The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  I’d ruled out the idea that it could be a pension, as the records of all the pensions we paid were kept alongside the salary ledger. But even though the amount was negligible in the grand scheme of things, I couldn’t shake the need to get to the bottom of the whole mess. The Solstice was fast approaching, so I wrote to Gerlene to inform her that I planned to be there when X.A. came for her money. This, at least, was a mystery I could solve.

  I didn’t know if I would ever learn who, if anyone, was responsible for my mother’s death, but the looming question of X.A. gave me somewhere to focus my attention. Something outside of my grief, outside of myself, that could occupy the dark, empty pit in my heart. If I kept myself occupied, perhaps the overwhelming weight of loss and responsibility that had slammed down on me since my mother’s death would disappear. I knew there would be freedom in this new, lonely future of mine, but I wasn’t yet ready to begin building a vision of how that future might look. This strange little mystery was a way for me to escape.

  Claes had drifted upstairs, into one of the guest suites, the moment we’d arrived and had refused to see me since. Rather than dwelling on the hurt that his stubbornness caused, I chose instead to dive into my father’s journals. My father had written almost religiously throughout my life, taking time every evening right after dinner to sequester himself in his library. Those journals had always seemed sacrosanct, but with the Queen’s words echoing in my head, those pages seemed as good a place as any to learn more about my family’s history. Thus far, the most interesting thing I’d learned was that my father had called my mother “Rellie,” which I could only imagine she had hated, and that the only time he called me by my given name in the pages of his journals was when I’d committed some sort of truly heinous childhood offense. On most of the pages he’d called me his darling monster, a nickname I’d long forgotten.

  After yet another trying supper with my tutors, I settled in with one of my father’s journals. I’d worked my way back to the time just after I was born, when my father was in his late thirties. It seemed as though his relationship with my mother became more and more tense as I traveled back in time. The closer I got to my birth and their wedding, the less my father seemed to like his wife, and the more arguments and scuffles he described, sometimes in excruciating detail.

  I’d read almost as much as I could stomach when I stumbled upon a passage that made my hair stand on end.

  Myrella’s spies brought something to her attention today that both astonishes and bewilders me. I’m not entirely sure if I believe them, but the evidence they present seems more than compelling. It would seem that there is some question as to the truth of my and my brother’s parentage. An old nurse has, on her deathbed, confessed to these spies of my wife’s that before Runa was crowned, she spent a great deal of time here at our estate with her elder sister, my mother, in the months before my brother and I were born. This nurse said that she was the only servant still living who’d been in attendance here at the time. The implication being, of course, that Runa is our mother, and for whatever reason—perhaps because she would have been what, sixteen, at the time?—decided to pass us off as belonging to her sister.

  I read the passage again, and then again, aghast. Did that mean that the Queen was my grandmother? Why would she have kept this a secret? And if this was true, why hadn’t she had more children?

  I scanned the rest of the journal, looking for more explanation, further exploration of what must have been the strangest discovery of my father’s life, but there wasn’t so much as another word. In his whole life, the only words he’d written about this enormous secret were in the short paragraph staring through the years at me from a midwinter day when I was still a babe.

  I wondered briefly if there were some way that I might bring this up with Runa, but quickly dismissed the possibility. If it were true, surely my father would have written more about it. Or would he? I’d no way of knowing, and no way of verifying what might well have been the bizarre fancies of a dying woman. Once again, I was left with more questions than answers—and an early appointment with the solicitor the next morning.

  I asked Gunnar to wake me at dawn.

  “I would like to go for a walk in the morning,” I said. “Set out the wool trousers, please. It’ll be chilly. I won’t take breakfast. Just kaffe, please.”

  “As you wish, sir. Though I wonder if you oughtn’t ask one of your tutors to accompany you. For propriety’s sake, I mean.”

  I answered his question with a glare. He nodded, turned off the lights and left, wishing me pleasant dreams.

  I lay in bed, tossing and turning for what felt like hours. I must have eventually drifted off, though, because when I woke to Gunnar’s rather violent shaking of my bed, my room was no longer bathed in darkness. I opened my eyes a crack, took one look at Gunnar and closed them again, despite the smell of strong kaffe filling the room.

  He cleared his throat. “You asked me to wake you at dawn, sir. You said you were going to take the air.”

  At that, my eyes flew open and I leapt from bed. I was dressed and out the door in less than a quarter hour, the solicitor’s address secreted in my pocket.

  * * *

  Just past dawn, the streets were busier than I expected. Nobles stumbled arm in arm, singing bawdy songs and swilling the dregs from fat-bottomed bottles of sparkling wine. They looked like wilting flowers in their wrinkled silks and bedraggled hats. Street sweeps followed them, collecting the shattered remains of the nobles’ merriment in dustbins. Paper girls ran from house to house, depositing newspapers on doorsteps.

  Having a secret errand of my own, I felt the most kinship with the filthy street urchins who darted from shadow to shadow, pockets bulging with stolen and dropped finery. I had hardly ever been up so early in my life—social events ran late into the night, and even as a child I’d slept late. This morning, though, I buzzed with nervous energy.

