The Diminished

“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 (#u32bd4549-2432-517d-945f-61a820fc6dc7)

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.”