The Exalted

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  “They’ll finally get to start the new lives they deserve,” Curlin said, her smiling eyes trained on Aphra. “That said, this is only the beginning. We still have so much to do. Vi, are you sure you’re ready to be out of bed?”

  I poured myself a cup of tea from the pot on the table and sat down. “You can’t very well keep me cooped up in that room forever. How can I help?”

  Myrna, Aphra and Curlin settled themselves on the benches, and Quill perched on the counter behind me. Together, the seven of us talked through the plan they’d concocted while I was laid up. Each time one of us managed to find a weak spot, the rest banded together to patch it. And by the time the cook came to shoo us out of the way while she put together our supper, we were as ready as we’d ever be.

  I didn’t notice until we’d all gone our separate ways that none of them, not a one, had mentioned Bo. I wondered if their care, the tender way they’d been treating me, had more to do with his purported death than my actual injuries. Just the thought of it sent a shiver of fury through my veins. I knew in my heart that he wasn’t gone, but my heart had been wrong before.

  A sliver of doubt, as minuscule and devious as a splinter, niggled at me, asking if I wasn’t deluding myself. If they weren’t right after all. If, Dzallie forbid it, Bo really had been killed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Bo

  “I wish you could see the enormous cliffs that surround the Denorian harbor at Salemouth. They are as stark and fearsome as the throne their leader occupies. Where Alskad’s cold is buffered by our furs and rugs and the fires roaring in every hearth, Denor is a place of quiet. Of clean lines and frigid stone and a society tightly controlled not just by their own will, but by their eyes on each other.”

  —from Bo to Vi

  On our second evening in the Denorian palace, Swinton answered a sharp knock on the door of our rooms. A liveried servant offered Swinton a thick sheet of folded paper held closed with a silver clasp. Before Swinton could finish unwinding the long, lilting Denorian phrase for thanks, the servant was already halfway down the dim hall.

  Noriava had given us a generous suite of rooms in a remote corner of the palace last night. The wide windows looked out over the mountains, and we’d spent most of the past two days settling in, recovering from our travels and trying to regroup.

  In addition to a sitting room, dressing rooms and a bath chamber, there was a small, elegant bedroom for Swinton and one decked out in cream and gold that Pem and Still were given to share. My room, on the other hand, was far too large to be comfortable, sparsely decorated in navy and forest green. It wasn’t a homey space, with its stark, austere furniture and minimalist design, but it was elegant and befitting a visiting regent, and for that, I was grateful.

  I looked up from my book as Swinton closed the door and Pem and Still tumbled out of their room like a sudden storm. Swinton, immune to their antics at this point, flicked open the silver clasp to read the message, then glared down at the piece of paper. “It seems we’ve been summoned.”

  “Summoned where?” I asked.

  “Can we please come?” Pem whined, clinging to Swinton’s arm like one of the small Ilorian monkeys we’d seen in the jungle.

  “You don’t even know what we’ve been invited to,” I said, rising to my feet.

  Still launched herself onto Swinton’s shoulders as he strode by the couch where she’d been crouching. He handed the invitation to me with a grin before walking out onto the balcony, where he took hold of each of the girls by the backs of their vests and held them over the low railing. Our rooms were on the second floor, above a deep fountain, so while they were never in any danger, the girls shrieked and squawked with delighted terror until Swinton set them safely back on the stone tiles of the balcony.

  “You two aren’t fit for royal company,” Swinton said, laughter singing through his words.

  Pem flung herself onto one of the long couches. Still, leaning against the doorframe, cocked her head and fixed me in a quizzical glare. “If you’re our brother, and you’re royalty, doesn’t that make us royal, too?”

