The Exalted

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  * * *

  Dammal led us on a winding path through back alleys and down narrow streets half-blocked with rotting refuse and broken furniture. Eventually, he wrenched open a rusty iron gate and climbed the stairs of a ramshackle house. We were on the farthest edge of what had been a very fashionable area of the city a century before: the End. Vi had spent her childhood haunting this neighborhood, whereas I’d lived my whole life without setting foot in places like this.

  I looked up and down the street, lost in a spiraling current of what-ifs broken only by the memory of gunshots fired by palace guards. The lawns were crowded with junk and the skeletal remains of bushes. At nearly every house, the paint peeled and flaked down onto the snow like colorful ashes. A shutter on the second floor of Dammal’s house hung precariously from a single hinge, and tall weeds poked through the gray snow that lay in drifts across the lawn. The crooked stairs looked like they could collapse at any moment.

  Swinton took my hand. “In we go, bully.”

  I needed to steel myself, pull myself together. Runa was dead. I was the king. My responsibility was to my empire now, and I didn’t have time to indulge in grief. “I think we should go back to the palace. Runa didn’t want me anywhere near these people.”

  “Your family?” Swinton’s fingers tightened around mine.

  Dammal was peering into the front door’s lock and jiggling the handle. The man’s hands were clumsy, likely from years of too much drink. Nothing about him invited even the tiniest measure of confidence—for all I knew, he could be luring me into some kind of trap of his own.

  “I can’t hide here, Swinton. I have a duty to the people.” My concerns spewed from my mouth like angry bees spilling out of a hive, but I kept my eyes on the toes of my boots, stained with the blood and grit of our escape. I wanted, more than anything, to put the events of the day behind me and move forward, away from this too-familiar place of grief and despair. “I have to go back to the palace. I’ll need to make a statement to the citizens, meet with the council, see to the funeral arrangements...make sure the people who did this come to justice.”

  Swinton cupped my cheek and gently turned my face, making it impossible to avoid looking him in the eyes.

  “Bo, the guards sworn to protect you fired at you. They killed the queen. Until we know who’s behind this scheme, you can’t go back to the palace. Your position is incredibly weak, and whoever it was that set those guards to murder is sure as rain to try again. Runa set the pieces in place to see you on the throne, but you’ll have to play a smart game until we can see her plans through.”

  I’d just opened my mouth to argue when a shutter on the first floor screeched as it was thrown wide and a boy, maybe eight or nine, stuck his head out. His bright auburn hair glinted like copper in the afternoon light. He scowled at Dammal, yelled something into the house and then disappeared. A moment later, another boy, this one a bit older, appeared at the window.

  “You drunk, Da?”

  Dammal, who’d been obliviously trying to open the front door, shot up straight and stumbled back a few steps, nearly falling backward off the porch, his appearance of sobriety obliterated by the flask that clattered out of his pocket as he fell.

  The boy shook his mop of dark brown curls in disgust. Then a girl pushed him out of the way, and Swinton took in a sharp breath as she came into full view. The girl looked like Vi—a lot like Vi. She had the same high cheekbones covered in freckles, the same jetty tangles, the same ferocity in her features.

  “You ain’t got food or money, you can go straight to hell, Da,” she yelled. “We ain’t none of us got the time nor the inclination to put up with your drunk ass. Go find somewhere else to sleep it off.”

  “Aww, come on, Brenna. Open the door. Let your da in. Ma’d be fair steamed to know you’d locked me out in the cold.”

  “Ma can take it up with me when she starts putting food on the table more regular.”

  “Still think they’re no relation?” Swinton asked, a bit of amusement in his tone.

  Brenna’s head jerked up at the sound of Swinton’s voice, her skull banging against the windowsill. As she took in the sight of us, her expression went from irritation to openmouthed horror. I realized I was still wearing the rich silks and furs I’d chosen for the parade, and Swinton was dressed like one of the royal guard.

