Читать книгу The Diminished - Kaitlyn Patterson Sage - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

BO

My bedroom was warm from the large fire crackling in the hearth, but I was ice all the way to my bones. I’d been cold since I woke up, probably due to nerves at the thought of what the day would bring. I smoothed my jacket’s embroidered cuffs and stared out the window. I turned sixteen at midnight, and the Queen would declare me a grown man, singleborn of the Trousillion line and successor to her throne. The thought of that heavy crown and the responsibility that came with it nauseated me.

I wanted to be King. I wanted to be a great king, but I’d never felt the easy entitlement the other singleborn flaunted. And after the incident in the park, I’d never felt so unsure of myself, so afraid. I’d spent my whole life preparing for this day, yet still feared that I would trip over some part of the ceremony and embarrass myself—or, worse, my mother.

The soft din of the party drifted through the palace. The fashionable quintet my cousins had hired seemed to play only fast, reeling tunes. My feet ached at the idea of another night spent dancing, but I’d do, as always, what was expected of me, though the stack of books Rylain had sent for my birthday called to me from my bedside table. There was a history of trade dating back to the cataclysm that I ached to dig into.

Outside, in the dark night sky, the two halves of the fractured moon were full, and so close they looked like they might crash into each other. My tutor, Birger, said this interaction of the moon’s halves was a rare and good omen: the reunited twins. He claimed that when the halves of the moon were close, the goddesses and gods forgot the evil our ancestors had done when they split the moon in half. I’d always thought they looked more like twins conspiring in a corner than a pair long lost and reunited, and personally ascribed to the theory that the halves were always the same distance apart—it was our perspective that shifted.

No great wonder Birger was so fascinated by the moons. He and his twin, Thamina, were always whispering in each other’s ears and exchanging those infuriatingly weighted looks twins gave one another. Nothing made me feel more alone than standing in a room full of twins, steeped in the knowledge that I ought to be grateful for the fact that I was singleborn. I knew it was a blessing, but the constant reminders that I’d been born with a greater conscience, a keener sense of justice, a powerful birthright—they had never helped me see those things in myself.

A knock at the door brought me out of my reverie, and Mother swept into the room, not waiting for my response. Rather than her usual well-cut breeches, silk tunic and jacket, She wore a floor-length, lavender-gray gown that sparkled with silver embroidery and accented her olive skin. Her brown hair had been curled, and it brushed the immaculate white fox-fur stole wound round her neck. Huge hunks of raw diamond set in creamy gold cuffs decorated each of her wrists, but her bare arms and sleeveless dress made more of a statement than those jewels. She was the living personification of Dzallie, invincible and immune to the chill of the early summer night.

She narrowed her dark eyes and looked me up and down and adjusted my jacket. “That color suits you, Ambrose. It brings out the gray in your eyes.”

“I thought it was a little garish, but Claes insisted I choose something bright.” I felt like a pigeon dressed in peacock feathers. The purple silk jacket was festooned with scads of embroidery; colorful birds and flowers exploded from my shoulders, trailing down the sleeves and to the wide hem that brushed the floor. At least my trousers were plain—if very fine—gray wool, with embroidery only along the cuffs.

I was waiting for someone to notice how out of place I really was.

“You look so like your father, Ambrose.”

She wasn’t exactly right. I saw him in the line of my jaw and the stubborn set of my mouth, but my eyes were gray where my father’s had been hazel, and I’d grown taller than both my parents by the time I was twelve. Four years later, and I still hadn’t filled out the promise of that early growth. Though my shoulders were broad enough, I was tall and skinny, where the rest of my family was small and muscular.

I coughed, not knowing what to say. I never knew what to say about my father. His absence was like a gaping hole in our lives, and Mother had an uncanny knack for bringing him up at times when feeling the enormous emptiness of his loss would be crippling. I didn’t think she did it on purpose.Even after four years without him, the specter of my father’s death was a constant weight my mother carried. Her grief followed her everywhere, and his memory colored every private moment we shared.

Mother perched on the edge of a gilt-legged settee piled with furs and patted the seat beside her. I sat obediently, careful not to wrinkle my jacket or sit on her skirt. She ran a hand through my newly shorn curls. She used to cut it herself when my father was still alive, as she’d done for him. We’d had the same dark brown curls, unruly and difficult to style. But since his death, she’d left the task to my valet and was ever critical of his work.

