The Exalted

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

I was prepared. I was ready. I was the picture of kingly calm.

  Runa had warned me that the council would refuse to accept my testimony unless I was sworn in and thus bound to protect the secrets I heard in that chamber. And without the testimony of an eyewitness, they would dither and refuse to act against the temple until it was too late. We had to force them into action. I didn’t quite see how it mattered that I become an official member of the council, given that the oaths I’d taken when I was declared heir were far more binding than those I’d swear to sit on the council. But, as Swinton and Runa had endlessly reminded me over the course of the last three weeks, tradition meant a great deal to these people, and it would be hard for them to break with it.

  In the end, the true challenge wouldn’t be allowing me to sit on the council, but deciding who would have to step down in order to give me that seat. I was confident that Runa and I had chosen the right person to ask, though it remained to be seen whether the other members of the council would agree.

  The guards ushered me through the little antechamber and into the hall, where I wouldn’t have even the faintest chance of hearing the council’s discussion. I paced up and down the hall, the heels of my boots echoing like drumbeats. Snow fell in quiet drifts on the other side of the casement windows, and icy air seeped through the ancient stone as shadows climbed like ivy up the walls.

  On my sixth lap of the hall, I stopped in front of the guards. “Do you have the time, Tibbaux?”

  I wasn’t positive that the woman’s name was Tibbaux, but I was fairly certain it started with a T, at least. Runa knew the names of each and every person who served the crown—from the boy who turned the spit in the kitchen to the captain of the guard, no one was too small or unimportant for Runa. I hoped to be the same when I wore the crown.

  Tibbaux—Theeo?—patted the pockets of her uniform’s trousers and, coming up empty-handed, looked at the guard standing next to her. With an ill-concealed smirk, he pointed at an enormous gilded clock ticking in an alcove just to his right. I pressed my lips into a thin smile, feeling a bit sheepish.

  “Thank you. Waiting like this makes me skittish as a newborn foal, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The guards nodded, their feelings once again hidden behind impassive masks, and I wanted to cram the words back into my mouth as soon as I’d finished speaking. Their whole lives were spent waiting—waiting for people like me to make decisions for people like them, for people like me to finish whatever secret task I’d accomplish behind one closed door before being escorted to another. Waiting for something to happen, for some attack or action that would never come.

  I paced and watched the minute hand creep around the clock’s gilded, midnight blue face. Eventually, my legs like jelly, I sank onto a cold, hard bench and picked at my cuticles—though I knew Runa would scold me for it—listening to the ticktock of the ever-slowing seconds passing.

  A loud bang yanked me out of my sullen reverie, but before I could scramble to my feet, Rylain swept past me in a rush of somber rust-colored silk and thunderhead cashmere.

  “Rylain, wait!” I called down the hall.

  She turned on a heel and faced me, her cheeks flushed deeply red. “Magritte keep you from that nest of vipers, cousin. You don’t have a single true friend in that room.”

  Without another word, she slipped through the heavy doors and was gone. A moment later, Lisette appeared at my side and threaded her arm through mine. “It was...not unanimous,” she announced. “But you’ve been approved, nonetheless. The queen asked Rylain to step down to make a place for you, and we voted you into her seat. I’ve honestly no idea why she even cares. It isn’t as if she ever willingly engages in the running of the empire unless she’s forced to come down out of her hiding place in the North.”

  “She seemed upset,” I said, wondering if our choice had actually been the right one. Runa and I hadn’t expected Rylain to be so put out.

  Lisette tittered. “Of course she’s upset. She just lost the last modicum of influence she ever had. But come now, let’s not keep the others waiting. It’s been a long enough day already, and everyone’s ready for their suppers and their beds.”

  Since she was still clinging to my arm, I escorted Lisette back into the chamber, taking in each of the council members’ faces as we entered. I nearly laughed. It was painfully obvious who in the room had voted against my joining the council. Dame Turshaw and Olivar looked as though they’d each been given a spoonful of rancid cod-liver oil.

