The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  I could have throttled my ten-year-old self in that moment. Not, I thought, that I would even know how.

  Saddlebags over my shoulder, I slipped into the empty hallway, lit by the dim glow of solar lamps turned down low. I eased Swinton’s door open and found him in a chair by the window, pulling on his boots. He gave me a sardonic look. “You, little lord, are as loud as a herd of aurochs. Perhaps more so when you’re trying to be quiet. Ready to go, are you?”

  “They’re going to try to kill us.”

  “Obviously,” he whispered. “Best put your boots on. I assume you’ve no idea how to defend yourself?”

  “I’m a very good shot,” I said, tugging on my boots.

  Swinton opened the window, and the wet smell of coming rain flooded into the room on the back of the heady scent of philomena blossoms. “That’s a useful skill with the heaps of guns we’ve got lying around.”

  “I could do without your sarcasm.”

  Swinton’s voice rose to something between a shout and a whisper. “And I could do without the headache of trying to keep your incompetent, evasive backside alive, but we all get what we sign up for, don’t we?”

  He tossed his saddlebags out the window and reached for mine. Footsteps echoed in the foyer and started up the stairs. I handed Swinton my saddlebags, and he sent them flying out the window. They landed with a thud in the grass of the lawn.

  “Look, bully. Do your best not to get hit.” He cast around the room, and darted to the fireplace, coming back with an iron poker and brush. “I’ll manage the twins. Get our bags and tack up the horses as fast as you can. Wait for me behind the screen of trees in front of the house. Don’t you dare leave me behind, hear?”

  I nodded, gripping the iron brush with tight knuckles. The stairs creaked under someone’s weight, and I heard a hissing curse.

  “If they get too close, go for the soft spots. Eyes, throat, balls and joints. Hit their knees hard enough with that iron rod, and they’ll shatter.”

  Swinton crossed the room, wrapped an arm around me and pressed his lips hard against mine. Despite everything, my insides turned to jelly, and my heart raced even faster.

  “Good luck, bully,” Swinton said, positioning himself inside the door, poker over his head.

  A moment later, the door crashed open, and Swinton brought the poker down hard onto Hoss’s head. He staggered back, knocking into Clem, and I raced through the door, barreling past them into the hall. I swung over the bannister and onto the stairs, but lost my balance and fumbled for the rail in a panic. I managed to catch myself, turning an ankle and cursing as pain shot up my leg.

  Heart pounding so hard it seemed to drown the sounds of the struggle on the landing, I started down the staircase as fast as I could. Something caught my collar and yanked me back, unbalancing me. I whirled around on my good ankle to find Hoss, blood streaming into one eye, on the stair above me, holding tight to my shirt. Instinctively, I swung the iron brush up with all my might. It connected with his jaw in a sickening crunch. Hoss’s eyes opened wide, then fluttered shut. All at once, his knees buckled, his grip on my collar relaxed, and he tumbled toward me.

  I flung the iron brush down and reached for the stair rail in a vain attempt to stay on my feet, but when Hoss’s limp form careened into me, my bad ankle gave way, and I went toppling down the stairs. Hoss landed on top of me, knocking the breath from my chest. When I finally managed to suck in a gulp of air, I heaved him off me and limped for the door, not waiting to see who had been aroused by the noise of our scuffle.

  I raced, wincing and hobbled by my already-swelling ankle, for the barn, pausing only to scoop up our saddlebags from the grass where they’d landed outside Swinton’s window. I found our horses, their tack flung carelessly outside the stalls where they stood dozing, and cinched saddles onto each of their backs. I buckled the saddlebags in place, slipped their bridles on, and led them quickly out of the barn. Holding Swinton’s horse’s reins in my hand, I mounted my own and rode to the screen of trees where I was to meet Swinton.

  My breathing slowed as I waited. The minutes crept by, and each muffled sound from inside the house pushed me closer to going back to help Swinton. Just as I kicked my foot free of the stirrup, the front door of the house banged open.

