The Diminished

The Queen’s secretary bustled through the crowd, approached the dais and presented her with a list written in a neat hand. Runa scanned the list, raised her hand and waited for the room to fall silent.

“First, I will hear from Jacobb Rosy. Mister Rosy, if you would, please approach the dais.”

The petitioners shifted and moved, and Jacobb Rosy came to bow before the Queen. He was a man in his middle age, of medium height and build, with unblemished light brown skin and dark, wavy hair. He was utterly unremarkable, but for the brilliant yellow suit he wore. The jacket was cut long, as was the fashion, ending just above his knees, and trimmed all around with black ermine. Embroidered bees climbed the legs of his slim trousers, and an enormous onyx brooch ringed with diamonds was pinned to his lapel. He spoke in a clear alto, loud enough to be heard throughout the entire room.

“Your Majesty, I am deeply honored that you have chosen to hear my petition today.”

Runa raised one eyebrow, and I studied the man, looking to see if I could spot his tell. Most people did everything in their power to present themselves as the victim when offering their story to the Queen.

“I hear the petitions of all my subjects, Mister Rosy. What troubles you?”

“Your Majesty, I am on the verge of losing my shop. You see, for the last decade I have designed and created clothing for the fashionable people of your empire. My wife, with the help of a shopkeeper, ran the business in order to give me the freedom to focus on the creative side of the work.”

“It sounds like you’ve created a comfortable and successful life for yourself.”

“It was, Your Majesty. But now, without my wife’s help, the burden of the business has grown to be too much, and with taxes due, I am likely to lose my livelihood.”

Runa’s face took on an expression of sympathy. “I’m sorry for the loss of your wife, Mister Rosy. How long has it been?”

The man squirmed, gazing down at the toes of his mirror-polished black boots, and fell silent. He hadn’t walked to the palace, not with the gray slush of snow still clinging to the streets. He’d taken a carriage. So either he’d not yet sold off all the luxuries typically enjoyed by the merchant class—which was likely, given his clothes and the jewels on his lapel—or he had enough money to pay for carriages and jewels, but had squandered what he should have saved for taxes.

“How long?” Runa pressed.

Lisette snickered, and Runa shot her a hard look.

“She’s not dead, Your Majesty. She left me.”

“And she didn’t see fit to remain a partner in your business or find a suitable replacement?”

“How could I trust her to have my best interests at heart if she was so willing to give up everything we’d built together?”

“This is not the haven hall, Mister Rosy. I am not in the business of arbitrating marital disputes. However, if your predicament is due to neglect on the part of your business partner, there may be some grounds for leniency on the part of the crown. Will you give me your ex-wife’s name, that I may call upon her for her side of this dispute?”

The man blanched. He seemed to be wilting. His shoulders drew inward, and he refused to meet the Queen’s gaze. He muttered something unintelligible in the direction of his feet. All around the room, people were shifting and squirming, trying to get a better look at the man.

“What was that, Mister Rosy?”

“I told her she wasn’t welcome in the shop after she left. I didn’t want her running the business into the ground out of spite.”

“I see.” Runa looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “And what, exactly, would you ask of the crown today?”

“Humbly, Your Majesty, I ask that my tax burden be forgiven this year and the next, to allow me to rebuild my assets and business in the wake of this unforeseen tragedy. Additionally, I ask that my ex-wife be made responsible for the mess she left me in, and pay half of my taxes for the two years after that.”

The Queen nodded slowly and shifted her focus to me.

“Your thoughts, Lord Gyllen?”

Runa had an incredible knack for putting on and taking off personas. In public, she was formal, even stiff, with me. She addressed me by my full name or title, a courtesy she didn’t always bestow on the other singleborn, and she treated me with the respect of a monarch to her successor, despite the fact that I’d not yet been formally named. And while Rylain was allowed to while her days away at her northern estates, only emerging for the most important state occasions, Runa insisted I always be at her right hand.