  “Not...exactly.” I looked to Swinton for help, but he simply smirked at me. “We have different fathers, see? And my father was the one who was royal. But honestly, someone being royalty or not? That doesn’t matter at all. It’s not even a real thing. We’re no different, you and me.” Seeing Still’s skeptical expression, I added, “Queen Noriava was a little girl once, too. I remember her tearing through the halls of the palace in Penby when I was just a boy. This was before her parents passed away. It was some sort of diplomatic visit, and Patrise and Lisette were teasing her mercilessly. Rather than curling up in her room and weeping, which is what I would’ve done at that age, she plucked an ornamental sword off the wall, chased the two of them down and made them play with her. She was a lot like the pair of you, honestly.”

  Still narrowed her eyes. “When we get home, I think you should make us royalty. Maybe not the whole family. But Pem and me, definitely.”

  “I think you missed the point of Bo’s story, scrapling,” Swinton said. “Now scoot, the two of you, and find something to entertain yourselves with. We’ve a party to attend.”

  * * *

  Hand in hand, Swinton and I followed the rush of servants and the low hum of conversation and music through the dim halls of the palace, hoping they would lead us to Noriava’s party before we were unforgivably late. Because the invitation was written in Alskader, and neither of us spoke Denorian well enough to ask for directions, finding our way to the atrium took far longer than I’d expected.

  When the servants flung open the doors and announced us, the room was already filled with a sea of courtiers. They all turned to study the pair of us, staring unabashedly, taking in every detail of our appearances before turning back to pick at canapés and snipe at each other.

  “What do we do now?” Swinton murmured into my ear.

  I squeezed his hand and sized up the room. The atrium was twice the size of the throne room where Noriava had first received us. Moonlight filtered in through the glass ceiling, and tiny solar lights twinkled along the beams, mimicking the stars. Clusters of architecturally ambitious settees and chairs sat beneath trees in wide stone pots, some heavy with fruit, others hung with night-blooming flowers. Servants glided along the black stone pathways carrying trays full of wineglasses and bite-size delicacies. Beside a fountain, a group of musicians played soft music on string instruments.

  “I think we should start making friends,” I said.

  “You know how dogs can sense the alpha in whatever new group they encounter?” Swinton asked.

  I looked at him, eyes narrowed. I didn’t see where he was going with the analogy at all. “What do dogs have to do with anything?”

  “We need to find the alphas and befriend them first,” he explained. “That’s how we make them care about you. We make you an alpha. Who do you think the most powerful person in the room is?”

  “Aside from the queen?”

  “Obviously.”

  Everyone in the room had begun to studiously ignore us almost as soon as we were announced. I looked from group to group, searching for the person who drew their eyes.

  “There,” Swinton said, nodding toward a bright corner of the atrium where a knot of Denorian courtiers draped in Samirian silk and glittering with jewels sat, their rapt attention focused on a small, bright-eyed woman in neat military uniform. She sat, back straight as a sword, in one of the most uncomfortable-looking chairs I’d ever seen. She was speaking in low, soft tones and animatedly illustrating her words with her hands. Nearly everyone in the room glanced her way from time to time.

  “You’re right,” I said, but before we could make our way over, Noriava appeared in a cloud of perfume and chilly air, her cheeks bright with cold, and swept me into her arms.

  “I’m so pleased that you came!”
she exclaimed.

  “Thank you for having us,” I said courteously.

  Swinton bowed over her hand, the picture of elegance and graceful manners. Laughing, the queen stopped a passing waiter and plucked three glasses of wine the color of sunrise from his tray. She raised her glass to Swinton and me.

  “To leadership,” she toasted.

  “To friendship,” I countered.

  Smiling wickedly, Swinton said, “To negotiation.”

  Noriava sipped her wine and laced her arm, wrist heavy with silver and gold bangles, through mine. “Bo, darling, may I interest you in a game of Caulixian?”

  I managed to keep my internal grimace off my face and let Noriava lead me away. I hated board games, and Caulixian, with its overly complex rules and strategies, was the worst of them. Swinton gave me a little wave and wandered down a flowerbed-lined path toward the woman we’d seen before.

