The Exalted

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  I let the question hang in the air. I hadn’t asked him to go with me. Hadn’t even considered it. He had to make a living, after all. After a long, uncomfortable minute, Quill took a deep breath.

  “Mal and I would like to go, too. It’s a good opportunity for us. We can make connections in Denor for trade.” He paused, flicking an invisible piece of lint from his trousers. I could almost feel the tension in his shoulders, same as mine. I wondered if either of us would ever find the words to bridge the immense space between us, or if we’d be forever staring at each other across this chasm of our shared horrors.

  “Of course,” I said, rising to my feet. “It’s your ship, after all.”

  I started back toward the house, but paused at the edge of the bench, tempted to lay a hand on Quill’s broad shoulder. He looked up at me, his brows furrowed, and I stuffed my free hand into my pocket.

  “We’ll leave as soon as we can provision the ship,” Quill said.

  Nodding, I hurried into the house before the pain and anger coursing through my veins was writ as plain on my face as it was on Quill’s.

  * * *

  Over the next few days, Aphra managed to explain the influx of Shriven defectors by the means of a newsletter, printed and distributed to all the citizens of Ilor at the government’s expense. She explained the hard choices they’d made and why, and she asked that the people of Ilor welcome them as their own. To try to see past the tattoos and shorn heads, and see instead the people who’d given up everything they’d worked for and believed in to protect the well-being and safety of the citizens of Ilor. The reaction of the folks I saw was reserved, but no one fingered their weapons as we passed, no one yelled, and most seemed willing to give the Shriven who’d decided to stay in Ilor a chance.

  As I walked through Williford toward Hamlin’s ship, I was overwhelmed by the number of people who’d crowded into the streets to see us off. While the citizens of Williford stood on the docks and stared, I walked behind the hundreds of folks who, until very recently, had served the temple as Shriven. They handed fruit and sweets to the children gathered along the docks, stopping to speak to those who looked most scared and generally making the best impression they could upon leaving. Some of the Shriven were staying behind to train the peacekeepers and rebels who’d decided to stay in Ilor. Others would serve as intermediaries to the anchorites holed up in the temples. A few simply wanted to make new lives for themselves in Ilor.

  Most, however, had agreed to come with us and finish what we’d started. To see an end to the temple’s abuse. To see a twin on the throne.

  It hadn’t been hard to convince Hamlin to take us to Denor. I’d promised him a prince’s ransom in gold—some from Bo’s accounts in the colonies, some stolen from the temple’s stores—up front, and more yet in shipping contracts plus a promotion to admiral once Bo was settled on the throne. He’d happily closed his ticket offices and delayed the passengers already set to travel to Alskad aboard his ship to the next month, then filled his hold with the Ilorian seeds, dried herbs and flowers most valued by Denorian scientists.

  But Curlin had been the one to talk to the Whipplestons, not me. Since our encounter in the garden, I hadn’t been in a room alone with Quill. I’d slipped away from the countless short minutes he’d tried to steal in the days we’d spent preparing for the voyage, afraid to talk to him again. Afraid to let him see the cracks, the deep oozing rents where I’d torn myself apart in those two battles and stitched myself back together again. He’d fallen in love with someone beautiful, determined and as healthy as one of the diminished could be. But I’d put that person between two rocks and ground them together until all that was left was dust.

  Curlin and I were the last people to climb aboard. She clapped me on the back as we scaled the gangplank. “Take a second and look at that.”

  I stopped and turned to look out over the dock. There were hundreds of people—Shriven, Ilorians and the newly empowered contract laborers. Some had just arrived in Ilor; others had been there longer than I’d been alive. And they were standing together, talking to each other. No one looked scared. No one looked sidelong and distrusting at anyone else.

  They looked comfortable together. Happy.