Her demeanor in private was another matter entirely. She teased and cajoled and demanded that my mastery of matters of state be not just sufficient, but the best in the room. She was every bit the exacting and affectionate aunt, and though I’d not spent a great deal of time with her, the closer we got to my birthday and the announcement of my role as her successor, the more attention she paid me.

Despite all of this, I was shocked when she asked for my opinion. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, wanting to impress her.

“In most cases, I tend to believe that the duty of the crown is to assist and uplift its people. However, it seems to me that it is Mister Rosy’s actions and choices that have led him to this vulnerable place. The taxes paid by the citizens of the Alskad Empire serve to provide basic services and resources to all the people of the empire. It seems that Mister Rosy did not plan adequately for his taxes this season, which is unfortunate. However, there is still sufficient time for him to liquidate some of his assets—such as the jewel he wears upon his lapel—and take in more work. He can hire a bookkeeper to help him as he learns to manage his business in the absence of his wife.”

I paused for a moment, weighing my next words. “It is my belief that the crown should not forgive his tax burden. However, I do admire his excellent tailoring skills, and I will certainly pass some business his way, and I am sure my cousins Lisette and Patrise will do the same.”

Queen Runa gave me a small smile and a nod. I’d done well. I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back in my chair. Mister Rosy’s cheeks were burgundy, and his brows were so tightly drawn that it looked like he had an entire mountain range of wrinkles spanning his forehead. My answer, obviously, hadn’t been what he wanted to hear. It would take a great deal of study for me to learn how to do this job without inciting the ire of my subjects.

“Lord Gyllen is right. The High Council and I have worked hard to ensure that taxes in the empire are not a burden on anyone’s shoulders unless they simply do not plan. It is never any use to stick your head in the sand and ignore your responsibilities, Mister Rosy. That said, however, I appreciate that you sought my guidance and help, and I will have my secretary provide suggestions for bookkeepers with honest reputations to help you manage your business. Further, the royal treasury will pay the bookkeeper’s fees for the time between now and when your taxes come due.”

The tailor bowed, muttered his thanks and retreated into the crowd.

The rest of the day was much the same. We listened to troubles as large as a housekeeper accused of stealing a noblewoman’s jewels—only to find that the noblewoman’s husband had gambled away their entire fortune—and as small as an argument between two street vendors over a particular corner in a park.

Runa showed each of them the same amount of respect, and even made certain to include Patrise and Lisette in the consideration of certain petitions. She paid careful attention to the needs of the poor and destitute, and made notes of the bevy of ways in which the social services provided by the Alskad throne were failing. She frequently asked my opinion, and most of the time, she agreed with my assessments. When she and I were at odds, she explained her thinking to both me and the gathered petitioners, and every time, I saw how her logic was sounder than mine. There was so much I didn’t know, and the plethora of ways in which the privilege of my wealth had coddled me and shrouded me from the everyday challenges of the Alskad people continued to shock me.

By the time the chamber emptied, we’d heard more than thirty petitions, and my brain felt like mush. That was the moment Queen Runa decided to begin quizzing me about the shipbuilding industry.

CHAPTER THREE

VI

With only hours left until his departure, Sawny and I stayed awake all night, teasing and telling stories and remembering and acting like nothing would change when we were an ocean apart. Even Lily managed to endure my presence in their shared room with a bare minimum of complaints. She had, after all, gotten her way.

We’d planned to leave the temple quietly before first adulations, but the anchorites who’d taken the most responsibility in raising us—Lugine, Bethea and Sula—were waiting for Sawny and Lily in the entrance hall. They wore informal yellow robes and thick wool scarves in golden orange wrapped tight around their shoulders. The color flattered Sula’s and Lugine’s dark brown skin, making them glow. Unfortunately, for a woman committed to a lifetime wearing a very limited palette, yellow turned Bethea’s thin, pale wrinkles sallow and sickly.

“You’ll not sneak away in the night like thieves,” Bethea said grumpily, but she leaned one of her canes against her hip and pulled Lily in for a hug.

