The Exalted

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  Curlin offered me a hand, and I let her pull me up. The pace she set was brisk, and as we walked, all of the aches from the long run and my old injuries flared. Spikes of pain radiated from my feet upward. I wanted to collapse. I wanted to sleep for a thousand years, and before long, I found myself at the back of the group, each step an agony.

  Neve and Biz sidled up to Quill and spoke to him in low tones. I was so distracted by the physical pain and worry about Bo, by Myrna’s death, by the cloud of death and smoke that I’d created, that I felt only the barest tickle of curiosity about their conversation before the horror of the day washed over me once more. When we finally found what was left of our group huddled in a clearing just off the side of the road, I fell into Curlin’s and Aphra’s arms, sobs racking my body.

  “Hush, hush,” Aphra said, petting my muddy, tangled hair. “You did everything you could. You brought your people out of there alive. None of us would have even made it this far if not for your quick thinking in the distillery.”

  Curlin laced her strong fingers through mine. “Sawny would be proud of you. You chose just as he would’ve done.”

  “How will I ever be able to face Bo again? And Quill? Quill said that he cared about me, loved me, but how could he possibly love someone as violent, as awful as I’ve been?” I asked through choking sobs. Even though he’d been with me, even though he’d seen it, even though he’d fought beside me, I didn’t know how I could possibly face him again.

  Curlin’s hand tightened around mine, and I fought to get myself under control. I wiped away my tears with my filthy shoulder and said, “I murdered those people. I never should have agreed to the plan. It was vicious, horrible. They lost themselves entirely. We stole their humanity. And Myrna! Rayleane’s teeth, poor Hepsy is going to murder me in cold blood, and rightly so.”

  Aphra took my face in her hands. “Listen to—”

  I cut her off. “No. Not like that. You can’t just go magicking folks into believing whatever you choose to tell them or taking their guilt and grief away from them. If you’re going to use your magic, Aphra, use it to do some good in this world.”

  Aphra looked helplessly at Curlin, who nodded. “She’s right, Aph. You’ve got to start using a bit more caution. You can’t just go around manipulating folks into doing whatever it is that’ll please you best.”

  Though she made a great show of scowling at Curlin, Aphra wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. “You made the right choice, Vi. There are no easy choices in a war, and the ones you made today may have turned the tide in this fight.”

  The rain had let up a bit, and the others in the little clearing were shifting, looking to Quill, Aphra and Curlin—and me, I supposed—for direction.

  I crossed the clearing to Quill and asked, “How far to the horses?”

  “Not far. Maybe another two hours’ walk?” he said with a grimace. “But it might be a bit difficult, as tired and injured as the group is. I wish there was a way for us to rest safely overnight, but the jungle isn’t safe.”

  “I don’t want to split us up again.” My stomach heaved, thinking of Myrna lying slaughtered in the field of philomenas.

  Quill’s full lips compressed into a thin line. I knew the people we’d lost—and that black, guilt-ridden regret—would follow him the same way it followed me, but I couldn’t connect that knowing with anything solid. With any feeling. It was like there was a chasm between us, and I wanted desperately to bridge it. Even for an instant.

  “No. I won’t make that mistake this time,” he agreed.

  On an impulse, I flung my uninjured arm around his shoulders and hugged him. He, at least, understood the guilt and the horror that I would face each time I looked in a mirror from now on. He would see the same in himself. “It wasn’t a mistake,” I told him. “It very likely saved the rest of our lives. Magritte’s tongue, imagine what would’ve happened if we’d all been together when that group attacked.”

  Quill’s stiff body relaxed ever so slightly, and he returned my hug briefly before stepping back. “Thank you, Vi. I appreciate you saying that.”

  “I’m not just—” But before I could finish, he’d walked off to gather the rest of the group.

  We walked in a tight clump. No one said much, and everyone spent as much time glancing over their shoulders as they did watching where they planted their feet. I walked beside Quill at the back of the group, and Aphra and Curlin led us. They glanced back from time to time, their eyes seeking mine.

