The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  The weight of everything I’d learned in the last few months hung heavily from my shoulders, dragging at me, pulling me toward a future full of conflict I didn’t know if I wanted. But the one thing I knew I did want was Swinton. His forgiveness. His hand in mine.

  He nodded jerkily and looked away. I let my hands drop to my sides and decided to ask the question that had been weighing on my mind since he first told me he was diminished.

  “Have you ever felt like...like you might...” I trailed off, unsure of how to frame such an indelicate question.

  “Like I might lose myself?” Swinton asked. I dipped my head in assent, and he sighed deeply. “Every morning when I wake up, I expect that it will be the last time I see the morning light unfiltered by mindless rage. Every evening, I am grateful I’ve lived another day without the grief taking me just because I lost my brother. It’s been years since he died, and still, I mourn his loss every day. But despite all the grief and the fact that I could shatter at any moment, I go on living, because that’s all I can do, really.”

  Clem and Hoss disappeared down the path toward the house when Swinton and I stopped talking. We stood together, silent, as darkness filled the sky. When the stars began to twinkle, overwhelming what was left of the sun, I took Swinton’s hand.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t understand,” I said.

  He squeezed my hand, and the ice in my gut melted. I’d never felt this way about anyone, not even Claes. I’d longed for his approval. I’d welcomed his kisses. But I’d never needed Claes the way that I needed Swinton in that moment.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” I asked.

  The night was full of buzzing insects and the distant calls of jungle creatures. Taking his silence for agreement, I began. “Vi...she’s not just my sister, Swinton. She’s my twin.”

  “You must be joking,” Swinton said, his voice tinged with mocking, sarcastic shock. “I never would’ve guessed, seeing the two of you standing next to each other.”

  “Would you listen?” I huffed. I was terrified that this would be the last thing I told Swinton. That after he learned the full breadth of my lies, he would walk away and never speak to me again.

  “Fine.”

  “My full name is Ambrose Oswin Trousillion Gyllen. Just over a month ago, Queen Runa named me the official heir to the throne of Alskad.” I looked at him, expectantly, waiting for some kind of reaction.

  Swinton blinked rapidly, his brows furrowed, opened his mouth as if to say something, and closed it again.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just...” I let out a long, slow breath, staring at the toes of my boots. “It’s a lot.”

  Swinton remained silent for so long that I finally looked up to gauge his reaction. To my shock, his face was full of mirth. “I suppose I should’ve been calling you ‘little prince’ rather than ‘little lord’ this whole time,” he said, teasing. “Go on, then. Out with the rest of it.”

  Relief and warmth flooded me in equal measure. It felt so good to tell someone. To tell him. To not be alone with my secrets anymore. I left nothing out—my father’s infidelity, my birth and adoption, the successions, the deaths that had set me on this road, Gerlene finding Ina, the trip to the Ilor colonies. Everything. As I talked, we walked through the fields, away from the well-lit path.

  When I was finished, I waited for him to say something, anything. He didn’t breathe a word. The starlight rinsed the gold from his hair and skin, and in that gray-white ancient light, the stark lines of his face were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. On a sudden impulse, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. He froze, and I pulled away, embarrassed. I dropped his hand.

  “I’m sorry...” I stammered. “I didn’t mean... I just...”

  Swinton smiled. A bright, dazzling thing. He wrapped his arms around me, drew me in and kissed me back. I closed my eyes, and nothing in the world existed except that kiss. His lips melted into mine, and he pulled me close, our chests twin planes made to match. Our tongues flickered and danced, and everything in the world disappeared except our bodies and my endless, aching need for him.

  When he pulled away, sound and light came rushing back in a dizzying wave. “Oh,” I said stupidly.

  Swinton winked at me, but behind his smile, he looked sad. As sad as I’d ever seen a person. “I’m glad you told me, Bo. I’m glad you trust me.”