  Gerlene’s house at 42 Hawthorne was plain, much like the others on the street, distinguished only by its green door. I knocked and waited for an awkward minute, shifting from one foot to the other and glancing up and down the street before I knocked again. The door opened a crack, and a steel-haired, green-eyed woman glared out from below the chain.

  “Oh. It’s you,” she said. “You’re absurdly early.”

  She slammed the door closed in my face. Bewildered and blinking, I raised my fist to knock again. The door flew open, and the woman I assumed was Gerlene yanked me into the house. She exerted a surprising amount of force for someone so small. With strands of gray hair escaping her braid and wire-rimmed glasses perched on her wide nose, Gerlene resembled nothing so much as a disgruntled porcupine. The olive dressing gown and slippers she wore set off her russet-brown skin, and, looking around, I saw that the green was a decorative theme that carried through the house, perhaps to the extreme. The entryway was all done in green and dark wood; a Clifton table held a green glass vase filled with light green flowers, and the chandelier’s glass shades were in green, as well.

  “I apologize for waking you. When you said seven in your note, I assumed I ought to come a bit early, to be safe, and it did not take nearly as long to walk here as I thought it would. Should I pop out and scrounge up something to eat? Or some kaffe? Tea?” My nerves made me babble.

  Gerlene rubbed an ink-stained hand across her eyes and yawned. “More than an hour early?” She snorted at my blush. “No need for you to go out. I bought pastries last night and have tea in the kitchen. What if you make us a pot while I dress, and I’ll meet you in the office?”

  I pursed my lips and stared at the green floral carpet. “I’m sorry. I don’t...”

  The solicitor interrupted me with a sigh. “You’ve never brewed a cup of tea in your life, have you? Never mind. I’ll do it. You can make yourself comfortable in the office. It’s through there.” She pointed at an arched doorway that led into a sitting room, also decor
ated exclusively in green and dark wood.

  “I don’t mean to be a bother, but do you have any kaffe? I’ve only had the one cup this morning.”

  “I might have some in a cabinet somewhere.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

  “Certainly. Now, you know how to light the lamps, don’t you?”

  Gerlene’s condescension put my teeth on edge, but I did my best to control my tone. I needed her on my side. “I’ll manage.”

  “Good boy. I’ll be down in a tick.” Without waiting for my reply, she trudged up the stairs, and I wandered into the office.

  After lighting the lamps, I ran my hand down the spines of the gilt-edged law tomes that lined the bookcases along the walls and peeked through the picture window behind an enormous mahogany desk. Gerlene’s garden was meticulously tended, though small.

  I took a seat on a small, spring-green sofa. Its silk upholstery matched the two armchairs planted in front of Gerlene’s desk and the one behind. My fingers drummed an anxious rhythm as I played through all the possible scenarios for the thousandth time. I’d imagined this moment—meeting X.A. and solving the puzzle—so many times that every disastrous possibility turned my skin a little greener. Before long, I was sure to match Gerlene’s decor.

  Some little time later, Gerlene bustled into the office carrying a tray, heavy with an assortment of plates, pastries, cups, pots and silverware. She slid it onto the table and adjusted her crisp mint trousers.

  “She should be here soon. She nearly always comes before eight, or so I’m told,” she said.

  “You haven’t met her?”

  “This is a task for a clerk, not a solicitor with clients like the crown prince. I’ve always given my most junior clerk the payment and had her spend the night on the sofa. Never had a problem. I take my tea with cream,” she added pointedly.

  I was on the verge of apologizing for my manners when there was a tentative knock at the front door. I jumped to my feet. Gerlene rose, as well.

  “I’ll get it.”

  She strode out of the room, and a moment later, soft voices murmured in the hallway. Gerlene entered first, a tall woman following close on her heels.

  “Let’s have it done, aye?” she rasped. Her accent was coarse and Northern, but bogged down by the lazy slur of the poorest section of the capital, the End. Her voice was harsh with years of tobacco smoke and cheap tafia, and her clothes were little more than rags—a shock given the sum she was about to receive. Her hair was tied back in a stained kerchief, but the few brassy curls that had escaped were laced with gray. Something in her face was so familiar to me, yet I couldn’t manage to place her.

  Gerlene retrieved a fat purse from a drawer in the desk and showed it to the woman before putting it back in the drawer. “Madame, if you don’t mind, I would like to present Lord Ambrose Oswin Trousillion Gyllen. He has some questions for you.”

  “Ambrose?” The woman turned to look at me, and when our eyes met, she flushed bright red. For a moment, our eyes—identical, large gray eyes—stayed locked on one another’s, and, without a word, she bolted for the door. She was gone before I had time to get my bearings.

  “It’s rather striking, isn’t it?” Gerlene asked. “It’s in the eyes, obviously, but your mannerisms are so similar.”

  I didn’t bother to answer. Instead, I dashed out of the room and down the hall. When I flung open the front door, I found Thamina on the stoop, her hand poised to knock.

  Her nose twitched in surprise, and she said, “Ah! Ambrose. What a coincidence.”

  Clearly it was not. Gunnar must have taken it upon himself to let the tutors know that I had decided to go for an early morning walk. I itched to push past her, to run after the woman whose eyes were so similar to mine, but I simply couldn’t give Thamina that kind of ammunition.

