed and clapped me on the back. “I’ll pay you a drott if you show me how to do that. For now, though, we need to be off to bed. We’ve an early shift tomorrow.”

  Mal smiled warmly and wished me a good night. Quill held the door for his brother. When Mal had gone through, Quill smiled rakishly at me and saluted. “Pleasant dreams, Vi. I’ll see you soon.”

  When they’d gone, I undressed, turned off the lights and crawled into the big, soft bed. I tried to hold on to every detail of the evening—every taste, every word, every look. I wanted desperately to fix all the luxury of this journey in my mind, for fear that these memories would be the only bright spot in the coming years. But the wine made me sleepy and unfocused. I kept drifting from the bits of conversation that were important—like the man Quill had mentioned so causally, the one who’d married an amalgam—to the patently irrelevant, like the long, straight bridge of Quill’s nose. His slow, warm smile, and the broad expanse of his muscular shoulders.

  I pinched my arm hard. On my way to a short life of hard labor, and here I was, all soft-eyed and swooning over a handsome face and a bit of witty banter. But even as I silently scolded myself, I wondered if he had a sweetheart.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BO

  The funerals were a blur of indigo crepe and sympathy. I followed Claes as he drifted from room to room, neither of us hearing the whispered condolences of our guests or the murmured platitudes of the anchorites. He held tightly to my hand, and I was as unwilling to let go, even for a moment, as he seemed to be. The house overflowed with the nobility of Alskad, including all of the singleborn. Even the Queen had come for the funerary rites. Some faraway part of me was grateful that she was there, grateful for the support of my family, no matter how distantly related.

  The hurt and betrayal I’d felt at Claes’s flippant acceptance of my betrothal to his sister had all but disappeared now, and as I watched him fade before my eyes, I fought desperately to keep from clinging to him, from begging him to hold on to his life for my sake.

  On top of the aching pool of grief and fear was the question of how this had happened. Most people might easily accept that it was an accident, but that felt too simple to me. Too coincidental. It had been only a few days before the explosion that those shots had been fired at the three of us—Claes, Penelope and me—in the park. I found myself wondering if the assassination attempt hadn’t been meant for me at all, but perhaps for Claes or Penelope. Retribution for some wrong they’d committed during their endless rounds of blackmail and political maneuvering.

  I was so preoccupied that I didn’t notice Queen Runa at my side until she placed a light hand on my arm. With an apologetic look at Claes, she pulled me away to an alcove, leaving my cousin behind.

  “This is an unfortunate turn of events, and I’m sorry to lose so much of your family at once,” she said. “Your mother and her sister were very dear to me, as was your sweet Penelope. You’ll have to be strong now, Ambrose, but look at this as an opportunity to show the nobility that you can manage your own affairs.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Feel free to look to your mother’s solicitor for help. She has access to your finances and records and has been apprised of your situation.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty, but...” I trailed off. How could she expect me to think about managing an estate when I’d just become an orphan, when Claes was succumbing to his sister’s death before my eyes, when all too soon I would be all alone in the world—and none of it looked at all like an accident? It was too much. I’d already cried until there were no more tears—all I felt now was emptiness. I was hollowed out, and I wanted desperately to curl in around the gaping pit in my chest.

  “You ought to come to court, and soon,” Runa continued. “Do your mourning publicly. Allow your parents’ acquaintances in the city to offer you their condolences without making the trek out here.” She squeezed my hands again, this time with an iron grip, and tapped the cuff on my wrist twice. “I mean it, Ambrose. Take charge of your finances. Go through your records. I’d hate for you to find yourself caught unawares by something you might have otherwise been prepared for.” She met my eyes, giving me a meaningful look that I couldn’t quite interpret, and said firmly, “I’ll expect you in the capital before the Solstice.”


  Before I could reply, she’d swept across the room, leaving a path of bowing nobility and scraping servants in her wake.

  * * *

  Though the Queen’s command echoed through my head like a never-ending reel, I couldn’t bear to leave Claes’s side. He stood next to his sister’s pyre for hours after the funeral, still as a statue. By the time I managed to get him back into the house, his cheeks and mine were both chapped from the wind and our tears.

  After our well-meaning guests departed, Claes retreated upstairs, saying he wanted to be alone. He stopped coming down for meals, stopped leaving his room at all. He refused to bathe, refused to speak to anyone. I recognized in him the way my mother had grieved after my father’s death, and his suffering impressed upon me how rare my parents’ love must have been. It was as though when Penelope died, she took hold of the cord of Claes’s life and began dragging it through the halls of the gods with her, pulling him toward death with every step she took, every second they were apart.

  One morning, two days after Penelope’s funeral, I found Claes in his room, curled in his bed under a pile of blankets, the drapes all drawn. A sour smell hung in the air, like dirty laundry and curdled milk. The flame guttered in the hearth, so I plucked a log out of the basket. Before I could add it to the fire, Claes’s voice echoed from the bed, startling me.

  “Don’t waste the wood.”

  I jumped and dropped the log on my toe in the process. Teeth gritted, I did everything in my power not to curse and stirred the coals before adding the wood to the fire anyway.

  “I came to see if you wanted to go for a ride,” I said.

  “I’m too tired. I’m sorry, love.” Claes seemed like a thin, brittle sheet of paper that was being folded over and over. This folding, I knew, would continue until he was simply gone.

  “A short one, then. We’ll go down to the river and back. It’ll do you some good to get some fresh air.” I drew back his bed curtains and opened the window’s drapes before returning to his side.