“I have something for you.”

I looked at her questioningly. “I thought we were going to wait to open gifts until tomorrow. The spectacle’s half the ceremony, or so Claes and Penelope are always telling me.”

“You’ll get the rest of your gifts tomorrow, but this is between you, your father and me. He and I decided long before his passing.”

She pulled a small cedar box from her skirts and handed it to me. I untied the crimson ribbon. Inside the box, a long, brass key rested on a velvet cushion.

“A key?” I asked, bewildered. There was no door in our house I had any reason to unlock, and the only time I left our estate was in the company of my mother and our ever-present cadre of servants. There was never a need for me to unlock anything at all.

“To your father’s house here in Penby. You’ll need a place to get away from the chaos in the palace as you spend more and more time at court. Your father’s house is perfect for a crown prince. We’ll have to hire a staff to open it, but that shouldn’t be any trouble. I’ll even give you an allowance to redecorate it to your taste. Do you remember it?”

Strange that, after years without thinking of it, the property had come up twice in one week. I hadn’t been there often—since Father’s death, we’d always stayed in the palace when we went to court. Before his passing, I’d only been a child, and rarely visited Penby—children of the nobility were raised in the countryside, where they could breathe clean air and learn genteel sports. But, much to my mother’s dismay, Father had taken me to see the sunships launch when I’d been briefly fascinated by them as a little boy. I’d wanted to become a ship’s captain in the royal navy, to spend my life at sea, exploring the vast swaths of land left unpopulated and destroyed by the cataclysm. I remembered sliding down the banister of the grand, sweeping staircase in the front hall and hiding on the landing long past my bedtime, wrapped in blankets and listening to my parents laugh with their guests.

The reality of what lay ahead of me curdled my stomach. The responsibility of guiding the empire, of working hand in hand with the Suzerain—it was daunting, especially when I felt so very alone. I wished, as I so often had, that I was normal; that I had a twin like everyone else. And seeing the expectation, the eager hunger for my accomplishment and success in my mother’s eyes inflamed me.

The old argument, the one that tangled our every interaction lately, took hold before I could stop myself. “Mother...”

Her jaw tensed. “Don’t start, Ambrose. You are the Queen’s choice. It’s your duty to serve the empire. To become its next King. You will show Queen Runa that you are, without a doubt, the best choice to lead the succession, just as your father or I would have done, had we had the luck to be singleborn.” She tucked the key and its box into an end table drawer.

I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to extinguish the anxiety rising in my chest like a flame. If only I could escape from that word. My whole life, I’d been told I was special because I’d been born alone. Singleborn. The conscience of the empire. Every move I made was lauded, commented upon. My interests became trends. I was deferred to, admired and praised at every turn. But Mother’s eyes never rested on me for a moment without the expectation that I could do more, be better.

As if she could read my thoughts, Mother reached out and cupped my cheek. “You know that I’m proud of you? You know that I love you?”

I sighed. “I know. I know you want the best for me. I love you, too.”

Before the heaviness of the moment could weigh me down more than my anxiety already had, I changed the subject.

“Has there been any more news about what happened in the park?” I asked.

Mother dropped her hand into her lap, exasperated. “There’s no need for you to continue to bring that up,” she said, annoyance sharpening her words. “It was a coincidence. One of the diminished. Honestly, if there were something to tell you, I would. Now, tonight is a momentous occasion, and I want for you to remember it fondly.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “We should go down. Your cousins are doing what they can to keep Her Majesty occupied, but Claes may run out of gossip if we don’t relieve him soon.” She laughed, a sound like a burbling spring that did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves. “Worse, Penelope will be in a state trying to keep him from saying something out of turn.”

I grinned, knowing she was right. I offered her my arm. “Best make my entrance, then. Into the den of foxes, as it were.”

Mother swatted at me as we left my room. “Hush, you. You mustn’t make jokes about the other singleborn where someone might hear you.”

“It’s Father’s joke,” I protested.

“I know.” Mother stretched up onto the tips of her toes and kissed me on the cheek. “But those foxes hold your fate in their jaws.”