  Noriava and I found a Caulixian board set up under a pergola draped in thickly perfumed vines of night-blooming flowers. Noriava settled herself on a precarious-looking stool. Her cat appeared, as if from nowhere, and pounced into her lap. I eyed the board, trying to pull the rules of the game from the murky depths of my memory. I’d played as a child, of course, but when it became achingly clear that I didn’t have the interest or attention it would take to master the game, my father had given up and played instead with my mother, or with Rylain when she came to visit.

  “You can take the opening move, if you’d like. You are my guest, after all.”

  I slid a piece from the left side of the board forward three spaces and drew a card from the stack. The Tower. Destruction or liberation, depending on Noriava’s draw.

  “An unfortunate start, I think,” she said.

  “I’ll admit that it has been ages since I sat at a Caulixian board and peered into the future.”

  “Do you believe in the divination power of the game, then?”

  I sipped my wine and swirled the orange liquid, peering down at the unusual color washing the crystal bowl of the glass.

  “My father did, I think. He played often.”

  Noriava’s long fingers traced a line down her cat’s spine, drawing furrows in its thick fur. “He’s the one who taught my parents, you know. Your father’s the reason I know how to play.”

  I looked across the table at her, and for a moment, I saw the mask of the ruler fall away, revealing the vulnerable young woman underneath. Alone. An orphan with a country to protect and adjudicate and defend. The responsibility of nearly a million souls like a weight around her neck. Smudges of sleeplessness darkened the delicate skin beneath her lovely eyes and deepened the hollows of her cheeks.

  Then she straightened her spine and smiled, and the lonely girl I’d seen disappeared, replaced by the queenly mask once again.

  “I didn’t realize your parents knew mine, but of course they would have.”

  Noriava took one of the knobby pawns and tapped it twice, moving diagonally across the squares of the board to meet mine. She drew a card and stared at it for a beat too long, a slow smile spreading across her lips, which were painted a red as bright as her hair.

  She set her card on top of mine. The Queen of Swords.

  “An apt card, indeed,” I said, relinquishing my pawn to her.

  “Some people interpret her as cold or malicious,” Noriava said. “But I like to think of her as discerning, driven. Her card is about power and relationships. She’s searching for the right partner, not just the most easily accessible.”

  It was an odd interpretation, one I’d not heard before, but I could see the steps that led her to it. The gilded queen looked out over a mountain, hand outstretched, as if welcoming or seeking. If you looked past the spikes of her crown, the sword in her hands and the blood-soaked bag at her feet, you could perhaps interpret her expression as wistful.

  “Do you find yourself pressured to choose a spouse?” I asked.

  “The laws of succession in Denor are significantly more stringent than your Alskader traditions. The rulers of my country must be the singleborn child of royal blood born to the current monarch. If I don’t produce an heir soon...” Noriava paused, her lips compressed. “Well, to put it simply, my continued presence on the throne is closely tied to the succession.” She gave me a wry smile. “But let’s not talk about such serious things. It’s a party, after all.”

  Noriava’s cat bristled and leaped off her lap to go stalking through the bushes. A ways down the path, I caught sight of the deep, tawny gold of Swinton’s hair. He was striding toward us, his dazzling smile firmly in place. Noriava followed my eyes and sighed. “Perhaps we should continue our game another time.”

  I glanced up at Swinton as he ducked under the curtain of vines at the edge of the pergola. “Swinton won’t mind if we finish the round—will you?”

  Swinton kissed the top of my head. “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting. I just needed an excuse to extricate myself from the world’s least interesting conversation with some wool trader who refuses to believe that I’m Ilorian.”

  “Ilorian? Not Alskader?” Noriava narrowed her eyes. “That’s quite a statement to make in front of the Alskad heir.”

  Swinton grinned, squeezing my shoulder. “Bo knows my politics.”

  Noriava looked between us, a small smile spreading across her lips. “Do tell me how you met, won’t you?”