  “So am I,” I breathed. I looked back toward the house, weighing our choices. “We can leave in the morning. I don’t know what to do about this place, but there’ll be time once we get Vi free. Is that all right with you?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sure that my aunt will understand if you’d rather eat by yourself. I actually think that might make this easier. I can see if she’ll have something sent up to your room.”

  Again, he nodded. “Be wary, Bo. I wouldn’t trust that woman for a minute.”

  “I don’t. Not for a blink.” I squeezed his hand. “And to think, she’s one of the less vicious members of my family.”

  The stark, bleak nighttime light smoothed the imperfections of the rambling house into a beautiful lie: the chipped paint and weathered shingles disappeared, leaving the elegant lines and trailing vines that belied the viper that lived inside those walls. We walked back through the poisonous, destructive bushes, hand in hand, lit only by the stars and the slivers of the broken moon rising over the horizon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  VI

  The study was empty when I arrived the next day. Always hungry for a new book, I scanned the shelves that lined the room for something that might not be missed if it happened to find its way into my pocket. While most of the books were rich, leather-bound classics, I spotted a row of cheap paperbound books on a bottom shelf in the corner. I’d just squatted to get a better look when Phineas swept into the room leading a pair of anchorites, unmistakable in their sunset robes.

  I hopped up and immediately sank into a low, proper bow.

  “This is the diminished girl?” a deep, feminine voice asked over my bowed head.

  “She is.” Phineas’s voice was doing more bowing and scraping than I was. “You may stand, Vi. Say hello to Anchorite Mathille, Anchorite Tafima and Shriven Curlin.”

  I started and looked up, seeing the white-robed figure enter behind the anchorites. It wasn’t a coincidence—it was actually Curlin, my Curlin, smiling triumphantly at me. Her long, straight nose was bisected by the black paint of the Shriven, and a new tattoo crept up her neck. A scream rose in my throat, and I quickly swallowed it. If she’d not shaved her head, I would’ve wanted to rip her hair out. Now all I wanted was to break that long, straight nose of hers. She, more than anyone else, was responsible for my present situation.

  I took a deep breath, searching for calm. “Magritte’s blessings upon you,” I said.

  “My,” the younger of the anchorites exclaimed. “She’s practically docile, especially for one of the diminished.”

  “We are working hard toward that end, Anchorite Tafima,” Phineas reassured her. “I hope our little excursion today will bring her fully into the mind-set she needs to be of use to my dear wife.”

  The eldest of the three, a middle-aged woman whose yellow robes clashed horribly with her sallow skin, shot a thin-lipped smile at Phineas. “If it does not, nothing will. Shall we be off?”

  * * *

  Phineas handed the anchorites and Curlin into their waiting carriage while I mounted Beetle and wiped my sweaty palms on my breeches. We rode down twisting jungle roads, taking so many turns and switchbacks that I eventually lost all sense of direction. The cries of wild animals echoed through the air, and bright birds swooped around us, unafraid. Great gnarled trees, their branches hung with gray-green curls of moss, loomed over the wide road. Their canopies blocked the sun, so when we finally emerged, I found myself blinking furiously in the late afternoon lig
ht.

  The carriage creaked to a halt. Beetle slowed her plodding pace without even a twitch of the reins on my part. My eyes widened at the sight of a stone wall rising out of the jungle, at least twice my height, with nasty iron spikes shooting from its crown. A massive iron gate eased open, and I filed in behind the anchorites’ carriage and Phineas on his big palomino mare.

  Once inside the gates, a swarm of servants in neat gray uniforms descended on us. One took Beetle’s reins from me. Another wrapped his big hands around my waist and pulled me out of my saddle. My heart raced, and I kicked, fighting with all my strength. My booted foot made contact with something soft, and the man dropped me, cursing. I landed on my feet and shifted into a fighting stance, hands up and feet wide. A wave of the gray-clad servants rushed toward me, but a gravelly voice rang out across the courtyard, stopping them.

  “The girl is a guest here today. She won’t be staying.”