* * *

Outside the great room, I stared at the enormous, ancient doors. Doors I’d seen so often during our many visits to court, but never truly looked at. I wondered what had crossed the minds of each of the other singleborn chosen to wear the crown, who’d all waited outside this very door on the night of their sixteenth birthdays. It was a sobering thought, and all my jokes and nervous giggles fled my body.

Gunnar, my valet, knocked twice on the carved panel beside the great room door. I took a deep breath, and three bass notes from the horn just inside the great room reverberated through my bones. The musicians went quiet, and an anticipatory hush settled over the crowd inside. Gunnar looked to Mother for her signal. She wound her arm through mine and looked up into my eyes searchingly.

“Ready?” she asked.

I nodded and set my jaw, forcing a slight smile onto my lips. Gunnar heaved against the doors’ polished bone handles. Inside, a uniformed servant took up the Trousillion horn, curling and carved, and blew a long, clear note. Silence hung heavy in the room, and the weight of hundreds of eyes fell upon me all at once. The solar lights were dimmed, and they cast a golden glow over the nobles dressed in their best silks and furs. Their jewels shimmered as they waited for the ceremony to start.

Penelope, Claes and I had spent months shaping the guest list. In addition to the ambassadors from Denor, most elite Ilorian merchants and the highest-ranking members of the nobility, the guest list included a number of my more irritating relatives who had to be invited, despite their tendencies to hoard all of the attention in a room. The three other singleborn of my generation were like that, captivating and dazzling all at once. Even Rylain, despite her hatred of public appearances, was the kind of person who could enchant a crowd with a single word.

I felt drab standing next to them, like a baby puffin before its plumage fills in. I should have been brimming with excitement, but instead I was blinded, unable to move, like a fish frozen in a streambed. My eye landed on a woman draped in austere black wool, her dark brown hair threaded with silver, and a serene look on her unlined face: Rylain. My heart lifted slightly—I hadn’t thought that she would be willing to make the trip to court, even for such a significant event. I was relieved to see her—perhaps her presence would stop Patrise and Lisette from spreading their bizarre notion that she’d had something to do with the shooting in the park.

Patrise lounged on a chaise nearby, flanked by a beautiful, red-haired woman. I wondered if the accusations he’d leveled at Rylain were a thinly veiled attempt to hide his own involvement in the most recent attempt on my life. He’d tried to have me killed more than once, or so Mother claimed. It was a fair concern—if something happened to me, the Queen would likely choose either Patrise or Lisette to succeed her. Patrise’s companion whispered something to him, and he threw back his head and laughed. His hearty guffaw became the only sound in the room, and he turned to grin at me before leaning in to reply to the redhead.

For a moment, everything I’d learned to prepare for this moment disappeared. I started to turn, to flee, but Mother’s elbow dug into my ribs. My eyes darted around frantically, and I finally found Claes standing with his sister. He smiled at me, his face a beacon in the crowd. His grin lit me like a torch, and warmth blossomed in my belly. When I looked at him, it felt like he and I were the only people in the room, and suddenly, I cared about doing this right.

I wanted so badly for him to be proud of me. I wanted to show them all that I deserved to be King.

I blinked and looked away before I could start blushing. Beside him, Penelope looked at me with the impatient urgency that seemed to be the natural set of her face, and my hours of practice flooded back to me. I stepped forward, smiling the solemn smile that my cousins had cajoled me into replicating for hours on end until it was more natural to me than any other expression.

Our guests parted, creating an aisle that led to the dais where Queen Runa waited. Tonight, her cape was black sealskin trimmed with gray fox fur. She wore the Alskad Empire’s ceremonial crown, a hefty circlet of hammered gold studded with raw jewels and pearls. Her hands rested on the Sword of the Empire, a weapon nearly as tall as she, forged in folded steel so keenly sharpened, it could cut a whisper in half. It was a weapon made to shed blood, though the empire’s rulers had expanded their borders by exploration rather than force.

Queen Runa was flanked by the Suzerain. With their pure white robes, pale skin and blond hair, they looked like twin towers of salt. Aside from the Queen, these were the most powerful people in the empire. While the Queen controlled the nobility, and had the final say on all laws written in the noble council, the common people looked to the Suzerain and their ranks of the Shriven for religious justice and protection from the diminished. The Queen never made a decision without considering the opinion of the temple.