  “Come to see your solicitor, eh? And so early in the morning.” Suspicion filled her every word.

  Gerlene padded up behind me, her shoes muffled by the thick green rug. Thamina inclined her head politely. I craned my neck to peer over her shoulder, scanning the street for any sign of the fleeing woman, but she’d disappeared from view. Thamina would manage to ruin this.

  “You’re a patient woman to put up with our prince’s questions at this hour. If your business is concluded, Ambrose, allow me to escort you home.”

  Gerlene put a hand on my arm and gave it a warning squeeze before she nodded politely at my tutor. “You’re too kind, Thamina. As for the matter at hand, Ambrose, I’ve all the information required to follow up with the parties in question, and I’ll contact you when the budget is balanced. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Your mother would be proud.”

  I looked at her helplessly. I had to go after X.A.—I had to know who she was, and what she was to me—but I couldn’t risk rousing Thamina’s suspicions. “Thank you, Gerlene. I’m grateful you were able to take the time to see me. I’ll be staying at my house in Esser Park. You have the address, I assume?”

  Gerlene nodded, so Thamina and I made our goodbyes and turned back toward Esser Park. We walked for several long minutes in silence before she said, her tone blithe, “It’s good to see you so engaged in your financial affairs, Ambrose. Up before dawn and in the solicitor’s office. Your mother would never have believed it.”

  I had to tread carefully. I wondered how Claes might handle this situation. He was such a brilliant manipulator—most of the time his marks hadn’t even realized they’d been had. “It was kind of you to come to collect me. I think it’s necessary for me to take more of an interest in my affairs, now that I’ve officially been named the heir. Though I do, of course, still appreciate your tutelage and the care you’ve taken with me. Your service is invaluable.”

  Thamina preened with my flattery. “That’s wise. Your mother often lamented your lack of interest in the succession. Perhaps, then, you are ready to return to your lessons?”

  The city was waking around us. Merchants with bags under their eyes swung open the doors of their shops. Carriage drivers in stripped-down livery fed their exhausted horses. Flower hawkers took up their street-corner posts and halfheartedly called their wares. Servants guzzled tea in preparation for another day run on borrowed sleep, while last night’s revelers lay safely tucked in their beds, blissfully unaware of the buzz of the waking city.

  “Soon,” I said. “I’ve been so focused on settling my mother’s estate that I’ve barely had time to grieve.” I paused and looked out into the park, willing tears into my eyes. “I think I need a bit of time to myself. You’re so compassionate—I’m sure you understand. It’s so hard with the servants and all of my social obligations...”

  “Well, if it would help...” Thamina straightened her cuffs.

  I bit the inside of my cheek, hoping my silence would push her to speak.

  “No, it wouldn’t do at all. Never mind,” she said.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Birger and I had planned a visit with our parents, but in light of your recent losses, we decided we should stay close, in case you should need us.”

  Thamina might well want some time with her parents, but I would put good money on a visit to Patrise being much more likely.

  “You should see them. Gods know, I don’t want to keep you from your family.”

  “I wouldn’t want to abandon you. We would be gone for at least two days.”

  We ambled up to the house, where Gunnar waited in the entryway. With the tutors gone for two full days, I’d have enough time to find the woman with my eyes—and uncover the reason she’d run from me.

  “You should go. Take a week, if you like. Gunnar and Karyta will see that I’m taken care of, and you’ll be back in no time at all.”

  I stepped into the dim entryway. The curtains hadn’t yet been drawn back, and dust motes floated in the slats of light that came in through the g
aps in the rich crimson fabric. The strange woman’s gray eyes still haunting me, I went up to my room and waited for word from Gerlene.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  VI

  The next evening, Quill and I sat in the two chairs on my little deck, watching the ocean and talking long after Mal retreated to his own cabin for the night. The ship’s bell rang, startling us out of our laughter at eleven—later than Quill’d ever stayed in my room before. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, but smiling.

  “What?” I asked. “Do I have basil in my teeth or something?”

  “No. I was just wondering...”

  My stomach knotted around itself. “What?”

  “Do you want to go for a swim?”

  “First you want me to keep out of the ocean, and now this?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Make up your mind, sir.”

  Quill took my hand, laughing, and tugged me back inside. He led me barefoot through the quiet halls of the ship, our giggles caught behind lips clamped shut in giddy smiles. We twined our way through the ship until finally, Quill stopped. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and, hushing me, unlocked the door.

  The smell hit me as soon as I walked onto the warm tile floor. Water. But not ocean water—it was cleaner, more controlled, like a bath, almost. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” Quill asked.

  The room was cavernous, with high ceilings and columns that surrounded a wide pool. Every surface gleamed with white stone or metal. A few dimmed solar lights twinkled along the walls, but most of the light in the room glimmered up out of the water, casting wavelike shadows on the walls and ceiling. Cushioned deck chairs were arranged in pairs around the pool, and between them, tables were stacked with towers of thick towels. At the far end of the room, a bar dominated one wall, the bottles and glasses on the shelves behind it glittering like jewels.