The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  “Claes is not diminished. He’s dying. The Queen has summoned me to court, and I will not leave him alone. Not in his final days. Let the Shriven try. No one but the gods will take him from me.” I rose and pushed back my chair in one swift motion, reaching for the Queen’s letter. I didn’t wait for a response before grabbing up the rest of my correspondence and stalking out of the room, slamming the heavy wooden door behind me.

  I raced up the stairs to the library, tossed the letters into an armchair and collapsed on the floor, trying to slow my racing heart and force the tears from my eyes. I couldn’t think about Claes slowly withering away in the rooms below me. I didn’t want to face the fact that in almost no time at all, I would be really, truly alone, with no one in the world who knew me as well as my mother had, or Penelope, or Claes. It was too much. Too much loss, too much sadness, too much heavy, overwhelming responsibility.

  Father had once told me that lying on the floor changed a man’s perspective, and whenever he’d felt overwhelmed, he’d simply lie on the floor, breathe deep and stare at the ceiling. It sent Mother into hysterics when, out of nowhere, Father sank to the floor and lay still for several minutes. She always tried to get him up, giggling and calling him an improper heathen. He ignored her, and eventually the silvery peals of her laughter rang through the house. The servants grinned and nudged one another, unable to keep their placid masks in place.

  Though I never followed my father’s example in front of Mother, I often retreated to my room or the library, locked the door and lay on the carpet, staring at the ceiling. In those moments, my father came back to life, and the idyllic time before he died didn’t seem so very far away.

  My mother had always been an ambitious, well-respected woman. Her intelligence and business acumen had seen my father’s bedraggled—though royal—estate grow into a flourishing enterprise with scads of holdings. Before my father’s death, she’d been warm, affectionate. But his loss had broken something in her. She’d been stricken, keeping to her bed and avoiding everyone. She emerged a month later, hollow-cheeked and sallow, with an edge of anger that had made her capable of lashing out at any moment.

  Though I had never had the gall to ask her about it, my mother’s fury confounded me. It was as though my father’s death turned her into an entirely different person. Then Claes and Penelope came to live with us. Our games and manipulations consumed me, and Mother continued to ignore me as best she could.

  I didn’t want to think ill of the dead, but as I listened to the clock tick, I found myself wishing that she had been a different sort of mother in recent years. I studied the clouds that had been painted on the high, domed ceiling. They were great, puffy white things—the type of clouds rarely seen in the rain-drenched countryside of the northern Alskad Empire—and the ceiling’s painted sky was nearly always at odds with the gloomy gray one currently visible through the library’s tower windows.

  I picked myself up, went to sit at the desk and tore open the Queen’s letter.

  My dear Lord Ambrose,

  I have taken the liberty of having your house in Esser Park opened and refurbished for you. Now that you are the heir and a man grown, it’s only right that you occupy your own property when visiting the capital. The nobility will respect you more if they see you operating outside the palace and away from my constant oversight. That said, I expect to see you in court before the Solstice. Let me once again reiterate the importance of your taking an interest in your finances and records. Power is gained not through blood or right, but through knowledge and control. Be thorough and keep yourself well-guarded.

  With fondest wishes, your great-aunt,

  Runa, Queen of Alskad, Empress of Ilor, Singleborn Chosen of the Goddesses, First of the Trousillion

  I read the letter twice more, committing the Queen’s words to memory, and went in search of my mother’s ledger. Perhaps there was a kernel of truth in the Queen’s commands. I resolved to arm myself with knowledge. Perhaps, if I knew enough, could learn enough, other people would stop presuming to make decisions for me. Perhaps I could become the kind of King that my parents had so wanted me to be. Perhaps I would find a way to stop the churning anxiety that ate away at the pit of my stomach.

  At the very least, it would stop me ceaselessly considering every person I’d ever met and wondering whether or not they were capable of plotting a murder—mine, my cousins’ or my mother’s. It hadn’t taken much to entirely demolish my sense of safety in the world.