  “Thank you, Anchorite,” Phineas said, his voice cold. “You see why I thought this visit necessary?”

  Embarrassed, I offered my hand to the man I’d kicked. “Sorry about that, chum. Guess I’m a bit jumpy today.”

  He snarled, showing black gaps in his mouth where he’d lost teeth.

  “This way, Obedience,” the orange-clad anchorite said. “Phineas, would you allow us to take charge of your servant for the rest of the afternoon? Anchorite Mathille will have kaffe for you in the Ancients’ parlor, if you please.”

  Nodding, Phineas led the way to a brick building that looked oddly familiar to me, followed by the trio of women. As we got closer, I realized this was an exact replica of one of the anchorites’ houses in Alskad.

  How absurd, I thought, for them to build something like that here.

  The building had tiny windows to keep out the cold winter air in the heart of the Alskad Empire, but here, the lack of air circulation would undoubtedly make the interior stifling. I eyed the chimneys dotting the roof and realized they must’ve added the traditional hearth to every room, as well. All those fireplaces would be useless in the heat of Ilor.

  Phineas and Anchorite Mathille split away from the other two women and me in the foyer. I followed Curlin and Anchorite Tafima down a pristine, well-lit hallway and into a library. The anchorite sat at a broad desk, and Curlin stood behind her, motioning me toward a hard, ladder-backed chair. I sat, and for several long, uncomfortable minutes, the anchorite peered at me critically. Curlin poured a glass of juice from a crystal pitcher and handed it to me. Surprised, I took the glass and sipped, thirsty from the ride. The room reeked of some heavy perfume. Knowing from long experience with anchorites that I’d have my head bitten off if I spoke first, I waited, the cut crystal of the glass leaving marks on my palm.

  “Obedience Violette Abernathy, daughter of Xandrina Fleet Abernathy. Diminished. You’ve mostly sisters, I think—just two boys in your mother’s whole brood. Given to be raised by the temple as an infant. You were meant to be here, laboring in service of the temple, as I’m sure you know.” The woman glanced down at the neat stack of papers on the desk in front of her. “But as you’re now engaged in service to one of our most loyal worshippers, and Mister Laroche has most generously offered to increase his tithe to compensate for our labor loss, I suppose we’ll do with you what we can.”

  A memory of Bo’s face rose like bile in my throat, and I narrowed my eyes at her. I wondered what her game was. I’m sure it wouldn’t be long before I figured it out—scams and grifts were a way of life in the End. If a body let their guard down for a minute, they’d be missing every shiny button from coat to boot.

  The anchorite made a disgusted face and said, “You’ve been brought here to learn a lesson in deference. Ironic, given your name. Are you ready?”

  She stood, and Curlin glided to open a door at the back of the room, her head bowed. She’d been so still that I’d almost forgotten she was there.

  “This way,” the anchorite commanded.

  I followed her down a stairwell dimly lit by solar lamps. Curlin’s white robes swished behind me, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that she held a metal-tipped staff across her body. It nearly touched the stone walls on either side. There’d be no turning back now.

  We stopped in front of a heavy door at the bottom of the stairs. The anchorite pulled a key from a long chain around her neck and unlocked the door. The space beyond the doorway was shrouded in darkness, but the anchorite walked into it with the ease of long familiarity. I paused and bit my lip. Sweat rolled down my back, though the basement was cool.

  “Come.” The anchorite’s voice echoed out from the darkness. A moment later, the smooth heel of Curlin’s staff pressed into my lower back, like the promise of pain to come. I walked forward into the dark. Before I had taken three blind steps, I heard the familiar scrape of steel on flint, and a flame gave shape to the dingy room. The anchorite handed it off to Curlin, and she moved between lamps hanging at even intervals along the stone walls, lighting each of them. Steel bars enclosed a number of alcoves, still bathed in shadows. As the room grew brighter, groans and whimpers rose from what I now saw were cells.

