The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  Claes turned away from me and pulled the covers up to his chin. “Don’t you understand, Bo? I’m dying, and I certainly won’t stand in the way of it the way my father did. I won’t become a dimmy. You have to let me go.”

  My stomach twisted, and I looked away for a moment, trying to come to terms with what he was saying. I knew he was dying, but his insistence on it infuriated me.

  “You’re just giving up? You’ll leave me without even saying goodbye? You selfish prig.”

  Claes sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, anger written all over his face. “I didn’t choose this, Bo! I would never choose to leave you. You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like. When Penelope died, I died, too. I cannot be me without her. I cannot live in this world if she is gone. You don’t know how it is, having someone be a part of you like that. I feel her calling me away, calling me out of this world, and even as much as I love you, Bo, I can’t leave her alone in death.”

  It was like he’d slapped me. I stumbled back and collapsed heavily in a chair, trying to sort through my thoughts. At least he’d been whole for most of his life. I knew I was supposed to be grateful to be singleborn, but all I could think was that he was lucky to have had a twin at all. All I’d ever wanted was to not feel so alone. I’d had that with him, or at least I thought I had. Now I knew that I’d always come second to Penelope. And I’d never hated myself so much as I did, thinking that. I knew it was selfish. Knew that I was a terrible person for warping his grief that way. And knowing how terrible I truly was broke my heart even more.

  “So that’s it, then. That’s our goodbye?” I whispered, tears hot in my eyes.

  Claes crossed the room and knelt in front of me. His voice was resigned, weary. “No, Bo. You’re right. It isn’t fair to you to say goodbye like this. I don’t know how much longer I have, but I’ll ride out with you.”

  My tears fell like the curtains at the end of a play, heavy and final.

  * * *

  My eyes were still swollen when we reached the stables. Claes sent the stable hands to polish the fittings on all the carriages and sleighs so that we could tack up our mounts in peace. Though most gentlemen relied on their staff to take care of their horses, Claes knew that I found the chores cathartic, and I wouldn’t want to try to explain my tearstained face. I was grateful to him for being so thoughtful of my needs and feelings even through his own grief. It wasn’t like him to put my needs before his own.

  Claes was quiet as he groomed his glossy chestnut mare, Allera. She was a Turkmene, and her name meant “gentle wind” in the language of the Samirian mountain traders who raised the breed. She was a beautiful creature, and Claes whispered fondly to her as he curried dust from her shining flanks. I didn’t try to hear what he said—there are some secrets that are meant only for horses’ ears.

  My own mount, a long-legged dapple gray Trakhener I called Laith, stamped in the cross ties, anxious to move. Laith lived to run fast and jump high. We made a good pair, Laith and I, and as I groomed him, I began to feel some clarity for the first time since my mother’s death. The tasks I’d completed hundreds of times—combing his mane and tail, brushing the mud from his hips (he, like every light-colored horse I’d ever known, loved nothing more than rolling in mud), picking small stones from his hooves, cinching his girth—opened up space for me to think.

  Though the day was cold and gray, and storms threatened the sky, we warmed up in the small ring by the barn and took off across the pasture, all without saying a word. I let Claes lead, and when he gave Allera her head, she streaked off toward the river like a vein of copper. Laith soon overtook her, and I laughed with the simple joy of riding fast on a horse I trusted. We drew rein and slowed our mounts to a walk when we reached the rocky shore of the river that marked the manor’s northern border. We often swam in its deep, slow pools in the heat of the summer, but now, the thaw had only just begun in earnest, and chunks of ice still floated in the currents.

  Claes’s eyes were narrowed, but not against the sun; the sky was still a mass of roiling gray that promised rain by supper. I waited for him to speak.

  Finally, after several long minutes, Claes asked, “Will the Queen push you toward another engagement soon?”

  My mouth fell open. “You’ve barely spoken to me in two days, and that is what you want to talk about?”

  Claes’s brows furrowed. “This is what my life has been, Bo. Everything I’ve ever done has been to make your ascent to the throne as seamless as possible.”