  I launched into the story as Noriava pondered the Caulixian board, glancing, from time to time, between Swinton and me. I felt for her. It was difficult enough to carry the responsibility of a nation on your shoulders. To have that responsibility contingent upon finding a partner and producing an heir as well? It was enough to give a person hives. I hoped, for Noriava’s sake, that she found someone soon.

  * * *

  After an evening of Caulixian and uncomfortable small talk with the Denorian gentry that stretched almost until dawn, Swinton and I dragged ourselves back to our suite of rooms. I poured two tall glasses of water from the pitcher on the sideboard and handed one to Swinton, who was propped against a doorframe, slowly shedding his party-going frippery in a pile of embroidered wool, saturated silk and lace on the floor.

  “I’m exhausted,” I said, pecking him on his slightly scruffy cheek. “Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “It is the morning,” he groused.

  “Then I’ll see you after a few hours of rest, yeah?”

  Swinton caught my hand and brought it to his lips. “Come with me. We haven’t been alone since we got here, and there are things I’d like to say to you.”

  Despite the weariness that weighed on my very bones, the feeling of Swinton’s lips on my skin sent a shudder of need from my heart to my toes and back again. Gooseflesh rippled up my arms as he wrapped one hand around my waist and pulled me close to him. “I miss you, Bo. I know it’s been awful, but I feel like we’ve barely had a moment alone together since we got here.”

  I wanted to go with him, to slide beneath the thick coverlets on his bed. I wanted to tangle my fingers in his hair and wrap my legs around his. I wanted to kiss him until the whole world fell away and there was nothing left except his lips on mine, his hands on my body and the sweet breath of desire as it passed between us.

  “Pem and Still will probably be up and about at any moment,” I cautioned.

  “And they’ve no idea what’s between us,” Swinton teased. “Is that it? You’re afraid for the innocence of those wild things?”

  “No. Of course not. I just...”

  Swinton took my hand. “Come on.”

  I didn’t have a good reason to say no. It wasn’t as though we hadn’t shared a bed a hundred times before. The only difference now was that we were in a foreign country, and my only chance of regaining my life, my purpose, my throne, was through the goodwill of the queen who was our host. And I’d seen the way her mouth went
hard when Swinton’s fingers brushed my skin.

  Too tired to try to find the words to capture the apprehension seeping through my veins, I followed Swinton into his bedroom, leaving a trail of our clothes from the door to the bed.

  I crawled between the sheets, luxuriating in the cool, soft linen. The Denorians may have been known for their wool, but the linen they produced was just as fine, if not finer. Swinton pulled me into his arms, my back nestling against his warm, firm torso. He nuzzled my neck, sending shivers of delight through my body and clearing a path through my exhaustion.

  “I think Noriava will help us,” I said.

  Swinton made an interrogative hum against my ear.

  “I think she’ll help. We just need to find a way to make it worthwhile for her.”

  Swinton flopped onto his back and sighed. “What was it you said about being tired?”

  “I just wish I knew what she might want. How, exactly, does one bribe a queen?” I sat up and pulled a tasseled pillow onto my lap.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be the expert on royalty, bully?”

  I shrugged, fingering one of the tassels.

  Swinton propped himself up on one elbow and fixed me in his gaze. “You can’t trust her. It doesn’t matter what you give her or what she promises—the only things Noriava cares about are herself and her country. And unless you can come up with a way to please both her and her country, you’re shit out of luck. I think it’s well on time to cut our losses, make our way back to Ilor and see if we can’t wrangle some help from Vi and her rebels.”

  “Don’t you think they have enough on their hands?” I asked. “Plus, I already wrote to Vi and the Whipplestons. Once they accomplish what they’ve set out to do, perhaps they’ll come to our aid. But we’ve no idea how long that will take, and the clock is ticking.”

  “Noriava is a liar, Bo. You’d see it in her eyes if you’d just open your own.”