I pressed myself into the wall. This was their moment, and I wanted more than anything to become invisible. The anchorites had never hugged me. Not even once. Sawny and Lily and the other twins like them were, in their own way, the children these women would never give birth to themselves, committed as they were to their goddesses. Though we three were all wards of the temple, the fact that I was a dimmy made me a threat.

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of goodbye I would get when my time came.

Sula slipped a bulging satchel over Sawny’s shoulder and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “We’d extra copies of some cookery books in the library. I thought you might find them useful in your new life.”

Lugine cupped Sawny’s and Lily’s cheeks, one in each hand, a warm smile lighting her face. “Magritte protect you both. Write often, and let us know how you are.”

“And get yourselves to adulations,” Bethea added. “Just because we’re not there to worry you into the haven hall doesn’t mean you can stop showing up.”

Lily burst into tears and flung her arms around Bethea. Sawny, chin trembling, bit his lip and nodded. I sank farther back into the shadows, tears welling in my own eyes. Even though we’d grown up in the same hall, in the same building, raised by these same women, our lives could not have been more different, and it had taken me until that moment to realize it fully. I would never be missed, never be wanted, never be anything but a burden.

We walked in silence through Penby’s quiet streets in the faint glow of the waning moon, only one of its halves fully visible. I laced my arm through Sawny’s, trying to burn him into my memory. He’d been my best friend my whole life, and it didn’t seem possible that when I trudged back up the hill to the temple later, I would be alone.

The city came alive as we got closer to the docks, where the great iron sunships, Alskad’s greatest pride, were moored. Sailors hauled trunks and crates up and down long gangplanks, officers shouted orders from the decks, and vendors pushed carts, hawking the kinds of trinkets a person might not realize they needed until they were on the verge of leaving everything they knew and loved behind. The whole scene was lit by the hazy, flickering light of sunlamps and the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon.

“The ship is called the Lucrecia,” Lily said. “I spoke to a woman named Whippleston to arrange our passage.”

We walked down the docks, scanning the names painted large on the backs of the ships.

“There’s still time to back out,” I said quietly to Sawny, fingering the small pouch I’d stuffed into my pocket after supper the night before. “The anchorites would let you stay a bit longer. Work’s sure to open up somewhere in the city. If not, I’ll be sixteen soon. I know there’s work up north we can take.”

But just as I finished speaking, the Lucrecia loomed up out of the darkness at the end of the dock, her name painted in bright white across the stern far above our heads. A brat couldn’t grow up in Alskad without learning a bit about sunships. Even in the cheap cabins set aside for contract workers, Sawny and Lily would experience more luxury in the short trip across the Tethys than we’d ever imagined. There would be endless buffets, libraries and game rooms. They’d sleep on soft beds, and for the first—and only—time in their lives, they’d wake each morning with nothing to do. A part of me wished that I could walk onto the sunship with Lily and Sawny, just to see, but that would never happen. Not for a dimmy. Not for me.

An imposing woman stood at the end of the gangplank, a sheaf of papers in one hand, a pen in the other. The light gray fur of her jacket’s collar set off her high cheekbones and deep, russet-brown skin. She eyed the three of us as we approached.

“Names?” she asked.

I turned to Sawny. “You’re sure?”

“There’s more opportunity there than we could ever hope for here,” Sawny said, his eyes begging me to understand. “It’ll be a better life. An easier life.”

I retied the bit of string at the end of my braid. Lily reached out and squeezed my shoulder, and I started slightly. It was the first time she’d touched me in years.

“We’ll take care of each other, Vi, and we’ll write. All the time.” She turned to the woman at the end of the gangplank. “Lily and Sawny Taylor. I believe I spoke to your sister?”

The woman laughed heartily. “My daughter. Though I’m grateful to you for the mistake. Let’s get your papers sorted, shall we?”

I tugged on Sawny’s arm, drawing him away from the gangplank and the sunlamp’s glow. Once we were in the shadows, I pulled him close to me, like the sweethearts we’d never been. Never thought of becoming. People’s eyes slipped away from sweethearts, cuddled up to say goodbye, and now more than ever, I needed to go unnoticed.

Sawny squirmed. “What’re you about?”