  * * *

  It was full dark and the clock on the mantelpiece had chimed ten when I finally flipped to the last section of the ledger. I was driven by a kind of unstoppable energy to make my way through the enormous book, which covered the estate’s financial transactions for the past seven months, before I went to bed. The silver pot of kaffe the cook had sent up with my supper—confit goose leg, roasted vegetables and fresh bread—had long since gone cold, but I gulped down another cup anyway. My elbows and shoulders crackled when I stretched, and I rolled my neck before I read the final entry.

  Much of the information in the ledger had been familiar to me. It detailed the expenses associated with each of the houses we kept. There was the townhouse in the capital, the cottage by the sea and the grand manor house where I’d grown up. Also in the ledger were personal budgets for each member of the family. My heart ached when I saw the line that documented the yearly allowance paid to the household for Penelope and Claes’s upkeep by their parents.

  Grief washed over me in waves. It seeped deep into my body and settled there, a dark and silent weight. As quickly as it came, it evaporated, and I was able to move on for a little while. I focused on the work in front of me once more.

  I already had a general understanding of the house’s budget for food and entertaining, since I’d taken charge of running the household after my father’s death. However, Mother continued to pay the staff’s salaries, and as I flipped through this final section of the ledger, I was shocked to see that each maid was paid less per year than was allotted for new clothing for me each season.

  Buried in a column of payments to craftsmen—clockmakers, tailors, cabinetmakers, cobblers and the like—was a line I couldn’t explain.

  X.A.—G.O.A.T.—200 drott per annum.

  It was strange. Every other entry in the column had some explanation of the expense after the name, but this only had letters. I stared at it for a few minutes, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. X.A. might be someone’s initials, but what could G.O.A.T. stand for?

  Rubbing my eyes, I added a note about the line to my list of questions for my mother’s solicitor and closed the ledger. I stacked my notes on top and locked everything in the safe built into the floor beneath the desk. I turned off most of the lights and crept downstairs to my rooms.

  * * *

  The next morning, I wrestled all of my questions into a letter to my mother’s solicitor, a woman called Gerlene, and, letter in hand, went to look for Gunnar.

  “I’m planning to go to the capital this afternoon,” I said when I found him. “Will you see that mine and Claes’s things are packed and the carriage is made ready?”

  “I assume Thamina and Birger agreed to this?” he asked.

  I cringed inside, but managed to keep my face impassive. I was determined to be treated like an adult. “I don’t believe I need my tutors or anyone else’s permission.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’d best ask them before you go making plans.”

  I gave him a doleful look. “They’ve been informed,” I said dryly.

  “And Mister Claes? He’s willing to travel with you? Even in his condition? What of the temple? The Shriven? Oughtn’t you make arrangements for him to spend his final days here instead?”

  I rubbed my temples, willing myself calm. “Gunnar. Am I, or am I not, your crown prince?”

  “You are, sir.”

  “And
am I, or am I not, a grown man and master of this house?”

  “Well, sir, you are, of course, but...” I sighed, and he suddenly became quiet, gazing into my face. He shook his head ruefully and patted my shoulder. “Sometimes, sir, it’s hard to remember that you’re no longer a wee little tyrant running about the house in nappies, wailing for your father to stop his writing and take you riding. I’ll do my best to show you the respect you deserve.” He held his hand out. “Would you like me to see your letter posted, sir?”

  I’d nearly forgotten about the letter I was holding. I passed it to him, with thanks. Gunnar bowed, and an idea skittered into my head. “Do you, by any chance, happen to know where my father’s journals were stored after his death?”

  Gunnar cocked his head to one side and tapped his lips. “If I can’t put my hands on them, Karyta will be able to find them, surely. Would you like me to pack them to take with you?”

  “Please. And, if you would, I’d like the last of them in with my things for the carriage ride. I’ve been missing him so terribly lately. Perhaps if I know what he was thinking before his death, I can be more of a comfort to Claes.”