  Rage washed over me, and I kneed Laith toward the icy river. I wanted to scream. Claes would focus on the damn throne now, as he was dying, of all times. On some level I knew that I could never understand the pain that had enveloped him since Penelope’s death, but that he still found the energy to consider political maneuvering was altogether too much. My ribs seemed to squeeze my heart, caging it in ever-smaller spaces.

  “Why are you being so selfish?” he asked me. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Selfish? How, in Gadrian’s own name, could you call me selfish?” I tried to keep myself from screaming at him and spooking one of the horses. Tears stung my eyes. “You’re the one leaving me all alone.”

  “I don’t have a choice!” Claes exclaimed, wheeling Allera in front of me. “This is how it works. Penelope is dead, and soon I will be, too. You’ll have to accept it.”

  “Accept it? Just like that, I should accept that you’re giving up?”

  “I’m not giving up. I’m letting nature take its course. I don’t want to fight it.” He sighed.

  Thunder echoed off the mountains in the distance, but I didn’t want to return to the house yet. I swung off Laith and led him to the riverbank. I could feel Claes’s eyes following me as I squatted by the river and splashed icy water on my face. Laith drank, and pawed playfully at the river with one hoof. I wished that his playing would lighten my mood, but I felt like I was about to collapse. I stood and laid my head on his neck. He whickered and nudged my hip with his velvety black nose, begging for the lump of sugar I always carried in my pocket.

  Claes led Allera to the water and stood quietly beside me as she drank.

  “Why do you work so hard to hide from your fate? You were born alone for a reason. The Queen chose you, declared you the singleborn best able to succeed her, and you’re telling me you don’t want that? You don’t want to be King of the Alskad Empire?”

  “I never said I didn’t want it, Claes. I just don’t know if I deserve it.”

  I scuffed the dry grass with the toe of my boot. When I looked up, Claes was studying me thoughtfully.

  “Why not?” he asked. “You’re singleborn, and from a long line of singleborn, aren’t you?”

  I toyed with the cuff at my wrist. Less than a week ago, I would have kept my mouth shut. I would have kept my anxieties and the self-doubt that was on constant loop in my head all to myself. I had known then that he would run to tell Penelope anything I told him, and I didn’t want anyone to know how little I believed in myself. In my ability to rule. I had thought that I trusted Claes, but looking back, I’d always known that there were some things I couldn’t tell even him. His first loyalty had always been to Penelope, and, in the cold light of our goodbye, I realized that was the reason I’d been so mad about his reaction to our engagement. My feelings didn’t matter nearly as much as Penelope’s, and being married to the future King was a great triumph for her.

  But none of that mattered now. For the first time in my life, I could give voice to the fears and doubts that clung to me day and night.

  I scrubbed a hand through my dark curly hair and said, “I’ve always felt out of place. I’ve never felt like I belonged. I feel unmoored, like I’m just following the currents of a life set before me. There’s never been a moment in my life when I knew with any kind of certainty that I was the right choice to be King.” I sighed. “I don’t think
I’m capable of living up to the job. I don’t think I’m smart or kind or compassionate enough to hold that responsibility in my hands.”

  I waited for him to say something, to tell me I was wrong, but he didn’t. He looked at me, like he was weighing my worth and finding me wanting.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “Maybe that’s the burden of being singleborn. You have to find a way to steer on your own. There are people who say that Queen Runa only chose you because your father was her nephew. People who’d rather see you dead than see another Trousillion on the throne.” I flinched, but I knew he was right. Still, it made me uneasy to hear him give voice to it. “Your mother was positive that Patrise tried to have you killed, and more than once. You’ve lived through how many known assassination attempts now? How many times has one of the other singleborn whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, that you were a bad choice for the throne?”

  More than I could count—and being reminded of those things didn’t exactly help soothe my nerves.

  Claes met my eyes squarely. “Don’t you want to show them the kind of King you can be?”

  I looked away and shrugged. Wanting to have that kind of motivation and actually having it were two very different things. Claes’s comment about the assassination attempt bit into me, and I cocked my head to the side, studying him.

  “What?” he grumbled.