  Aphra, at the front of the crowd, caught sight of me. She touched four fingers to her heart, then her forehead, and raised her hand over her head, grinning. She’d taken the Shriven’s salute and added a touch to her heart. As I returned the gesture, tears welling in my eyes, I saw Ysanne look between us and follow suit. Soon her wife and their two young children did the same. I wasn’t sure if I was more concerned by Ysanne’s good behavior or Aphra’s, but I would have to let it go, at least for the time being.

  “We did it,” Curlin said.

  “We made a good start,” I said, hastily wiping the tears from my eyes. “But there’s still a long way to go.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Bo

  “I feel so very alone, Vi. I wish our paths didn’t keep us so very far apart.”

  —from Bo to Vi

  My days in Denor quickly took on a routine. I spent my mornings with the troops learning their drills, practicing my own fighting techniques and mapping out a detailed plan to take back the palace in Penby. General Okara drilled alongside her soldiers, faster and deadlier than anyone on the training field despite her age and size. She was precise in her language, and formal almost to the point of being stiff, but there was something about her that was inexplicably appealing. It felt as though we were becoming something like friends.

  “It’s an odd thing, to command the army of a peaceful nation,” she said one morning, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow with a damp cloth.

  Head between my knees and wheezing after the tortuous, seemingly never-ending run she’d led us on that morning, I gratefully accepted the cup of water she offered me and forced myself to stand.

  “What brought you to it?” I asked.

  “I never had much of a mind for sciences or theory in school, but I loved strategy and sport,” the general mused. “Before the queen’s mother’s time, the army was more of an honor guard for the ruler than anything else. I came up with Noriava’s mother, Dextera. We saw the Alskad Empire expanding under Runa’s rule, not to mention the threat the Samirians posed. As I was promoted through the ranks, Dextera leaned more and more heavily on my judgment, and we sought to expand the army. It’s still not much compared to the Samirian forces, but it gives our younglings a path other than the sciences, agriculture or the scant trade and business a city like Salemouth can support.”

  “And Noriava? She approves of your work?”

  General Okara gave me a discerning look. “I’ll say naught of the queen but that she’s got double the ambition of her mother and father put together.”

  A group of soldiers walked past us toward the grappling grounds, their uniforms soaked with sweat despite the cool air of the midwinter morning. As they passed under the general’s hawkeyed, assessing gaze, their conversation petered out and they drew their spines up straight. She was the kind of leader that drew the awed respect of her troops without any derision, harshness or cajoling. They simply wanted to do their best work for her.

  “I wonder if I might convince you to join me for a cup of tea tonight after supper?” I asked tentatively, knowing she’d likely say no. “I’d love to pick your brain and learn a bit more about Denor and her history.”

  General Okara gave a slight nod. “It would be my great pleasure, though I might convince you to offer me something a bit stiffer than a cup of tea.”

  And with that, General Okara and I began a tradition. Each night, after a painfully tense supper with Noriava, the general would appear in my doorway, proffering a tin of tea imported from the hills of the Samirian mountains, a bottle of Denorian wine or a flask of the heady, smoke-laced spirit the Denorians made in their own stills. And each night, we would talk in
to the late hours, sometimes nearly until dawn.

  General Okara—Vittoria—had known my grandmother more than just a bit, and her stories about Runa were like a balm to the raw grief just under the surface of my anxiety. Most nights, after her steel grip on propriety loosened a bit, Vittoria would tell me a little about Noriava. It was becoming clear that despite our differences, the young woman was an excellent queen, which made it all the more difficult to endure her infuriatingly callous negotiation of our impending nuptials.

  * * *

  Most afternoons, I took Swinton for a walk through the lush palace gardens, under the careful supervision of Doctor Rutin. Swinton was like a volcano. Some days he was calm, almost himself again, but I could see the fury boiling like lava under the stone of his control. Other days, it was like I was walking with a boiling inferno, and I kept myself coiled tight, waiting for him to erupt.

  On those days, he terrified me.

  “What’re you thinking, little lord?”

