“You’re not queen yet.”
“Then she must die,” you say.
My mouth goes dry. “You mustn’t kill her.”
You whirl on me. “You always cared more for what my mother wanted than what I did!”
My knees fold and I make obeisance before you, forehead pressed to the backs of my hands. “My foremost thought is your safety, Your Royal Highness.”
“I wasn’t going to kill her myself. I’d send an assassin, of course.”
“But you have none in your service.”
“I have silver.”
I breathe carefully, evenly. “An assassin’s loyalty must be cultivated like an orchid. Mere money will never assure you that you will not be betrayed.”
“A binding—”
“If you bind an assassin, you must hold them forever, or risk their turning upon you once you release them.”
You turn thoughtful. “You could kill her for me. She’d never suspect you, always so loyal.”
“No.”
Your head jerks at my flat tone, and our gazes lock.
“You must not kill your own mother,” I say, desperate.
You kneel across from me. “I know it’s horrible even to consider. But she never really cared for me. In my heart, you are my mother.”
I close my eyes. “She wants the best for you. I beg of you, do not send an assassin against her.”
You purse your lips but let it drop, or so I think.
* * *
You kill your mother yourself. Under different circumstances, I would be proud of how untroubled your expression is as you approach her, of the way you conceal the knife in your robes. A royal princess of the court bloodying her own hands is inconceivable, and her guards are unprepared. By the time they react, you have become queen. Your mother’s body slumps to the floor, her elaborate braids still perfect.
I react swiftly. “Your Royal Majesty,” I say clearly, making obeisance, and others in the court follow, once their shock begins to wear away.
You’re still trembling with the knife slack in your hands, crimson splatters ruining your silks.
“Here,” I say gently, and I take the knife away from you. “You must bathe and put on new robes. Royal ones.”
“Yes,” you murmur, and you let me guide you to the doors and help you slip on your shoes. We could go straight to your suite, but a path through the garden would be more peaceful, and you’re still so shaken. A brief respite is all I can give you, here among the secluded trees and flowers where once I worried that an assassin would find you.
* * *
Jinho-ya, do you know, do you know that your mother has only ever spoken to me once? I was the finest of assassins who, having breached one queen’s defenses and almost another’s, was marked for execution. My body was bloody and broken by the guards who captured me, but my mind, my spirit, were strong and unbowed. Until your mother put you in my arms and said, “Protect her.”
She loved you above all things.
* * *
With your mother’s death, her last and longest binding is broken.
I know the power you wield. It is the gift of your bloodline, and nothing that I would see live on in this world.
I have your knife. You never suspect me, always so loyal.
* * *
Spring is early this year. The forsythia shrubs are already rife with yellow blossoms. I leave your body underneath them, where the fallen flowers might blanket you and keep you from the chill. This time, I will not brush the flowers from your hair.
Copyright © 2015 Karalynn Lee
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Karalynn Lee grew up in Korea without being fluent in Korean. She now lives in Silicon Valley and has just a high enough geek knowledge score to pass as one in dim lighting and loud music. Her story “Unsilenced” appeared in BCS #105, our Fourth Anniversary Double-Issue. She is fond of both poetry and terrible action movies.
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COVER ART
“Migration,” by Julie Dillon
Julie Dillon is a freelance science fiction and fantasy artist from Northern California. She received her BFA in Fine Arts from Sacramento State University in 2005, with continued education at the Academy of Arts University in San Francisco and Watts Atelier. Her clients include Simon & Schuster, Penguin Books, Wizards of the Coast, and Paizo Publishing. She won the 2014 Hugo Award for Best Professional Artist. View more of her work online at www.juliedillonart.com.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies
ISSN: 1946-1076
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