  Swinton yelled my name, and I urged the horses toward the house as smoke billowed from the windows on the second floor. I gaped at the sight of the bright flames in the doorway. Swinton ran from the house, grabbing the oil lamps from either side of the porch. He flung them to the ground, and the philomenas went up in a whoosh of oily flame. Swinton swung into the saddle with a grim look back at the burning house and kicked his mount into a gallop.

  I followed suit, and in that moment, I desperately missed the horse I’d left behind in Alskad. Laith, with his long legs and boundless energy, would have delighted in a predawn gallop, but the borrowed mount I rode now seemed reluctant, at best, to keep up with his companion.

  We rode at a bone-jostling pace into the jungle until the thick branches overhead blocked the dim glow of the sun inching its way toward the horizon and we were forced to slow. My ankle throbbed more each time one of my horse’s hooves struck the hard-packed trail. By the time we stopped, tears of pain streamed from my eyes.

  As soon as I’d managed to choke the tears out of my voice, I asked, “Why? Why would you set the house on fire? Have you...” I stopped myself.

  “Have I lost control?” Swinton snapped. “No. And I’ll thank you never to ask me that particular question again, dimwit. What was I to do? Let them poison more of my people? I shouldn’t think you’d care for folk who’d tried so hard to murder you.”

  I wanted to kick myself for hurting him, but I had to press. I had no desire to be an accomplice to murder, especially of innocents. “What about the servants? They didn’t know any better.”

  “The servants have quarters well away from the house,” Swinton reassured me. “But, Bo, your aunt tried to have you killed. Living around philomenas like that for so long... She and Clem and Hoss were all tainted. A bit off-kilter, and none of them a stranger to violence. It’s better this way. At least they can’t hurt anyone else now.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for biting your head off. You were right to ask if I’d lost my grip. You’ve got to keep yourself safe, little lord. Are you in one piece?”

  He rode up beside me and reached out to squeeze my hand. I pressed his in return and nodded. “My ankle’s twisted, but it’ll heal in a few days, I think. I’ll do. Though a lesson in hand-to-hand combat might not go amiss. I don’t want to leave you to do all the fighting for me. How far to Southill?”

  “We’ll be there tonight if we ride fast and the horses last.” He hesitated for a moment, clearly conflicted. “Do you want to go back?” he asked, his voice soft. “We can if you’d like.”

  “No. As you said, it’s better this way.” I shook my head and kneed my horse around to follow Swinton deeper into the moonlit jungle.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  VI

  The morning of Aphra’s birthday celebration, I was sunk deep in furious contemplation when a sharp knock broke the stillness. I opened the door to find Hepsy, holding a large basket and wearing an expression I’d never seen on her face before. Her mouth was screwed up and her brows knitted together, but her red-rimmed eyes plainly showed she’d been crying.

  She shoved the basket into my arms. The breeze that came through the open door was warm enough to send a shiver down my spine.

  “Well,” she said, “are you going to invite me in?”

  I nudged the door all the way open with my foot and nodded for her to enter. “Myrna’s still sleeping,” I cautioned.

  Hepsy stepped inside and glared at me. “Wake her up, if you please.”

  “I will not,” I spat. “After what she went through the other night, she should sleep as much as she can.” I set the basket on the ta
ble.

  There was a fire in Hepsy’s eyes as she said, “I’ll take off my belt and beat you over the back of that couch if you don’t do as I say, girl.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” I snapped.

  Hepsy stepped menacingly toward me. I planted my feet and took a deep breath, readying myself for her to lunge. Just as Hepsy went to unbuckle her belt, the bedroom door swung open.

  “Dzallie’s toes! What’s going on out here? You two look like a couple of dogs fit to tussle!”

  Myrna stepped between us and shot her sister a look.

  “Why’re you here?” Her voice was icy, though polite.

  “I’ve come to bring you your breakfast, as my mistress asked me to do, and to ask if you’ll help ready Vi for the celebration tonight. Mistress Laroche knows you’re skilled with that sort of thing, Myrna.” She jerked her chin at me. “This insolent dimmy refused to follow my orders.”