  “Did you do it? Did you stage that assassination attempt in the park last week?”

  Heaving a great sigh, Claes jerked Allera’s head up rather more harshly than was necessary. “I’m exhausted. Let’s go back to the house before it rains.” He led Allera up the riverbank, sniffed and wiped a hand across his eyes.

  I called after him. “Claes! Wait.” I led Laith up the hill and stood in front of Claes, drawing myself up to my full height. “I won’t blame you. I just need to know. Did you do it?”

  Claes tapped his crop against his boot, and I could almost see him weighing his answer.

  “Please, Claes. The truth.”

  Rolling his eyes, Claes sneered. “You may make a great king, Bo. Honestly, I think you will, but you don’t always focus your attention on the right questions. What happened in Esser Park doesn’t matter. What does matter is what happened to my sister and your mother. Do you actually believe that was an accident?”

  My heartbeat quickened, and I stared at him. I’d had the same suspicions, but it was different to hear someone else voice them as well.

  “For what it’s worth,” Claes said, “I wasn’t behind the attack. I think it was Rylain, personally, but there are any number of people who would benefit from your death.” I winced, and he sighed in exasperation. “Honestly, Bo, you have far too much faith in her. In people in general. You need to realize that most will try to take advantage of you now that your mother and Penelope are gone—especially once I’m gone, too.” I swallowed hard as he continued. “I don’t know that it matters who killed them, if anyone, or if it was only a terrible accident. But Bo, your next move does matter. You have to show the rest of the nobility that you won’t be broken by this loss. You have to stand up to them.”

  Tears welled in my eyes. This was all too much. Too overwhelming. I wasn’t strong enough to make it through all the gossip and intrigue and the endless things I’d yet to learn. Not by myself.

  I swiped at my eyes and took a steadying breath. “The Queen commanded that I get to the capital before the Solstice. Come with me, please?”

  Claes squeezed my hand and lifted it to kiss my knuckles. “I’ll make you no promises, but as long as I last, I’ll stay by your side. But you must learn to keep a wary eye about you, especially with Thamina and Birger. You know that they’re working for Patrise, don’t you?”

  I gaped at him. “How do you know?”

  He rolled his eyes, and for a moment, I could almost see the arrogant boy I’d loved for so long. “He bought them off years ago, Bo. It’s half the reason your mother kept them around. Easier, after all, to keep an eye on the spies when you know who they are.”

  I leaned in and laid my head on his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Claes.”

  “You’ll fend for yourself. You’ll become the King we all know you’re meant to be. You’ll make us all proud as we watch from the halls of the gods and goddesses.”

  Fighting back tears, I kissed him on the cheek, trying to memorize the salty tang of his sweat, the musky cologne he wore and the dusty smell of the horses that clung to him. Memories would be all I’d have left of him before long.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  VI

  A sharp knock on the door registered in my dream as a cadre of drummers appeared rather suddenly. They beat a sharp tattoo as they followed me through the winding alleys of the End. The motion of the enormous boat was hardly perceptible when I was awake, but something about it lulled me into the deepest sleep of my life, a sleep remarkably hard to come out of. The drummers disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived, and I opened my bleary eyes to see a grinning face looming over me.

  I shrieked and sat up, pulling the covers to my chin. Narrowing my eyes, I made out the name stitched on his jacket and glared.

  “Good morning, Vi,” Quill said. “Quite the slugabed, I see. It’s nearly seven o’clock.”

  I ran my hands through my hair. My dark curls were sticking up in every direction. I wasn’t best pleased to be seen sleep-creased and crowned with wild tangles. I tried to tell myself I was just making nice to get where I wanted to go, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the twins’ charms for what they were. I certainly didn’t want Quill to see me all puffy-eyed and looking a total mess.

  “You’re so chatty in the morning. Makes me wish I could stay and gab, but if I’m not on the bridge in ten minutes, Uncle Hamlin will hang me by my ankles from the sunsail rigging. I brought some more books for you, and pen and paper. Also—” he tossed me a bundle of heavily embroidered silk “—Mal and I found a trunk that’s been sitting in storage since some rich woman left it onboard a few months ago. She was about your size, and her clothes are a lot nicer than the lot you brought. We usually sell those kinds of things, but as you’re here...well, we thought you could use some new things. He’ll bring up the rest later.”