  It was an easy lie, or perhaps not even a lie at all. Just the truth stretched and folded to look like a swan, when it was more like a great gray bear.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  VI

  As the days passed and we drew nearer to Ilor, the twins seemed to relax, just as my nerves seemed to fray to the point of collapse. Hamlin Whippleston had agreed—albeit reluctantly—to our scheme, and Mal and Quill had been dual whirlwinds of planning and preparations ever since. But when I was alone, I spent as many hours pushing my muscles to the point of trembling exhaustion as I did studying the map of Ilor Quill’d brought me.

  The colony was small, situated on three islands so close, they were nearly touching. All told, a person could walk from one end of the string of islands to the other in just under two weeks. Or rather, they could if not for the enormous mountains that ranged up the center of the islands and spread like sand dunes from coast to coast. In the century and a half since Alskad had sent its first settlers to Ilor, the colony had grown exponentially. Between the three major towns—one on each island—small villages had sprung up, and around them, vast estates where kaffe and other goods were grown. The only land that hadn’t yet been claimed and settled was the range of mountains that were the spine of the island chain, dominating the great majority of its acreage. I’d never seen mountains, apart from illustrations in books, and I had a hard time imagining them as anything but snow-capped, even though I knew Ilor’s climate was far too warm for snow.

  One evening, after supper, Quill’d lost early in our card game and had made himself comfortable as I did my best not to beat Mal too handily. He was convinced I’d been cheating, and while he was right, I didn’t want him to know it—not yet, at least. Didn’t mean I’d let him win, I just let him take longer to lose.

  “How do you feel about someone religious?” Quill’s boots were off, and he was sprawled out over the small settee, jacket unbuttoned.

  I didn’t know how he could possibly be comfortable like that, and yet, there he was. “Have you found out who holds Sawny and Lily’s contracts?” I asked.

  As Quill put together the list of people who’d be invited to interview me when we arrived in Ilor, I’d marked each of their estates on the map, but he’d not yet told me where Sawny and Lily were. I refused to make a decision that would land me clean on the other side of Ilor from them.

  Mal looked up from the cards in his hand and glared. “Do we have to talk about this now? The records aren’t on the ship. We’ll find them as soon as we get to Ilor.”

  I rolled my eyes and slid another tvilling into the middle of the table. “I don’t think it’s outrageous for me to want to be as close to the only two people I know in the whole damn colony. Fold or call?”

  “You’ll know us,” Mal said, and stared at his cards for another moment before folding.

  “You know I’m fine with whichever rich fool’s willing to pay the most for my contract,” I said to Quill. “So long as they’re close to Sawny and Lily.”

  Quill lifted his head to grin at me, eyes sparkling. “Oh, they’ll pay. Never you worry about that, imp. They’ll pay.”

  “I think you’re missing my point—” I said, but Mal was already talking over me.

  “Who are you thinking of?”

  “Mehitabel Long. She’s got some kind of flower farm. Makes essential oils that sell for a fortune in Penby. We’ve got a small bit of her export business, and she’s contracted workers from us in the past. Close ties to the temple.”

  Mal, shuffling the cards, made a face. “She’s awful. Don’t put Vi through that. She built that horrible haven hall on her property, and she makes us sit through endless prayers every time we have to go over there to do business.”

  “I don’t want her to end up with the contract, you ass,” Quill said. “I want her to drive the bidding up.”

  Mal dealt the cards. “This’ll be my last hand. Do you mind, Vi?”

  I looked at my cards and gave him my most wicked smile.

  “Only if you don’t mind handing over the rest of your coin.”

  My cards were garbage, but half the point of the game was to bluff, and I excelled at bluffing. Mal took one look at his cards and pushed the pile of coins across the table to me.

  “They’re all yours. I can’t play with a pair of twos.”