  Myrna scowled. “I heard. She was only trying to help me.”

  “Don’t you think you can take a tone with me just because the mistress took pity on you. I’ve coddled you more than you deserve.”

  “Shove it, Hepsy. You’ve coddled me about as much as a turtle looks after her eggs.”

  Hepsy sniffed and turned back to me. “As for you, little Miss Nose-in-Everyone’s-Business, your time in the manor house promises to be mercifully short. Mark my words, you’ll be on the mountain, breaking your back in the kaffe groves, before year’s end.”

  I gritted my teeth. There was a battle raging between the side of me that begged me to be cautious and the part of me that didn’t take well to being insulted by a self-important besom like Hepsy. The reckless side won, to no surprise. “I guarantee you that won’t happen, you wicked old goat.”

  I didn’t let my eyes leave Hepsy’s irate face. Myrna whistled, long and low.

  After another long minute, Hepsy turned on her heel and stalked out of my rooms, slamming the door behind her.

  “Well, that may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen a person do,” Myrna commented. “And I once watched a woman cuddle up to a cottonmouth because the anchorite in her town claimed that if she was faithful, the goddesses would keep her safe.”

  “Hailstones in a handbasket, but that woman makes me so mad,” I said. “I’m sorry. I know she’s your sister.”

  Myrna shrugged. “When we turned destitute after Ma died, Pa packed us onto the first ship out. Sold our contracts, and us not yet ten. We’ve coped in different ways.”

  “How much time do you have left on your contract?” I asked.

  “Because we were only little brats, Phineas wouldn’t take us for less than twenty years. That, plus time added for getting sick and the like? We should be done when we’re a bit past thirty. Only ten more years or so.”

  “Magritte’s tongue,” I breathed.

  “It’s been no worse than it would have been an orphanage. Plus, if everything goes as planned, you and I’ll both be out of here long before that. Now, I’m starved. Let’s see what’s in that basket, and you can tell me about your day with Phineas.”

  * * *

  “Go on. Have a look. I think you’re finished.” Myrna patted me on the shoulder. “You look so pretty!”

  I blushed and smoothed the thin, diaphanous silk over my hips. “It’s not too dark?”

  Phineas had sent the seamstress to me alone, and—still smarting from his cock-and-bull chicanery—I’d picked a fabric I knew he’d hate. The seamstress grumbled about the rush to get the dress done in time for the party, but the garment had turned out beautifully. Dark gray silk, the color of thunderheads, fell in a swirling cloud from my shoulders to my feet, cinched tight at my waist by a beaded belt. I wore a bright blue underdress, and the color flashed at the hem and in the slits the seamstress had made beneath my arms to my waist.

  “Not a bit,” Myrna said. “Go look!”

  A spiderweb of cracks splayed in one corner of the mirror, which was probably the only reason it wasn’t still in the manor house. One crack, the biggest, ran up the side of the glass, and darted across, breaking my body into two disjointed halves, an oddly fitting image. I studied the girl staring back at me and thought of Bo. I’d heard not a word from him or Quill, and time was slipping away. Not that it really mattered. Even if he could buy out my contract, the anchorites would find me and rope me back in somehow.

  “Well?” Myrna asked.

  She was right. Despite the imperfect reflection, I was pretty. The gray silk deepened my eyes, ringed in dark lashes, and complemented my pale, freckled skin. Myrna had tamed my curls, pinning them into elaborately constructed braids and twists that sat atop my head like a crown.

  “How’d you do that with my hair?” I asked, amazed.

  For once, I wasn’t the one who turned pink. “I’ve always liked playing with hair,” Myrna admitted. “There’s a part of me that hoped Aphra might choose me to be her personal maid, but my fate, unfortunately, seems fair well chained to these horses.”

  “You’re awfully good at it. I’ve never seen hair like this outside the rich folks in the haven hall.”

  “There’s more,” Myrna said. She pulled two knives, shaped like arrowheads and wickedly sharp-looking, from a drawer and handed them to me. “You know how to use them?”

