The Exalted by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

Author:Kaitlyn Sage Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkyard Press
Published: 2019-03-14T21:02:48+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Vi

“I wish you were here. I wish I could tell you my worries and fears and hopes face-to-face, instead of in letters you may never see. They say you’re dead, and while I know in my heart that you aren’t, the repetition of it makes it feel almost real. I don’t think I could stand for my heart to break over losing you again.”

—from Vi to Bo

The next day, I perched in a window seat of the governor’s mansion, fiddling with the cuff I’d locked around my wrist as I listened to the governor of Ilor address the Ilorian people from a stage erected just outside. Dozens of dispatch riders sat on their horses at the edge of the stage, ready to race from town to town, delivering copies of her speech the moment she finished.

With her wife and children on one side of the podium and Aphra and Curlin on the other, Ysanne spoke about freedom and justice. Reading from a speech we—Ysanne, Quill, Mal, Aphra, Curlin, Hepsy, Myrna and I—had spent hours arguing over, she addressed the rumors about the philomena farms, the distilleries and the temples. She spoke to the rising discontent among the laborers, and as the sun broke through the gray drizzle, setting off the lush bushes and flowers planted throughout the square like boxes of sparkling gems, Ysanne declared that all contracts with the temple had been nullified, a dozen new labor laws had been put into effect and anyone who wished to walk away from their contract had that right.

I wanted to be happy that the governor was a reasonable person and not entirely opposed to the changes we’d forced upon her government. But I couldn’t shake the memory of the battle I’d fought and the fear of everything we’d yet to accomplish. It still wasn’t safe for me to walk the streets. A cluster of the Shriven stood at the back of the crowd, their white robes stark against the green of the plants that grew in every unoccupied inch of Ilor.

Ysanne’s voice, amplified by a copper horn, echoed over the crowd. “Further, every person in Ilor, including those who have been previously held by an unfair contract, will now earn a minimum of two hundred and fifty ovstri a year.”

I drew back the curtain. The wealthy landowners, seated in the front of the crowd, made no attempt to control their disbelief and anger. Some exchanged furious whispers. Others stood and stalked to their waiting carriages in a huff. I smiled to myself as a stout, red-faced woman—Constance, who’d made every effort to buy my contract what felt like a lifetime ago—fanned herself furiously. When she saw that no one was watching her, she fluttered her hands and feigned a dead faint.

“As the minimum wage mandate may be a great burden on those who have not budgeted for it this year, the offices of the governor will be open every day to those who wish to apply for a government stipend to fund their employees—based, of course, on need.

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