  The question came out more as a sharp command than as a query posed by a lover, but I swallowed hard and did my best to keep my voice light. “Only hoping that Vi’s gotten my letter by now. I’d hate for her to hear that I’ve been killed and be left thinking she’s a dimmy. Especially after all she’s been through.”

  “Vi can take care of herself.”

  “I know. I just—”

  “You’re the one who needs looking after. You cannot believe that I’m going to let you marry that awful woman.” Swinton’s hand tightened on mine, squeezing the bones together so hard that I was afraid they might break. I gently pulled my hand free of his, and the moment I let go, he slammed his fist into the nearest tree trunk.

  “Swinton...”

  Doctor Rutin stepped between us, already pulling the vial of sedative from the pouch at her waist. “Best not. He’s been worked up all day.”

  Swinton pounded the tree, grunting and cursing, oblivious to everything but his fists against the wood. He was, I knew, focused on hitting anything but me. She slipped a syringe into the vial, pulled up to fill the barrel, pushed the first bit of liquid through the needle to clear the bubbles, then plunged it quickly into Swinton’s backside. He slumped into my waiting arms, and Doctor Rutin went to fetch the guards who would carry him back to the locked room in my suite where he spent most of his time.

  I sat heavily beside him and ran my fingers through his long, dark gold hair. We kept having the same argument. We went round and round in circles about the wedding, about Noriava, about how I ought to have left him and taken my chances against Rylain and the Alskad nobility without the help of the Denorian army.

  That was on the days when he was lucid. The rest of the time, he simply lunged for me. It was as though his only goal was to rip the limbs off any person stupid enough to get within range of his hands. Doctor Rutin had started Swinton on the medicine the Denorians had created to help the violent diminished, and we’d seen some slight improvement in his ability to cope with the rising tide of his anger, but not much.

  The lush, green beauty of the Denorian royal gardens was made even more striking when contrasted against the sheer black stone of the palace walls that enclosed it. But though the place itself had a loveliness that forced its way into a person’s very soul—a hungry, demanding sort of beauty—it did nothing to quell my increasing sense of dread. I hadn’t felt the strong tug of Vi’s emotions in nearly a week. It was as though she was a deadweight on the end of a very long rope: still noticeably there, but blank, almost numbed. Guilt washed over me as I realized how long it had been since I’d given her or her work in Ilor even a moment’s thought. I sent up a brief prayer to the gods that she was safe, and had received and understood the letter I’d sent before I left Alskad.

  The soft thump of bootsteps in the thick, neatly trimmed grass brought me out of my reverie, and I looked up to see a trio of guards trailing after Doctor Rutin, their white coats billowing out behind them like the sails of an armada.

  Doctor Rutin spoke to the guards in Denorian, but all I caught were the words gently, please. My Denorian was improving in fits and starts, but I really didn’t have much of a head for languages, and it took a great deal of focus to switch my thinking from one to the other.

  My mother and my tutors had worked endlessly to try to force me to be fluent in Denorian and Samirian, but despite years of trying, I was still barely competent. After weeks of immersion in Denorian, I found that I understood more than I could say, but that still wasn’t much. Each time I wanted to speak, I had to carefully translate each phrase, almost like flipping a card in my head as I considered each idea I wanted to convey.

  Annoyingly, Pem and Still had taken the pidgin Denorian they’d learned from merchants and traders in Alskad and quickly become nearly fluent in the language.

  One of the guards offered me a hand. Behind him, a bush shook, and I saw a flash of white linen as one of the twins, Pem or Still, darted into the garden’s underbrush. Thanking him in my halting Denorian, I allowed myself to be brought to my feet and stood back, biting my lip as I snuck a glance at the lush undergrowth. Doctor Rutin put a hand on my shoulder in a kind, if not somewhat untoward, gesture as the guards hefted Swinton up into their arms and carried him quickly back toward the castle.