  I raked the money to my side of the table, grinning, and laid my cards on the table faceup. A seven and a two. Possibly the worst hand a person could be dealt in brag. Mal gaped at me for a full moment before a smile spread over his face.

  “I can’t decide if you’re the most foolish or the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met. Either way, I’m off. Quill? You coming?”

  Quill looked up from the ovstri he was flipping back and forth across his knuckles.

  “In a bit. I want to run a few more potential candidates by Vi.”

  Mal nodded and gathered the dishes from our supper onto the tray. I went to help him, but he shook his head, smiling. “I’ve got it. See you tomorrow, Vi.”

  As the door closed behind Mal, Quill stuck out his tongue at his brother’s back, rolled to his feet and began to pace.

  “We should invite more people than we need to be there. We’ve already got four—I think three more.”

  Quill tapped a finger against his lips, and for a moment, all of my thoughts were replaced with a bone-deep wish that I could, for a moment, know what it was like to kiss Quill. As if he could read my mind, he settled himself on the small settee next to me. His thigh brushed against mine, lighting me on fire and burning away my every thought.

  “There’s one who springs to mind. He’s got the money, and he’s expressed interest in similar hires before, but I don’t know if he’d be a good fit.”

  “Why not?” I tried to focus, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his long fingers, absently brushing my leg as they drummed against his knee. I so wished I had the courage to take his hand, lean into his touch.

  “For one, his wife is an amalgam.”

  I groaned. “There’s no such thing, and you know it.”

  “I’ve seen her. She’s like two people in the same body. She’s half redheaded, half blonde. Half freckled, half pale as porcelain. One eye is green, the other violet. I didn’t believe it myself until I saw her. You wouldn’t want to be in a household with an amalgam, would you?”

  I dropped my head back, resting against the couch, and stared at the ceiling.

  “I can’t go about my life afraid of something out of a bedtime story when I’m that same kind of horror myself.”

  “Vi...”

  Quill’s tone was frustrated, defeated, and I felt the muscles in his leg tense as he started to stand. I put up a hand to stop him
without thinking, and he relaxed back onto the couch. I pressed my lips together, willing myself not to blush, and spoke, if only to cover the silence. “It’s the plain truth, and you know it. What’s the fellow’s name?”

  “Phineas Laroche.”

  I ran my hands through my curls casually and grinned at Quill, as though it was easy. As though I was thinking of anything but kissing him. “That’s quite a name.”

  Quill laughed. “He’s got an estate called Plumleen. They mostly grow kaffe, I think, but he has an eye for oddities, and he and his wife breed and train some of the best horses in Ilor.”

  “I’ve always wanted to learn to ride a horse.”

  “Then onto the list he goes.”

  Quill stayed in my room for another hour, teasing and laughing. When he finally left, I collapsed onto the floor and stared up at the ceiling, wishing for my sister and thinking of all the secret thoughts I’d pour into her ears if only I could.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BO

  The only way Claes could be coerced into the carriage was if he were allowed to ride alone. Rather than upsetting him, I had another carriage made ready and spent a bumpy, uncomfortable day and a half making tense, uncomfortable conversation with my tutors and wishing that I could be reading my father’s journals instead. I wanted to dismiss them both, quite frankly, but I preferred to have known spies in my household than ferret out whomever Patrise sent to replace them. So I spent much of my time staring out of the carriage window while Birger snored and Thamina nattered on about the possibilities she saw for a potential match for me.

  When we arrived, I found a letter written on thick green paper waiting for me. It was from the solicitor, Gerlene, and I was fairly shocked at how quickly she’d managed to not only receive my letter, but respond. While procuring more information about the property in Ilor would take a considerable amount of time, she’d given me clear answers to many of the questions I’d had about the estates in Alskad, except one. The large sum paid to X.A.—G.O.A.T. was as much a mystery to the solicitor as it was to me. All she could tell me was that a woman came to collect the drott once a year, on the Solstice, and it was to be paid without question as long as she continued to appear.