  All I could think about was Bo, and how much I wished I was with him. I knew, deep in my heart, that he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. The missing him was bone-deep, but I knew I would see him again.

  What I didn’t know was how I’d face him. How I would tell him what I’d done. At least he would never have to see the horror of it, never have those memories playing on an endless loop in his brain. Maybe he’d be able to forgive me without the sickening crunch of metal on bone, the wet rip of teeth tearing into flesh, the agonized screams of the people I hadn’t saved playing over and over in his head. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to free myself of those memories. Maybe he’d be able to show me a way to redemption.

  But for now, all I could find was hate. I hated myself. Hated the Shriven. Hated the people who’d built their wealth on the backs of the exploited and abused laborers, and the monarchy that’d stood by and allowed them to do it.

  Suddenly, I ran dead-on into the person in front of me, who’d stopped short in the road with the rest of the group. I stumbled backward, teeth clenched. I fought down the fury that threatened to overwhelm me, a little taken aback by how quickly my temper rose in my chest. I stood on tiptoe to get a better look over the heads of the people in front of me. Quill, beside me, did the same.

  “Shriven,” he breathed. “Vi, with me.”

  He strode quickly to stand beside Aphra and Curlin, and I had to jog to catch up. The Shriven stood in the middle of the road in perfect rows, their spotless white ceremonial dress in stark contrast to our mud-smeared, blood-spattered assembly. There were dozens of them—five or six times our total numbers at least. They must have made up at least half of the Shriven’s total fighting force in Ilor.

  As we watched, they unbuckled their belts and laid their weapons at their feet. One of them, a woman with rich brown skin and wide dark eyes, stepped forward.

  “Though your offer of amnesty only extended until this dawn, there was no way for us to remove ourselves from the others without raising the alarm,” she said. “We hope that you will accept our surrender now, and our offer to aid your cause. We were each forced into this service in one way or another, and your generosity and compassion even in the face of the overwhelming odds you faced was extraordinary. With your permission, we will formally renounce our association with the Shriven and dedicate ourselves to the cause you serve.”

  Before any of the others could speak, I stepped forward, just a pace away from the other woman.

  “You offer to dedicate yourselves to the cause we serve, but you’ve no idea what that cause is.”

  A ripple of whispers and shifting weight traveled through the group behind me. The metallic scrape of weapons hauled from their sheaths made me turn and glare at Quill, who signaled his people to stop.

  I forced myself to take a deep, calming breath before speaking again. “We’ve set ourselves two fair impossible tasks. We mean to stop the production of the philomena serum in Ilor, but in order to do that, we have to take down the Suzerain. And we have to go back to Alskad, to see my brother take the throne.”

  I hadn’t consulted with Quill or Aphra. I hadn’t asked if they approved. We needed more political clout, plain and simple. And for that, we needed Bo.

  If everyone in Alskad thought he was dead, there must be a reason for it, and he was probably in danger. I had to get back to Williford and wait for word from him. I knew that he would
write me, and the moment that letter came, I would bring my army to him.

  I felt a shift inside myself at those words. My army. It was a place I’d been coming to for a long time, a power I’d needed to find my way into. And now, I would lead this little army as far as they would follow me.

  “We can’t just destroy the temple here in Ilor,” I told the Shriven. “Though that is critical. We have to put an end to the practice of using the philomena serum to turn dimmys. If I do nothing else with my life, I’ll see that the Suzerain pay for that crime. It’s unconscionable to exploit the fear of dimmys in order to build the Suzerain’s power, and it’s even worse to use the dimmys as tools. My work—the work that Curlin and I promised to do—is to defend the people of Ilor and Alskad against exploitation and ignorant hate. Will you help me?”

  Curlin stepped forward to stand beside me. A moment later, Quill and Aphra joined us. The Shriven woman, without turning to look at the ranks behind her, gave me a four-fingered salute and dropped to her knee. Another of the white-clad Shriven saluted, then knelt. One by one, the rest of the cohort, a hundred or more of them, followed suit. Tears welled in my eyes, and my heart surged with hope.