  There was no question in my mind now. This girl was Vi’s sister. My sister. And it’d been stupid for us to follow Dammal. Stupider still to come here, to endanger all of the queen’s careful planning and the secrets she’d so carefully tended for so many years.

  “And just who the hell are you?” she asked.

  “Well—” I started.

  Swinton interrupted me. “It’s a long story. Let us in?”

  The girl looked us up and down appraisingly. “Got any cash?”

  I dug through my trouser pockets. Having not really left the palace since we’d arrived, I hadn’t had much need for money, but I thought I might have a few tvilling on me. Swinton sighed and stuck his hand into my jacket pocket, dug around and pulled out a ring, which he held up for Brenna’s inspection. The light danced along the clusters of fat rubies and diamonds that adorned the gaudy thing, and her eyes went wide.

  “That’ll do.”

  A moment later, the door swung open, and I followed Swinton and Dammal into the house.

  Lamplight from the street filtered in through dusty, faded curtains, casting long shadows in the dim foyer. Three kids clustered on the stairs in the entryway, staring at us with wide eyes.

  The girl, Brenna, held out her hand to Swinton, who dropped the ring onto her palm. She examined it closely, hunger ill concealed beneath her dark lashes. Dammal grabbed at it, but she swatted his hand away.

  “Go find yourself somewhere to sleep it off, Da.”

  “I’ve just as much a right to sleep in this house as you, you ungrateful brat,” Dammal grumbled.

  “You and Ma’ll have a right to this house the day you start paying bills.”

  “Come on now, Remembrance. Aren’t you supposed to remember some respect for your father? Give me a bite to eat and let me rest. It’s been a long day.”

  Brenna rolled her eyes. “Empty your pockets and don’t call me Remembrance.”

  “I’ve not got a tvilling to my name, child, or it’d be yours.”

  “Empty your pockets, and I’ll let you have supper tonight.”

  Dammal groaned and dug into a pocket, coming up with a few linty coins. “Fine, but you’ll give me a bed.”

  “Come up with a drott, and I’ll let you sleep on the sofa for a few hours. I’ll even make the little ones give you a pillow.”

  “Fine.” Dammal handed Brenna another few coins, and she nodded toward the back of the house. “There should still be a fire going in the den. Go on, then. We’ll take it from here.”

  Dammal gave Brenna a last hard look, clapped me on the shoulder and ambled down the hall.

  “Fern,” she yelled, “get down here.”

  A girl of about eleven appeared at the top of the stairs and deftly hopped her way over her sisters to the landing.

  “What?” she spit.

  Brenna held the ring up, and Fern’s eyes went wide.

  “That’ll fetch a price,” she said, awe in her words. “Meat for weeks.”

  “Will she be able to sell it?” Swinton asked. “Without someone pinching her for theft, I mean.”

  The girl laughed and snatched the ring out of Brenna’s hand. “You ain’t from here, are you? It’s what? Six? Merk’ll be opening up soon, and if we make tracks, I can get to the shops before they close. I’ll bring Trix to help carry.”

  “Be sensible.” Brenna caught Fern’s jacket before the smaller girl could take off. “We can celebrate tonight, but the rest’ll have to go to staples and savings. Hear me? Flour, lard, peas. Food we can str
etch.”

  The girl’s eyes kept cutting to the door. She was like a horse in the starting box before a race, itching to run.

  “You can take Trix, but you’re taking Pem and Still, too. I need someone to keep you in check.”

  Two of the children on the stairs scrambled down to stand behind Fern. One of them, a girl in layers upon layers of too-big knit sweaters, looked at me, brows furrowed. Fern scowled at her older sister, and the little girl kicked Fern hard in the shin. Brenna, still holding tight to Fern’s jacket, plucked a wool cap from the stair rail and tugged it low over the little girl’s brow, somehow releasing all the tension from her small body, which had been coiled like a spring.

  Brenna said, “You can go to Mr. Bleckson’s and get as many roasted pigeons as you can carry on your way home. Fair?”