  I stopped at Runa’s throne and bent to kiss her bracelet.

  “Crown Prince Ambrose Oswin Trousillion Gyllen, the council has voted in favor of granting your petition to be inducted into our ranks. Will you swear, in the name of your chosen god, to hold the secrets of this council and its members until your death?”

  “I swear on my honor and in Gadrian the Firebound’s name.”

  “And will you, on pain of imprisonment, death or removal from your throne, swear that all words you utter within the four walls of this chamber be true?”

  I did everything in my power to control the horrified expression that threatened to fall over my face like a mask. The queen hadn’t prepared me for this part of the vow, but given that I’d just watched her tell a story to the council that was really only half-true, I managed to school my features into a kind of knit-brow concern.

  “Certainly,” I said, my voice more of a squeak than the confident affirmation I’d intended.

  “Lovely,” Runa said, gleeful. “The council will hear your testimony tonight, and tomorrow we will reconvene in order to discuss the issue. I ask that you all hold your recommendations until that time. And, of course, I would like to remind you that nothing we say here may leave this chamber.”

  The councillors nodded their assent, and I took a deep breath, trying to collect my racing thoughts and focus on the story I was meant to tell. I would have more than enough time to ask Runa questions later.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Vi

  “I certainly hope that wherever you are right now, it’s cooler than this blasted Ilorian heat. I feel like I may dissolve in a pool of my own sweat if it doesn’t let up soon.”

  —from Vi to Bo

  We stopped for the night just as the sun was setting over the mountains. A small waterfall tumbled into a deep, rock-cluttered pool just at the edge of the clearing, and a screen of trees provided some cover from the path.

  Once we’d fed and hobbled the horses, built a fire and erected our tent, I pulled a set of spare clothes, a towel and a net bag from my bedroll, tucking my little bag of pearls into the center of the roll for safekeeping.

  I set the clothes and the towel on a rock near the water. Then, with my back to Curlin, I shimmied out of my sweat-soaked clothes, looped the strap of the net bag across my chest and waded into the cool, fresh lap of the waves. All of the stress and terror and confusion of the last few months washed away in the familiar pull of the water. I wasn’t ten steps in before I was up to my shoulders, and I took a few deep breaths in preparation for a dive.

  I picked up a couple of stones to weigh me down and kicked hard toward the bottom of the pool. The fading light of the day cast the depths in shadow, but the water was clear, and tiny, bright fish darted around me in waves of silver and bubbles. The huge, rounded rocks that littered the bottom of the pool were smoother and larger than any I’d seen in the harbor back home.

  The water here didn’t sting my eyes the way that the salty ocean had, but I found the same kind of tranquility in the pounding crash of the waterfall that I’d loved in the rhythm of the waves. Long, dark green leaves danced and curled up from the bottom of the pool, and pearlescent shells glittered in the cracks between the stones.

  Diving had the same comforting familiarity as walking into a dark room I knew by heart, avoiding every shin-knocking table corner and jutting doorknob by habit. It was easy, peacefu
l. Each moment underwater brought me closer to myself. I dug my fingers into the sand and felt around until I found the smooth, hard shell of a mollusk. I dug and dug, loading my bag with as many clams as I could find before I ran out of air. As I fingered through the sand, I ran through my mental inventory of the food in our saddlebags, and an idea for our supper came together quick as anything.

  I’d spent a lot of time in Noona’s kitchen while Curlin and I recovered, and I’d picked up a thing or two. Turned out, after a life of living on stolen scraps, I’d a bit of an affinity for cooking and more than a little appreciation for good food. Every time I stirred a pot or seasoned a sauce, I thought of Sawny. And every time, the balance between grief and sweetness swung just a little further from tears.

  I was out of practice, and it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before I started to feel the burning need to breathe again. When my aching lungs finally forced me to the surface, I broke through the water, smiling contentedly. My grin faded when I heard Curlin screaming my name, her voice high and shaking with panic.

  “What the blasted hell is wrong?” I snapped, just as soon as I’d caught my breath.