  I went to the woman and offered her my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, tears making my words wobble and squeak. “I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”

  “My twin died when I was eight,” she told me. “There aren’t words to explain the fury I felt when I learned that I’d spent years dreading a change that would never come—not so long as I did as my commanders told me, anyway.” Rage filled her eyes. “There’s not a person in my company that doesn’t have a story much the same. We share the same story, and I trust that you will lead us to victory in this fight.”

  I gave her a watery smile. “I’m Vi Abernathy. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Ji. Jihye Elias, at your service.”

  * * *

  Ensconced at a table in the corner of Swinton’s mother’s inn, I tapped my nails on the table and waited anxiously for Mal and Quill to arrive. For the first time in days, I was clean and full, and there was a pitcher of hot, spiced wine resting on a warmer in the middle of the table.

  It had taken three days to get the Shriven and rebels set up in a camp just outside Williford. Quill had gone ahead of us to collect the brats and see them safely settled in borrowed rooms all over the city. Thanks to Curlin’s tireless coaxing, the two groups had come to an uneasy sort of peace. There were still wary looks on either side, but each night more of the Shriven had joined the rebels at the fires. And each day, more of them had walked beside us as we made our way toward Williford.

  We’d gone to the governor’s mansion first, to find Hepsy and tell her the news of her sister’s passing, but we’d arrived too late. Ysanne told us that she’d succumbed the same day as her sister. Despite how different they’d been, their connection had been so strong that Myrna’s death had pulled Hepsy with her into the halls of the gods. A part of me was glad. Glad that she’d not suffered. Glad that she’d not had to bear the grief and burden of becoming one of the diminished.

  Curlin put a hand over mine, drawing me back to the present. I shrugged away from her touch.

  “I’m fine,” I snapped.

  “You don’t have to pretend.”

  Lucky for Curlin, Mal appeared, saving her from pushing her comforting routine too far.

  “You two look flat awful. Gaunt, battered and bruised.” He glanced around and called, “Someone bring these women something to eat! They look starved.”

  I jumped to my feet and pulled Mal into a ferocious hug, my heart in my throat. “Always trying to take care of people, aren’t you? We’re all set. Mulled wine and food on the way.”

  When I finally let him go, Mal kissed the air beside Curlin’s cheeks, an affected gesture she barely tolerated, and settled himself onto a stool. I looked at him expectantly.

  “Oh, right. Of course,” he said, and pulled a battered envelope from inside his jacket.

  The handwriting on the envelope wasn’t Bo’s. The spidery, staccato script belonged to Gerlene, Bo’s solicitor. Tears flooded my eyes. Gerlene wouldn’t write me unless...

  I shook the idea off like cold water. I couldn’t be wrong. Bo was fine. He had to be fine.

  Mal, seeing the look on my face, rushed to reassure me. “No! She wrote us, too. Bo was in a hurry, so she addressed the envelope, but he’s fine. Not to worry.”

  “See?” I gave Curlin a tart look that was spoiled by my relief. “I told you he was okay.”

  I tore open the envelope and scanned the letter. Eyebrows raised, I passed it to Curlin, who gave a low whistle as she finished reading.

  “You go from dimmy to twin more than any other person alive. Why don’t the two of you just settle the hell down?” Curlin covered her smile with furrowed brows and poured a mug of spiced wine, then slid it across the table to Mal. “Where’s your handsome brother?”

  Mal winked at her. “I am the handsome brother.”

  Curlin’s mouth twitched. “Not my cup of tea, darling.”

  I grinned. “So...”

  Curlin cut me off. “Will Quill be here soon?”

  Mal shook his head. “He was away as soon as he got the brats settled. Gone to meet Uncle Hamlin up the coast to off-load some of the ship’s inventory before he reaches harbor here. We do still have to make a living, you know.”

  I grimaced into my mulled wine, then forced a smile onto my face and batted my lashes at Mal.