  Fern’s face lit up, and as soon as Brenna let go of her jacket she bolted past us to the door, two of her siblings close on her heels. But the little girl stopped beside me for a moment, tugging insistently on my sleeve. I leaned down, and she whispered in my ear.

  “Hi, Bo. Don’t leave before we get back, hear?”

  Before I could stammer out a response, she’d disappeared and slammed the door behind her with a gust of frigid air. Brenna hustled us down a long hallway and into the kitchen, where three other teenagers sat around a battered kitchen table. The boy with auburn hair who’d first opened the window regarded me from the head of the table, his freckled hands fisted on his knees.

  “So.” He jerked his chin at me. “This is him?”

  I traded a look with Swinton. Which version of the truth should I tell them? Swinton bit his lower lip and shrugged. He’d never liked that Runa and I had chosen to hide my twin, but he saw the reason in it. I had to gain the favor of the people, find power in the loyalty and respect of the nobility and the citizens of Alskad. Their trust would help us take down the temple and their lies with them.

  Being singleborn didn’t make a person all-knowing. Being diminished didn’t make a person violent. Being an amalgam didn’t make a person evil. Violence, intelligence and power existed in every one of us—how we cultivated and controlled ourselves was up to each individual. We knew it, the temple knew it, and I’d made it my mission to show the world the truth when the time was right.

  But all of our careful plans were shattered by the bullet that took Runa’s life. I had no idea what to do now, no idea what the new plan should be. But looking into Swinton’s eyes, I knew one thing for sure.

  I couldn’t lie to my family.

  So I offered the boy my hand. “I’m Vi’s twin, Bo.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Vi

  “I think Curlin is actually trying to end my life with her training plan. I’ve never been so sore. I never knew it was possible to be so sore. My muscles scream from morning until night, and when I’m finally allowed to fall into my hammock, I dream of sore muscles. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

  —from Vi to Bo

  Mal and Quill had left all sorts of things untended in Williford, and so, after waiting a day to see that Curlin and I were well settled, they made the trek back down the mountain with a promise to return as soon as they could. Biz and Neve took the seasoned fighters—the old guard of the rebel contingent—to a camp closer to New Branisford, where they could do some reconnaissance on the temple there and plan their next move.

  And then, suddenly, Curlin and Aphra and I were alone, unsupervised, with a group of gangly half-grown brats we were supposed to turn into a squadron of capable fighters.

  The moment Biz and Neve disappeared into the jungle, Curlin climbed onto a table and called the camp to order.

  “You want to fight?” she asked. “Why?”

  The full heat of the sun beat down on us as we waited to see how the recruits would respond. My black hair, piled on top of my head, was as hot as a coal about to burst into flames. Slowly, the others in the camp pressed forward, each pushing to be closer to Curlin. Beside me, Aphra watched her with narrowed eyes, while I gazed at the young people gathering around Curlin’s table in the pavilion. I saw the faces she’d captured, and I realized that Curlin was good at this. She pulled the crowd in to her and held them with just the simple force of her will.

  There was so much about who she’d become that I’d missed these past years. A thread of excitement knit its way into my heart at the thought of rediscovering the girl who’d once been my best friend in the world.

  From the back of the group, a thin voice called, “For our freedom!”

  “Who’s keeping you in chains?” Curlin asked. “You’re free now. I need a better reason.”

  “To kill the folks what bought and sold us,” another voice rang out.

  “No good’s ever come from revenge.”

  The crowd shifted in place, some of them looking at their feet, all of them searching for the answer that would break the intensity of Curlin’s silent, unblinking stare.

  “For change,” I said.

  “What’s that?” Curlin asked.

  I climbed onto the table beside her. “We fight for change. Not for ourselves, but for those who’ll come after us. We fight so that no one else ends up in chains. We fight for our brothers and sisters dosed by the temple and made to become rabid. We fight against the folks who’d call me diminished and turn grief into something to fear. We fight because we want to make this world a better place, and to do that, we have to take down the temples. We have to take down the Shriven and the Suzerain.”