  I slid the hilts between my fingers and gave a few experimental jabs. Knives like these were favorites with thieves. Easy to hide and all. “Enough to be trouble. How did you manage?”

  Myrna grinned and untied the belt from around my waist. She took the knives from me and slid them into well-concealed sheathes, leaving only the flat handles showing. She raised one eyebrow, smiling. “The seamstress is a friend. I’ve got a thigh sheath, too, if you want. Never know when you might need a knife.”

  “Is there something I should be worried about?” I asked as Myrna tied the belt back in place.

  “Never know when you might find yourself alone with someone particularly nasty,” Myrna said, her face drawn and set in hard lines. “Never know when a knife might come in handy in the middle of the night, what with guests here, and drinking, and no one keeping track of servants.”

  My mind flashed from Bo, working to free me from this hell—the hell I’d chosen for myself—to the people I’d be leaving behind. The people here who might very well suffer the same fate as Sawny and Lily. I dashed into my room, dug through my trunk and emerged a moment later with my small pouch of pearls. I took Myrna’s hand and poured half of my wealth into her palm. “By way of a thank you. Maybe it’ll help a bit.”

  Myrna stared at me, open-mouthed. Just as she started to speak there was a knock at the door.

  “Don’t say a word. Just take them,” I said, looping the pouch over my head and tucking it beneath my dress.

  Myrna shoved the hand into her pocket and gave my shoulder a squeeze with the other.

  “It’s probably Hepsy again. I’ll get it. Just keep a sharp eye out and your wits about you,” Myrna whispered, and in a louder tone said, “I hope she’s brought some food. I’m starved.”

  There was no way I could eat. My stomach had twisted itself into knots hours ago and didn’t look to settle anytime soon.

  “Well, well, well,” Myrna’s voice came from the mudroom. She poked her head into the great room. “How are your nerves, Vi?”

  My heart started to race. “Fine,” I said, slow and wary. “Why?”

  “Better sit down anyway. I’ll be forced to throttle you if you spoil your hair by fainting.”

  I sat, but as soon as the door swung open, I sprang to my feet again. Mal leaned against the doorjamb, grinning. He held a small, neatly wrapped parcel in one hand and his boots in the other. I watched him, dumbfounded, as he put his boots down and walked toward me. A part of me—larger than I wanted to admit—was disappointed that he wasn’t Quill, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings
asking after his brother first thing.

  Myrna let out a long, low whistle. “Good to see you again, handsome.”

  “Treats for the puppies,” Mal said, looking bashful and setting the parcel on the table. “You look amazing, Vi.”

  Myrna chuckled and imitated Mal’s deep, sonorous voice. “It’s nice to see you as well.” She switched to an exaggerated, high-pitched voice. “Thank you, Mal. So rare to see a young man with such good manners.”

  “Don’t mind her,” I said with a laugh.

  Myrna gave me an exaggerated wink and herded the puppies toward the bedroom. “You two catch up. I just need to see about, um...something in here.” Before she closed the door, I saw her grinning at me, making lewd gestures behind Mal’s back.

  I rolled my eyes and called, “You’re a bloody nuisance, Myrna.”

  Mal crossed the room and hugged me.

  “Is Bo with you?” I whispered as soon as he let go.

  He leaned against the back of the couch and grimaced. “Not so much as a hello, then?”

  I blushed and looked down at my feet. They were small, like my mother’s, but I had long, knobby toes that were unlike anyone else’s in my family. When I was a little girl, I’d spent the brief visits with my family soaking in every detail of their appearances, their personalities. Even though they held me at arm’s length, and it was clear that those visits were more duty than pleasure, I had always tried to imagine what it might be like if Pru hadn’t died, if my family had actually loved me. Now I had a brother—a twin—bent on getting me out of the contract I’d shoved myself into, and my asking about him clearly touched a nerve with Mal, who’d become as dear to me as any brother. The thought carved a hollow space in my chest.