  “Speaking of...”

  “Vi, my dear,” Mal said dryly, “have I ever told you how much I hate it when you get that look on your face?”

  I dropped the act. “We’re going to need your uncle’s ship.”

  “His what?”

  “His ship. You know. The big iron thing that inexplicably floats in the ocean? Takes people from Alskad to Ilor and back again? We’re going to need that. Most of it, anyway, though once he sees who we’re bringing along, he might want to go ahead and let us have the run of the place.”

  “You’ll arrange it, and, of course, Vi’ll pay for it,” Curlin said.

  “Just as soon as she gets her hands on the family money Bo’s set aside for her.”

  “Better, charge it to the temple’s account.” I shot Curlin my wickedest grin. “It is their people, after all.”

  Mal threw his hands up and pushed his chair back from the table. “I honestly don’t want to know. Uncle Hamlin is due back in port sometime in the next week. I’ll leave the negotiations to you.”

  “Sit down,” Curlin snapped. “We’ve things to discuss with you yet.”

  Mal sank back into his chair with a sigh and poured himself another steaming mug of wine.

  * * *

  The next morning, I took a pot of milky tea into the crisp air of the garden at the governor’s mansion. The first tendrils of winter’s chill had appeared, as if overnight, and I shivered with the memory of Alskad’s frozen landscape. Somehow, in the space of a year, I’d managed to take myself from Alskad’s frozen tundra to the indolent heat of Ilor’s summer, and now, as the promise of the first mild winter of my life dangled in front of me, I’d somehow contrived to get myself back to Alskad.

  I sipped my tea, kicked my feet up onto the bench and leaned my back against the armrest, feeling more content than I had in ages. In just a few short weeks, I’d be reunited with my twin.

  A part of me rejoiced at the idea, but every time I thought about Bo, I saw the faces of the Shriven as the philomena extract rained down on them in the distillery. Whenever someone tried to talk to me, I heard the screams of the people I’d left behind. Every little thing infuriated me, and I was haunted by a kind of anger I’d never felt before in my life. Something in me was broken, and it was all I could do to keep pushing myself forward, day after day.

  The screen door at the b
ack of the house whistled shut. I glanced over my shoulder, but wide leaves and bushes thick with late-season berries hid most of the house from my view. I kept my eyes trained on the path until I saw the knot of locks atop Quill’s head bobbing over the bushes and heard the dogs’ jangling collars as they trotted alongside him. Stomach heaving with sudden nerves, my eyes flicked down to the mug of tea cooling in my lap.

  With each day that had passed since the battle with the Shriven, I’d felt my connection to him slipping away. I couldn’t imagine indulging in any kind of romance right now, not after everything that I’d seen and done. After everything we’d done together. Not when the horrors of the last few weeks were only the beginning of the fight.

  When I first met Quill, I’d fallen for a man who was gentle and funny and kind. But that was only part of him. As much as he was all those things, I’d seen a new side of him these last few weeks—a darker, more vicious side. And that didn’t frighten me, didn’t lessen my love for him a bit. But I didn’t know if I was ready to show him the person I was becoming.

  “May I sit?”

  A thread of tension tied Quill’s voice to the fear in my gut, and I drew my knees up to my chin by way of assent. Quill perched on the far edge of the bench, planted his elbows on his thighs and dug the heels of his long, elegant hands into his temples.

  “Denor, is it?”

  “Bo needs me.”

  Quill’s golden eyes flicked to me, and he lifted an eyebrow. “It wasn’t an argument, Vi.”

  I scrubbed a hand through my curls and stared down at the gold cuff wrapped around my wrist, searching for the right words, but nothing came to mind.

  “Not for nothing,” Quill said, “but I think it’s a good call. Like you said, your brother needs you, and the situation in Alskad is far more dire than it is here. Aphra and Ysanne can keep the temple under control now that we have the Shriven on our side. With their help, she really won’t even need most of our people. I assume you’ve already asked them to go with you?”