  Curlin was crouched by the rock where I’d left my clothes, long knife drawn and muscles tense. The tattoos on her cheeks drew stark lines against her cheekbones, and the short stubble of her auburn hair was like a smudge on her scalp in the growing darkness.

  “I thought you’d drowned or had been pulled under by some horrible beast. What would possess you to go swimming in a pool you know nothing about just as the sun is setting? Furthermore, don’t you think it would’ve been considerate to tell me what you’d planned on doing? I could’ve at least made sure you didn’t drown...”

  I swam back to the shoreline, half listening to Curlin’s rant, half reveling in the burn of the long-neglected muscles in my chest and arms and legs as I swam. When I got close to the shore, I slid the bag off my shoulder and lounged, neck-deep in the cool water, reveling in the silky familiarity of it.

  I finally interrupted her. “When you finish cataloging my faults, do you think you might be willing to hand me that towel there?”

  Curlin stopped her tirade, but fixed me with a long glare. Finally, just before I’d decided to get the damn thing myself, she grabbed the towel and thrust it at me.

  “I don’t know why you’re acting like you’re the only one making sacrifices in this thing, Vi. I’ve been doing everything in my power to show you that I’m still the same girl you grew up with, the same girl who held your secrets and protected you for years. The anchorites—Sula, Lugine, Bethea—they pushed for me to be sent to Ilor, to watch out for you. Why can’t you even try to trust me?”

  I whipped the towel around myself and waded out of the water. The sun had disappeared over the horizon, taking with it the heavy heat of the day. I shivered, angry at the frustration I felt both with myself and with her. I didn’t know how to say that she’d broken my heart. There weren’t words for the emptiness that’d grown inside me that day when I’d come back to a room stripped of her things.

  I wanted to sink back into a familiar friendship. I wanted to mourn Sawny and Lily with her, but the truth of the matter was that I didn’t know how. I had no idea where to even start.

  When I didn’t immediately answer her, Curlin stalked back to the fire, leaving me to dress in peace. As I wrung the water from my hair and slipped into my clothes, I chewed over what I might do to unknot some of the tension that snarled between Curlin and me. I knew I had to let go of her time with the Shriven. I needed to find my way back to the friend I’d known for as long as I had memories. She’d once been nearly a sister to me. Holding on to a grudge over something she’d not even wanted to do in the first place wouldn’t do either of us a lick of good.

  Truth be told, I knew it would be more than a little useful to have someone by my side who’d gone through the Shriven’s training and knew their habits and tactics, if we ever came up against them in a fight. I didn’t know what to expect when we found the resistance, but we were both counting on Curlin’s knowledge of the Shriven and what I’d learned about the philomenas to win us acceptance into the rebel fold. We didn’t need Quill to prove our worth for us—we could do it ourselves.

  I left the sack of clams weighed down by a rock in the shallows of the pool, scooped up my boots and went over to the fire. Curlin sat beside it, staring gloomily into the flames and poking the embers with a long stick.

  “I’m going to give my clothes a rinse and see if I can’t dig up a few more clams. Want me to wash yours, as well?” I offered.

  Curlin nodded, stood and unbuckled her belt. I turned to give her a bit of privacy. I hadn’t really let myself think about it, but just then, staring up at the stars glittering like crushed pearls sprinkled over velvet, the weight of what I’d done to Quill settled on my shoulders. After everything he’d given me, every sacrifice he’d made for me and all the patience he’d shown me, I’d left him, without a word, in the middle of the night. If that didn’t make me into something horrible, I didn’t know what could. Why did I always walk away from everyone who loved me?

  Curlin’s clothes landed in a pile at my feet, breaking my reverie. “Are you sure we can eat the clams you’re spending so much energy gathering?” she asked.

  “I don’t remember you ever being one to turn down a free meal,” I said, bending to gather up her clothes. “I’ve never gotten sick from anything I’ve plucked right from the water, but you go ahead and have sausages and stale bread if it’ll please you.”