  It wasn’t until the rough wooden door scratched my shoulder blades that I realized I’d been backing up. Someone slammed into the steel bars next to me and cackled. A skeletal hand reached toward me. I recoiled, my skin prickling. The hand was missing two fingers and its thumb.

  “They’re perfectly secure,” Curlin said, disdain coloring her prim accent.

  “What is this place?” I stammered.

  “These are the diminished of this region of Ilor, those who have undergone the change,” the anchorite said. “Your employer gave a generous gift so that you might see what happens to the diminished who misbehave here in the Ilor colonies. Take a good look.”

  Numb, I walked behind her, glancing into every cell along the way. The people behind those bars looked past me with blank eyes. Some wept. Others shouted curses. I hated myself for the relief that flooded through me, knowing now that I would never be one of them.

  A voice echoed down the stairs. “Anchorite, you’re needed in the parlor for a moment.”

  The anchorite huffed and went to the staircase. “Show her, Curlin.”

  Curlin nodded respectfully, and the anchorite swished out of the room. The second the door thudded closed at the top of the stairs, Curlin turned to me with a wicked grin.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  “What are you doing here?” I seethed.

  Curlin, a full head taller than me, took me by the arm and whipped me around to face her. “They’re watching,” she whispered. “We’ve never met. You and I cannot know each other. It’s for your safety. Got it?”

  I tried to jerk away from her, but she’d grown stronger since joining the Shriven, and her tattooed fingers held me like a vise.

  “Come on, girl,” she said in a loud voice, haughty and full of venom. “I’m going to show you what happens to dimmys like you.”

  Staff heavy on my back, and her hand wrapped viselike around my arm, Curlin pulled me into the next room. My heart sank in my chest when I saw a boy and a girl, one dark-skinned, the other pale and ruddy. Neither could have been a day over ten. They were strapped to upright planks that were the same light pine as the table in the temple kitchen where I’d eaten almost every breakfast until so very recently.

  Curlin locked the door behind us and went to a table where two half-full glasses waited.

  “It’s so sad,” Curlin said, her tone equal parts threat and delight. “You could have been one of us. No one sees a dimmy when they look at me. All they see is power, control. Now that I’m Shriven, I can do no wrong.” She turned to look at me, her face grim. “Watch.”

  Curlin had grown steadily nastier after she joined the Shriven, but this wasn’t like her. Something in her had snapped, and she’d become more like one of the horrible green tree vip
ers of Ilor than the adventurous, bossy girl I’d grown up with. I did as I was told, my eyes fixed on the children. They were gagged, but their eyes flicked from side to side like caged insects, taking in everything in the room.

  “Dimmys,” Curlin explained, “are as common as rats in the wilder parts of this country.”

  I saw her dismissive gesture out of the corner of my eye and, fists clenched, asked, “Why’ve you brought me here? What are you doing?”

  “You were supposed to be coming to the colonies to labor in the service to the temple, but you’ve wormed your way out of that nicely, haven’t you? Now, on the one hand, we could leave you where you are. Phineas contributes a great deal to the temples, mainly so we’ll turn a blind eye to his amalgam wife. I imagine he’d give more to keep his pet nearby.” She paused, and her gaze turned predatory. “On the other, we could snatch you away from Plumleen. I believe we need someone to mop up after us down here. Unless, of course, you choose to cooperate.”

  Curlin took one of the glasses from the table and approached the boy. She whispered something in his ear before removing his gag.

  “Tell us your name, child,” she said.

  “My name is Tobain, Shriven.”

  “Your age?”

  “I’m nine.” His voice shook with fear. “Please don’t beat me. I’ll be good, I swear.”

  My throat clenched.

  “I know,” Curlin cooed. Her voice was calm and soothing. “Now tell me the truth, Tobain. Have you ever hurt anyone? Played with fire? Killed an animal?”

  He whimpered. “I wrung a chicken’s neck for supper once. But Ma made me! I hated it! I’ll never do it again, I promise!”

  “How long ago did your twin die?”