  I glanced at Curlin as soon as the word left my mouth, leaving a sour taste on my tongue, but she nodded, encouraging me to continue. “We fight to make the queen back in Alskad hear our voices when we say that it is wrong to buy and sell the life of another person, even if just for a few years. We fight to make our world better.” I took Curlin’s hand in mine. It was foreign and strange, and at the same moment, it collapsed the years between us, and we were brats again. “You were one of the Shriven. I’ve been called diminished all my life. If we can fight for the same kind of justice, I think anything might be possible.”

  I turned my face back toward the crowd. “So are you with us?”

  They cheered then. The raucous, joyous sound transformed their young, hungry faces from a pitiable sight into something that stirred a ferocious hope deep in my gut. Curlin reached out and pulled Aphra up onto the table, as well. Taking my hand and Aphra’s in each of hers, she raised our fists together and stomped her foot three times.

  Quiet fell over the clearing. Curlin looked out over the group, her fingers still twined in mine. The littlest children fidgeted from foot to foot, looking to their elders to see what they ought to do next.

  “We’ll have to work hard and smart,” Curlin said. “There’s no telling how long we’ll have before the Shriven find out where we are. We need to be ready to meet them when they come. To do that, we’ll need to play to our strengths. Every morning, we’ll gather here to train our bodies. You need to get fast and strong and learn not to be afraid. After our midday meal, we’ll split into groups. The youngest of us will learn how to sneak and climb and spy from Vi.”

  She looked at me with a twinkle in her dark blue eyes and winked. “She’s the most devious person I’ve ever met, and I know she’ll train you well. You older ones will learn fighting from me. At night, Aphra will take over. She has the most real education of the three of us, and her particular skills lend themselves well to war games and strategy.” Curlin’s face turned serious as she cast her gaze over the crowd. “Anyone can back out of their training at any time. I am not in the business of forcing people to fight. Those whose work it is to keep this camp running, to feed us and clothe us and tend to our wounds, are just as important as the fighters. Just know that if you give up your training, you cannot start again. So make your decisions wisely, for you’ll only make them once.”

  * * *


  As I trudged up the mountain two days later, I caught sight of a fluttering piece of cloth out of the corner of my eye.

  “You’re caught,” I called. “Come on out and give it up.”

  The broad, jewel-green leaves at the edge of the path rustled, and a dirty face peeked out into the dappled sunlight. I carefully lowered my buckets to the ground and waited for the girl to edge her way out of the undergrowth. Lei was maybe ten years old. Her hair was cropped close to her head, and leaves stuck out of her tight curls at all angles. Her clothes were streaked with so much mud that it hardly could have happened by accident.

  I glanced down at her belt, where only two of her three strips of green cloth remained. “You don’t watch out, you’re going to be going without supper tonight. I wouldn’t have seen you if you hadn’t been moving at such a clip. Don’t need to be fast if no one sees you, remember?”

  Lei kicked at a clod of dirt and untied one bit of cloth from her belt. “I was going after Bren. He’s fair poor at hiding. Gets distracted easy. I got two of his flags yesterday and an extra scoop of stew for it.”

  I took the rag and stuffed it in my pocket. I’d given them three strips of cloth each. They all had a task to accomplish by suppertime. Some were picking fruit, others collecting firewood and still others hunting for the waddling, flightless birds that congregated around the mountain’s pools and streams. The challenging part was this: if anyone caught sight of one of the brats, they had to surrender one of their flags. By the end of the day, those who’d lost all their flags missed out on supper. If they managed to snag another youngling’s flag, they got her share of food. These brats had been hungry for so long, food was a powerful motivator.

  “Might need to focus on keeping out of sight for the rest of the day, don’t you think? Better one serving at suppertime than none, and you’ve only got one flag left.”