Seven of the Shriven, all clad in the purest white, stood like statues against the wall behind the dais, their eyes glittering amid the black paint that bisected their faces. Tattoos crept up their necks and across their knuckles, and one of them bared her teeth, sharpened to spikes, at me. It took everything in my power to keep from grimacing. I wished they’d take their hands off the long knives in their belts, even only for the duration of the ceremony, but I knew it didn’t matter. They were as deadly unarmed as they were if they bristled with weapons.

Wrenching my gaze away from the Shriven, I was grateful for the kind faces of the anchorites, with their brilliant yellow-and-orange silk robes and the ropes of pearls that draped their wrists and necks. They stood before the dais, the emblems of the empire in a chest at their feet. The anchorites showered me in approving nods and warm smiles as I approached them. We stopped before the first step, and I leaned down to kiss Mother on both cheeks. She took her place next to her twin sister, to the right of the anchorites, and I knelt before the Suzerain and the Queen. I inhaled deeply and focused my thoughts on the ceremony at hand.

Together, their solemn voices filled the room, as rich as kaffe and sweet as honey. “Why do you kneel before us, Ambrose, son of Myrella and Oswin, descendent of the Trousillion line?”

I paused, took a breath and let the responses I knew by rote flow. “For I am worthy of the Trousillion crown.”

“By what right are you worthy?”

The words caught in my throat, and I coughed before saying, “By right of birth. I am singleborn, chosen of the goddesses and the gods.”

“Why were the singleborn chosen to rule their lands?”

“When the moon split and the people corrupted the earth, the goddesses and gods chose to split their souls in twain, that the consciences of the people be doubled. They decreed that each person be born with a twin they would love above all others, to whom they would be responsible for all their deeds. The goddesses and gods chose a family from each land, one who had demonstrated great honor, compassion and intellect. The descendants of those families would bear a number of singleborn in each generation, and from those, the next ruler would be chosen.”

Silks rustled as the crowd shifted from one foot to the other. The Queen nodded to my mother, who joined her on the dais. They each took hold of one end of the long Sword of the Empire, hefting it above their heads to form an archway. The female Suzerain, Amler, stepped through the archway, carrying the empire’s golden wheel. The male Suzerain, Castor, followed her, a delicate gold net stretched between his hands. Finally, the Queen nodded to me, and I stepped beneath the sword, ducking to clear my head. I was grateful to kneel once again on the other side and hide my shaking legs.

The Queen handed the sword to my mother and came to stand before me, to perform her role in the ceremony. She faced the crowd. “Do you swear to uphold the honor of the singleborn of the Trousillion line?”

I looked into her deep brown eyes, feeling the enormous magnitude of the vow radiating from the depths of her soul. “I do.”

The weight of the net, surprisingly heavy for all its delicacy, settled over my shoulders like a ballast, and my heart sank. I admonished myself silently—I’d spent my whole life preparing for this, and it would be years yet before I took the throne. The weight of the responsibility need not feel so wildly overwhelming yet.

“Will you guide the people of the empire with your conscience, serving them with justice and grace, putting their needs before your own?”

“I will.” I accepted the wheel, and the Queen gave me the barest hint of a smile.

“Will you wear this cuff as a daily reminder of your duty to your crown and your country, and swear in the name of your chosen god that you will serve the people of the Alskad Empire for the rest of your days?”

I held out my left wrist. “I swear on my honor and in Gadrian the Firebound’s name that I will serve the people of the Alskad Empire for the rest of my days.”

The Queen snapped the hammered gold bracelet onto my wrist and locked it in place. The crown-shaped bracelet was fitted to my wrist, loose enough to move up and down my forearm, but too tight to slip over my hand. There was no way for me to take it off without the key unless I was willing to break my hand. As the weight of the bracelet settled on my arm, I wondered if any of the other singleborn had ever tried to remove the cuff.

The Queen held out her hand to me, her own bracelet gleaming in the low light. “Stand, Ambrose, son of Myrella and Oswin. Stand in the knowledge that you are my chosen successor to the throne of the Alskad Empire.”

I took the Queen’s hand and stood, heart pounding in my chest, raising the wheel over my head. The room erupted in cheers and whoops, and the musicians struck up a fast, reeling war song. Queen Runa squeezed my hand reassuringly as we descended the dais together.