“Shut up and let me hug you, yeah?” I said, loud enough for anyone passing by to hear. I stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “If you’re going to insist on leaving me behind, I have a going away gift for you. But you have to promise me you won’t open it until you’re well away at sea.”

“Vi, you’ve nothing—”

“Don’t be after arguing with me, Sawny. I’ve never had a scrap to give you for birthdays, high holidays, none of it. Let me do this one thing.”

I dug into my pocket and fished out the little pouch, keeping my other arm around Sawny’s shoulders. There were sixteen perfect pearls and a couple of dozen less valuable, slightly blemished ones inside the pouch I’d sewn from a scrap of a too-small pair of trousers. The pearls were some of the best of my collection, and enough to give them a start on their savings. It wasn’t enough to pay off their passage or set them up with a shop of their own, but it was something. It was all I could give them.

A long time ago, when I’d first learned to dive from one of the anchorites’ hirelings, she’d told me how pearls were made. The temple anchorites only had use for natural pearls, the ones that came of a tiny grain of sand or bit of shell irritating the oyster’s delicate tissues. But, the woman had told me, there was beginning to be a market for a new kind of pearl, one that could be farmed on lines strung in the ocean. They weren’t quite as valuable, but when you knew that almost every oyster would make a pearl, a bigger profit could be had.

That bit of information had sparked an idea, and as soon as I’d begun to dive on my own, I’d hung lines and baskets beneath the docks, where none of the other divers ever went. I tended them for four long years, and on my twelfth birthday, I opened the first oyster off my lines and slipped a pearl as big as the nail on my little pinky from its shell. In the three years since, I’d harvested close to two hundred pearls from my lines, more than ten for every one natural pearl I’d found and handed over to the anchorites.

That collection was hidden away beneath a floorboard in my tiny room in the temple. I’d created a small cushion for myself—enough to buy a cottage on one of the northernmost islands in the Alskad Empire, where folks were said to keep to themselves.

When I lost myself to the grief, I’d be far enough away from other folks that I wouldn’t be able to do much harm. I’d be alone. It was selfish of me, wanting to spend whatever time I had left in the company of my only friend, but still I’d thought about offering Sawny and Lily my whole stash—everything I’d ever saved, everything I’d ever created—just so they wouldn’t leave. Wouldn’t leave me alone. But in the end, I couldn’t have lived with the guilt of it. My friendship with Sawny was the only real, honest relationship in my life, and I couldn’t bear the thought of holding them back from the life they’d chosen just because I was so desperate not to be left alone.

Pressing the pouch into Sawny’s hand as stealthily as I could manage, I pulled back from our hug just far enough to fix him with a hard stare. “Don’t say anything.”

Sawny’s dark eyes were wide. “Are these...?”

“Don’t. You know the law. You know the consequences. Sell them when you can. Take your time. Be careful.”

“Vi, this is, far and away, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Shut up,” I said.

“Sawny,” Lily called. “It’s time.”

Sawny threw his arms around me and squeezed me tight, and a part of me shattered, knowing it was the last hug I was ever likely to feel.

“I’ll miss you,” he said, and I tucked those words, his voice, deep into my heart.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

I watched as they boarded the Lucrecia and disappeared. As I stood there, the sun crept slowly up behind the ship, lightening the sky from navy to violet to lavender, and a sharp cacophony of pink and yellow and orange. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the sunship was tugged out into the harbor, as the tugboat disconnected and the enormous solar sails unfurled and turned to greet the rising sun.

Watch over them, Pru.

I waited until the ship was a mere speck, a memory traveling far across the sea. I watched, careless of the time, of the stares I gathered from passersby, of the tongue-lashing Lugine was sure to give me the moment I showed my face in the temple, empty-handed and having skipped my morning dive. I didn’t care. I was alone in a city full of people, and nothing at all mattered anymore.

* * *

Without Sawny around to fill my spare time, I wandered through the temple aimlessly, counting down the days left until my birthday, when I would be free of this place and all the unpleasant memories of my childhood that frosted its walls and stained its floors. Whenever I wasn’t diving or off on some errand for an anchorite, I found myself in the library, revisiting the books I’d read over and over as a child. I’d always been fascinated by the stories about the world before the cataclysm.