  I unwrapped the bundle. It held a pair of sheepskin slippers, a silk shirt, an absurdly soft sweater and loose wool trousers, all of the finest quality. “This is too much. You can’t give a wharf rat like me a getup like this.”

  Quill tapped his foot impatiently. “Shut up. You’ve never had something so nice in all your life.” He winked at me. “Just take it and be grateful, yes?”

  I grimaced. “I’m grateful, but you’ve all done so much for me since I boarded the ship. I keep waiting for the catch.”

  “No catch, imp. Uncle Hamlin put you in the only empty room he had. Pa feeds you what’s left over, and I’ve given you someone else’s forgotten clothes. No one’s gone out of their way. At least not yet.” Quill gave me a little shove. “Scoot on out of bed and change. I’ll take your kit to the laundry.”

  Incredulous, I climbed out of bed and darted into the washroom. Before I stripped off my old, ratty nightshirt in favor of the new things, I smoothed a touch of ointment onto the scratches on my cheek. They’d faded away to almost nothing in the days I’d been aboard the ship, thanks to Lugine’s gift.

  I was pulling on the trousers when Quill knocked. “Vi? Hand your things out. I’ll bring them back as soon as they’re done, all right?”

  Blushing, I opened the door a crack and passed my nightshirt out to him, embarrassed that it was still warm from my body. “The rest are in the drawer. I can get them if you wait a moment.”

  “I’ll grab them and go. See you at dinner.”

  I pulled the silk blouse on and burst out of the washroom, buttons half-undone, altogether too aware of my red face and wild, snarled c
urls.

  Quill raised an eyebrow at me from where he knelt in front of the chest of drawers.

  “I may be a dimmy, but I’ll have you remember I’m still a person, and I’d rather you kept your nose out of my things.” I dug my clothes out of the drawer, careful to keep the pouch with my pearls out of sight. There was a part of me that didn’t trust this good fortune of mine, not one bit, and I was sure I didn’t entirely trust Quill yet. I wanted to, desperately, but I had as many reasons to be cautious as I had scars.

  Still blushing, I handed him the clothes. Quill set them in his lap, let his weight shift back and sprawled on the carpet, graceful as a cat. He propped himself up on an elbow and regarded me with the deep-set gold-brown eyes he shared with the other men in his family. I noticed that he’d missed a spot when he’d shaved that morning—there was a patch of coarse stubble under his chin.

  “What’re you hiding, then? What’s in the drawer you want to keep hidden so bad you’re willing to sit out here half dressed? Not,” he added quickly, “that I’m complaining.”

  “Oh hush,” I said, cold as the sea in winter. “I’m a dimmy. You know as well as I do that I could snap at any moment. I once heard about one of us, a noble girl, who was praying in temple for her salvation when the grief overtook her. She ripped out an anchorite’s throat with her teeth.”

  “Hogwash. I’ve heard that story told ten different ways by ten different people. You’ll have to do better if you want me scared of you. Meantime, I brought you breakfast, and you don’t want that tea to get cold. Eat up, and read your books. I brought you a few to choose from, plus a pamphlet on the rules of brag. Best study up, aye? No telling how quick beginner’s luck will fade.” Quill rose and was out the door before I could say another word.

  * * *

  I was counting the pressed tin ceiling tiles and doing my damnedest to figure out how to convince Mal to help me ditch the temple’s sentence and take a contract of my own when he arrived with an enormous steamer trunk. Mal hefted the trunk into my room, set it down with a huff and retreated into the hallway. When he returned a moment later, he was pushing a wheeled tea trolley laden with enough food for all the temple brats back in Penby. My mouth watered, and I longed to dig in, bare-handed like a wild thing. I didn’t want Mal to think I was entirely without manners, though, so I restrained myself. He grinned at me, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his sweat-damp brow, and bowed deeply.