  The bald truth escaped from my mouth before I could think to measure my words. “He’s getting worse.”

  “You must give the medicine time to work, Your Majesty.”

  “None of that,” I said with a sigh. “Please just call me Bo, Doctor Rutin. And please forgive my abruptness. It’s only that I’m worried. He’s got no impulse control at all, and his mood swings come out of nowhere.”

  “I know that seeing him this way is distressing, but you must understand that we rarely see an improvement in a subject’s demeanor before they’ve been in treatment for at least a quarter of a year,” she replied gently. “And this is a rather unusual case. To my knowledge, I’ve never treated someone who was transformed by a poison rather than the natural course of grief. We cannot expect things to progress normally.”

  “Do you have any word from your colleagues about their work on the cure?” I twisted the gold cuff on my wrist. “The longer I leave Rylain on the throne in Alskad, the harder it will be to establish myself as a ruler there once more.”

  “Nothing yet, but I am sure they’ll have something to test soon.”

  “Test?”

  “Well, yes, of course. You cannot go straight from theory to dosing human beings. There must be testing done in the interim to make sure that the medicine is safe.”

  I blanched at the thought of still more time spent in Denor with my hands tied, waiting.

  “It won’t take long,” Doctor Rutin said quickly. “As soon as they’ve come up with something that might work, they’ll begin first on animals before moving to human subjects.”

  My dismay must’ve been written clear across my face.

  “Everyone they’ll test the drug upon will give their express and lucid permission, of course, before taking part in the trial. They will be well-informed of the risks before they undergo the therapy.”

  How I’d not realized the need to test the medicine on human subjects before, I’d no idea, but the idea made me queasy. I needed to talk to Pem and Still. They’d taken to their spy craft a bit too well for my taste, and the reports they’d brought me could only’ve come from sneaking into dangerous places any decent brother would’ve certainly kept them from even thinking of visiting. I’d put good money on their having gathered more information than the good doctor was willing to share with me.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” I said. I hoped she’d take the hint and cut the conversation short.

  “May I walk with you back to your rooms? I’m going that way.”

  I ducked my head to hide the irritated blush that crept up my neck, all the more heated now that I’d allowed myself to ackno
wledge it. “Thank you, no. I believe I’ll just walk a bit longer.”

  With a nod and a squeeze of my hand, Doctor Rutin turned and meandered back down the path, drawing her notebook from her pocket and scribbling notes in her close script. As soon as she disappeared around a turn, Pem crawled out of the bushes, dried leaves and twigs clinging to her hair and clothes.

  “She’s a rutting liar,” Pem spit without so much as a hello.

  “Why do you think so?”

  The girls were unabashedly judgmental, so I generally took their pronouncements with all the caution they deserved.

  “Me and Still both’ve seen them up in the labs, already giving drops of this and that to little dogs and wee beasties. Every time they do it, the poor creatures drop dead, too. They spend more than a little time going on about how much easier it’d be if they knew what plants’d been used to make the stuff. They’re the ones what are talking about the dimmys, too, so don’t go saying it’s something else.”

  I kept my mouth shut, a little shocked by how well she knew me now, and considered her for a moment. “Can you manage to keep an eye out without being noticed?” I asked.

  Pem laughed. “Those folks have their heads so far up their own asses, they wouldn’t notice me or Still if we bit ’em, and only then if we weren’t in uniform. So long as we keep wearing their white coats, acting like the students they got skittering all over the place, and talking to ’em in Denorian, we won’t have no trouble at all.” She sent me a sidelong glance. “Want us to look in on the other science folks once in a while, as well? I might be able to steal some of their notes, if you wanted to know what they were up to.”

  “Actually, I want to see it for myself. Is there a way I could get in there with you?” I asked.

  “You think you could see something we don’t?” I shrugged, and Pem studied me thoughtfully. “Sure, we could get you in there. You just couldn’t say nothing. Your Denorian’s atrocious.”