The Diminished. Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

spire. It was safe, for one, but the view didn’t hurt, either.

      Though only a sliver of one of the moon’s halves was visible, the early summer sky—even at midnight—wasn’t black, but the same dark, cloudy gray as my eyes. I settled in, my back against the wall of the spire, and drew my layers of sweaters in tight around me. Summers in Alskad were merely chilly, not the biting, aching cold that sank into your very bones the rest of the year. But even though I hated the cold, I found myself wishing for winter, when Sawny and Lily and I’d nestle in close under a blanket and watch the great, colorful strands of the northern lights play across the sky.

      “What’d you nick for us?”

      “Couldn’t get much, what with the kitchen buzzing with folks getting ready for tomorrow, but I managed a bit.”

      Sawny closed his eyes, smiled and stretched out next to me on his back, his long black lashes smudged against his dark olive skin. He was all heavy muscles and broad shoulders. Sawny’s easy good looks drew appreciative glances from anyone able to see past the overly mended hand-me-downs we temple brats wore—which, to be perfectly honest, was a fairly small group. My pale, freckled skin and dark, unruly curls might’ve been considered pretty at one point, but my twice-broken nose, combined with a face that rested somewhere between furious and disgusted, made folks’ eyes slip right past me. I couldn’t say I minded. Being a dimmy brought me attention enough.

      “Well?” I held out a hand expectantly. “I’m ravenous.”

      Sawny put his hand in mine and squeezed. “I’m going to miss you, Vi.”

      “Shut up. You’ll find work,” I said, but the lie felt sharp on my tongue even as I spoke the words. “You and Lily both. Though Dzallie protect whoever hires her.”

      “Vi,” Sawny cautioned.

      I threw my hands up defensively. “I didn’t mean anything by it. You know as well as I do that your sister can be prickly. That doesn’t mean you won’t find work here in Penby.”

      “We’ve been looking for months now, and there’s nothing. Nothing that pays enough to afford a room, anyway.”

      Sawny rummaged in his bag and handed me half a loaf of bread thick with nuts and seeds. I turned it over in my hands. Guilt over my thoughtless expectation that Sawny would keep putting himself at risk by stealing food from the temple kitchen, same as he’d always done, gnawed at my stomach. His position was so tenuous now that he and Lily had come of age.

      “There’s no way the temple’ll get rid of you,” I said, forcing assurance I didn’t feel into my voice. “You make the best cloud buns and salmonberry cakes of anyone in the kitchens. Don’t you think they see that?”

      Sawny ducked his head. “Sure. If I was on my own, I might be fine, but Lily needs connections to get bookkeeping work, and we’ve none. The anchorites can’t get away with letting us stay much longer. We’ve been of age for nearly a full season now. I’m surprised they haven’t already kicked us out.”

      I looked out across the wide square at the palace. It was an old-fashioned, elegant thing, all clean lines and contrasting angles with none of the frippery and decoration that was the style now. It’d been built a generation after the survivors of the cataclysm had settled in Penby, around the same time the people’d built the temple where Sawny and I’d grown up. The two buildings were practically mirrors of each other, with the same tall spires and the same high stone walls and narrow windows. But somehow, even though it was a stone’s throw away, the palace had always been impossibly out of our reach.

      Sawny and I’d come to this spot for years. We’d look across the square at the lights glowing in the palace windows and imagine the people inside. The palace seemed so much warmer, so much friendlier than the temple. The lives of its inhabitants so much happier. I thought probably they were, but Sawny always reminded me that it only seemed that way because we couldn’t see their dark secrets the way we could see our own.

      I caught a flash of white fluttering in the shadows between the palace and the temple. I nudged Sawny and jerked my chin. “Shriven. Think they can see us?”

      He shook his head. “Nah. Even if they could, what do they care?”

      The whites of their eyes stood out against the background of the black paint they wore across their foreheads, mingling with their stark tattoos. I could almost feel the weight of their gaze settle on me, sending shivers down my spine. The Shriven were always in the background of my life. They patrolled the city, looking for people like me. Keeping the citizens of Penby safe from dimmys on the edge of breaking. They served as the spine and the fist of the temple, and no crime in the empire escaped the ever-watchful eyes of the Shriven. Everyone followed their orders, even the palace guards and city watch. And while everyone in the empire knew better than to cross them, their shadow fell darkest on people like me—on the diminished.

      “At least the Shriven watchdogs don’t track your every move the way they do with us dimmys.” I shuddered, remembering the last time one of the white-clad Shriven warriors decided I was up to no good. They may’ve been temple-sworn, same as the anchorites, but I’d never believed they were holy. Turning back to Sawny, I said, “You can get away with a few more weeks of looking. Maybe they’ll hire you over there.” I jerked my chin at the palace.

      Sawny laughed. “Sure. And her Imperial Highness Queen Runa will take a liking to me and set me up with an estate of my own. Come on, Vi. The palace would never hire a temple foundling. Those jobs are passed through families, like heirlooms.”

      I wished there was a way to argue with him, but he was right. Folks like us had to claw our way up to the bottom of the heap, and dreaming of anything else was setting ourselves up for failure.

      Us temple brats worked long, hard hours to build the temple’s wealth and power with no praise, no pay and little enough reward, apart from the barest necessities to keep us alive. Meanwhile, the anchorites draped themselves in the pearls I harvested from the cold waters of the bay and wore silks and furs tithed to the temple. But even their indulgence was nothing compared to the Suzerain, the twins who led the religious order of Alskad. Their power was nearly equal to the Queen’s, and it didn’t take an overly observant soul to see the greed and corruption that colored their every move, like the silver threads that embroidered their robes.

      Because of this, Sawny and I had our own brand of morality. It was fine for him to steal food from the temple kitchens because they were charged with our care, and we were always hungry. I wasn’t above swiping the occasional crab that wandered by the oyster beds during my summer dives, and in the winter, when I worked in the canneries, few days passed when I didn’t pocket a tin of smoked whitefish or pickled eel. I surely didn’t feel an ounce of guilt over taking a bit of that work back for myself. None of us did.

      Sawny and I took our petty crimes a bit further than most temple brats, though. While most of them stopped at stealing from anyone beyond the temple, we’d no problem with nicking baubles and the odd tvilling off the rich folks who swanned around wearing furs and jewels and waving handfuls of drott and ovstri at poor folks, like the fact that they’d money to spend somehow made them special. We were smart about it, and the likelihood we’d get caught was so slim that the benefits always outweighed the risks.

      But I’d gone even further than that over the past few years. The way I’d built my own little store of stolen wealth was too dangerous, so far beyond the line, that even knowing about it would put Sawny at risk. I couldn’t tell him. But I could hint—especially if it convinced him to stay, at least until my birthday.

      “I’ll be of age soon. We could go north, the three of us. I can dive and fish—the two of you could work on some noble’s estate. We’d find a way to make it work.”

      Sawny took the chunk of bread from me, broke it in two and smeared both sides thickly with birch syrup butter from a crock in his knapsack. He handed half back to me and eased himself back onto his elbows, chewing thoughtfully.

      “Lily wants to take a contract in Ilor.”

      I