  Curlin’s huff chased me to the edge of the pool, and I was shin-deep in the cool water, digging clams out of the sand, when she called after me.

  “Tell me what to do to hurry this along. I’m ravenous.”

  I hid my smile in the curtain of my damp curls and tried to keep the mirth out of my voice as I told her to brown chopped onion and sausage in one of our pots and set a bit of water to boil. When I’d filled my net bag near to bursting with clams and had rinsed the sweat and road dust from our clothes, I wrapped the clothes in my towel and lugged everything back over to the fire. Curlin, in a burst of uncharacteristic thoughtfulness, had strung up a line between two trees at the edge of the clearing. She took our damp clothes from me and hung them over the line to dry while I finished making our supper.

  I quickly cleaned the clams and dumped them in with the sizzling onions and bits of sausage, covering the whole thing with a generous glug from one of the jugs of beer I’d swiped from the Whipplestons’ kitchen. That done, I set to toasting the stale heels of our remaining bread and brewing tea in the boiling water. By the time Curlin joined me at the fire, the whole clearing was rich with the smells of our decadent supper, and my stomach was growling loud enough that folks back in Williford could probably hear.

  We ate amid a raucous symphony of jungle noises, all buzzing insects and faraway growls, passing the jug of beer between us. When we’d finally slurped the last bits of juicy meat from the clamshells and sopped up all the pot liquor with our bread, Curlin took the dishes down to the edge of the water to clean. I poured our tea into the now-empty beer jug, corked it and took it down to the pond where it could cool overnight.

  “Thanks for cleaning,” I offered, trying to bridge the gap between us.

  “Sure,” Curlin said. “Thanks for supper.”

  “No problem. Sorry I scared you. I really didn’t mean to.”

  I stole a glance at Curlin, the moonlight bringing out the subtle knot along the bridge of her nose—a break that must have happened in her time with the Shriven.

  “I know.” She stood and carried the pot back toward the campfire. I followed her.

  “I’ve been a swimmer for as long as I can remember. You know that. I didn’t even think about there being some kind of danger down there I couldn’t handle. I mean, at least there aren’t freshwater sharks, you know?”

  “You
were just under for a really long time.”

  “I used to be able to hold my breath for more than ten minutes.” I grimaced. I sounded like a puffed-up novice anchorite. “You could’ve just stuck your head under and looked.”

  Curlin unrolled her bedroll with a violent flap. On the edge of the clearing, Beetle and Curlin’s gray mule startled out of their drowse with a whinny and a bray, their ears pricking up. Thank Dzallie I’d remembered to hobble them, or we’d have had to walk the rest of the way to the rebel camp.

  I unrolled my own bedding, slipped the bag of pearls back over my head and wadded a sweater into a pillow, settling in to wait for her response. I pulled a package of taffy wrapped in bits of waxed paper from my saddlebags and handed one to Curlin, taking another for myself before I stowed the package away again. She took the sweet from me, unwrapped it and threw the paper into the fire.

  Finally, barely louder than a whisper, she said, “I can’t swim.”

  I rolled onto my elbows to look at her, my mouth glued shut with the sticky candy. When I finally managed to swallow, I gaped at her. “You can too! You must’ve learned when you were a brat. We all did.”

  Curlin shook her head. “The summer you all learned was the summer that I had the violet pox. Now, are you taking first watch, or am I? Because if you are, I’d like to get some sleep.”

  I’d argued with Curlin about the need for a watch enough our first night on the road to know that this was a fight I wasn’t going to win.

  “I’ll wake you in a few hours,” I said, and pulled myself to my feet, much to the dismay of my screaming muscles. I was bone-tired, but I knew the only way I’d manage to stay awake until the end of my watch was with the help of strong tea and the occasional shock of dipping my feet in the cool pond. So I trudged over to the shoreline, took a deep swig from the jar of tea and leaned against one of the rocks by the edge of the water, trying to unknot the tangle of feelings I’d put between myself and every person who’d ever had the audacity to care about me.