* * *

There were several comfortably furnished chambers adjacent to the great room, where guests could rest or talk quietly during the epic gatherings that were the social centerpieces of the empire’s nobility. I followed the Queen and my mother into one of these rooms, and they waited in silence as two anchorites lifted the golden net off my shoulders and relieved me of the wheel.

When the anchorites had gone, closing the door behind them, the Queen settled into a wide chair, plucked the crown off her head and set it on a side table. The regal monarch disappeared, and in her place was my great aunt, all sharp wit and convivial smiles.

“Myrella, be a dear and pour me a glass of something strong, will you?”

Mother went to the sideboard and filled a glass with clear ouzel from a crystal decanter. She took a sip from the glass, to show it wasn’t poisoned, before handing it to Runa. The Queen accepted it and downed it in a gulp, holding the glass out to be refilled.

“Sit, sit, both of you,” she said.

Mother poured a cup of kaffe, doctored it with cream and sugar and took a sip before handing it to me. I sank gratefully onto a divan, and Mother took her place in the room’s other chair, an ouzel glass of her own in hand.

“Now, tell me. Whom will he marry?”

“His cousin Penelope, though we haven’t made the formal arrangements yet.”

I choked on my kaffe. This was news to me. My heart fluttered. What would Claes say? Did he know? There was no way Penelope would agree to the match, not when I’d spent the last year kissing her twin. Even the Queen had seen me kissing Claes. Never mind the fact that I had no desire to marry her. No desire to marry a woman at all. And why should I? Even as King, the heir to the throne would not necessarily be my heir, but the singleborn I deemed most suited to the role. Runa herself had never married, never had a child. She ruled the empire alone, and while I didn’t entirely understand why she’d chosen me out of all the singleborn, I didn’t think it was purely due to our close line of descent.

When my coughing fit subsided, I looked up to find Mother glaring at me.

“When was this decided?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice level.

Queen Runa laughed, ignoring me. “It’s a good match. She’s smart and will continue your good work with the estate with no great trouble. Poor Oswin would have been destitute without you. Poor man didn’t have a practical bone in his body.” She bit her lip, eyes softening. “My apologies, Myrella. I miss him so, as I’m sure you do.”

Mother nodded. “It has been exceedingly difficult, but we’ve made do.”

“The Suzerain think we should see Ambrose married within the next two years, and for once, I don’t disagree. It will lend him more weight with the nobility if they know he has a strong partner.”

I sputtered, “Excuse me?”

They ignored me.

“And the other matter?” Mother asked.

A muscle in the Queen’s jaw twitched. “Still safely in the hands of the temple. Magritte’s wisdom keep her.”

“Magritte keep who?” I blurted, knowing as soon as the question left my lips that I should’ve kept quiet.

There was no point in asking questions that wouldn’t be answered. It seemed like they were intentionally speaking in riddles, throwing out one incomprehensible statement after another in order to infuriate me. It wasn’t as though they didn’t know better. It wasn’t as though they weren’t the ones who’d taught me my manners, and here they were. Acting like I wasn’t even here.

The Queen waved her hand dismissively and shot Mother a look cold enough to freeze mulled wine. “No one you need ever worry about. Now, before you leave, I’ll have a chat with the tutors about the topics they’ll need to cover in Ambrose’s and Penelope’s curriculum. We’ll correspond soon about announcing the engagement and planning the wedding. Meanwhile, he should spend more time at court, and Penelope will be able to assist you in running the estate.”

The music died away in the great room. My mind raced, trying to process the last few minutes of conversation.

Queen Runa lumbered to her feet and replaced the crown on her head. “Time for toasts. Come along.” When she got to the door, she turned sharply. “You do have someone tasting for him, don’t you, Myrella?”

I looked at my mother, one eyebrow raised. My valet, Gunnar, was ostensibly my taster, but I rarely bothered with the pretense at home. It didn’t seem necessary.

“Of course,” Mother said.

At the same time, I replied, “Sort of.”

The Queen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. “Not a drop, not a crumb passes his lips before a taster has sampled it. Not. A. Crumb. I will not lose my heir to something so easily preventable. Not after everything I’ve done to secure his place. Do you hear me?”

Mother bowed, her knees nearly dropping to the polished marble floor. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

They swept out of the chamber together, leaving me to wonder what, exactly, the Queen had contrived to make me the heir to the Alskad throne.