It had been so vast and varied, and yet so isolated at the same time. But, as the Suzerain would have us believe, its people had grown too bold, too selfish. Dzallie the Warrior asked Gadrian the Firebound to make her a weapon that would split the moon. As moondust and fire rained down upon the world, Hamil the Seabound washed away the dregs of the corrupt civilizations that had so angered the gods. Rayleane the Builder took the clay given to her by Tueber the Earthbound and reshaped the remnants of humanity, splitting each person into two, so that everyone would go through life with a twin, a counterweight—a living conscience. Those few precious to Magritte the Educator remained whole, becoming the singleborn.

There were dozens of religious texts that told the story of the cataclysm, but I think the thing that drew me back to the library again and again were the stories from before. Stories about a time when losing your twin didn’t mean losing your life, your whole self.

It didn’t take long for one of the anchorites to find Anchorite Sula and tell her I’d been lurking around the stacks, failing to make myself useful. One evening after supper, when I’d found an empty corner of the library where I could read in peace, Sula came bustling up to me, her orange robes fluttering behind her and a pained look of concern plastered onto her face.

“Obedience, child,” she said. “Do you want for tasks that will better allow you to serve your chosen deity?”

I shut the book I’d been reading and uncurled myself from the sagging armchair, already exhausted by a conversation I’d had a thousand times or more over the course of my childhood. Every child was encouraged to choose one of the gods and goddesses on whom they could focus their worship. I’d chosen Dzallie the Warrior, not that it mattered much to me either way. I’d long since given up any pretense of believing in the gods and goddesses. Growing up in the temple had shown me time and again that the Suzerain’s goal wasn’t actually the salvation of the souls of the empire, but rather power over those souls and their wealth. If the gods and goddesses were real, they would have given us leaders immune to corruption.

Much to my chagrin, my lack of faith didn’t stop the anchorites from forcing me to attend adulations and questioning me about my devotion.

“I don’t want for anything, Anchorite,” I said, grating against the fact that she’d called me by my given name. “I only had a bit of time and thought I might read.”

“You’ve been downcast since Sawny’s and Lily’s departure.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” Sula said, her voice flat with a familiar, weary warning. “Because you seem to have found yourself with so much free time on your hands, I have notified the Suzerain that you will assist with their equipment and cleaning needs during and after the Shriven initiates’ evening training.”

My fingers tightened around the book in my lap, and I fixed my eyes on the stone floor between our feet. The worn flagstones were dark with age and centuries of boots. Someone had mopped recently, not bothering to move the armchair. There was a ring of dust surrounding it, the line between Sula’s feet and mine; I, fittingly, was on the dirty side of the line. I took a deep breath and tried to force my anger down to a manageable level. If Sula heard even a hint of it in my voice, it’d mean overnight adulations in the haven hall for a week at least, and I didn’t think I could stand the oppressive silence or being left alone with my thoughts for that long.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” I said, taking the time to choose my words carefully, the lies like barbs on my tongue, “my daily service is in the harbor and canneries under the supervision of Anchorite Lugine. And while I would surely be honored to serve the Suzerain in whatever capacity they desire, I know Lugine can’t afford to be left shorthanded during the warm months when we’re able to dive, and I’m in the midst of training my replacement. My sixteenth birthday is just around the corner.”

Sula sniffed. “Your assignment to aid the Shriven initiates’ training is in addition to your service with Anchorite Lugine. There’s no reason you shouldn’t fill every available hour that remains to you as a ward of the temple by repaying the generosity that has kept you fed, clothed and housed for the first sixteen years of your life.”

I bit back the sharp response that threatened to explode from my throat and simply nodded. There was no real use arguing with her. I’d do as they asked and count the days until I could leave, just like I’d always done.

“Go on,” Sula said. “They’re expecting you.”

My head snapped up and I stared at her, bewildered. “Now?”