The Puppeteer's Court

The room was dark, lit only by the extravagant torches lining the walls. The throne room used to be bright and full of laughter, but now its walls whispered only of betrayal and bloodshed. I glanced at the figures standing before me, monstrous in build, sporting axes and spears. Mercenaries fought for anyone, as long as their client could pay. This king, in particular, could give you enough gold to fill entire mountains to the brim. I’d been working under the royal family for about two years when the king died, assassinated by the queen herself. After she was executed, her power-hungry son ascended to the throne. His first act as king was to declare war on a nearby country. Anger tugged at my gut as memory after memory of dead bodies flashed through my mind, some burned, some stabbed, and none of them were soldiers.

“I trust you will carry out your mission well. I don’t pay up front, so I suggest you please me. It’s a simple job, really, especially for the price that I’m paying. All you have to do is raid the general’s home, kidnap his daughter, and bring her back to me. Then I suppose a feast will be in order and you’ll go home with purses heavier than brutes as you can carry.” The king looked up from the blood-red contents swirling in his goblet, tossing the northerners a sardonic smile. From my position behind the throne, I marveled at how well this group was taking the king’s arrogant attitude. Only the leader, the largest and tallest of the bunch, had a fiery look in his eyes that wasn’t going to extinguish any time soon.

“We’ll do the job, and do it well,” He grunted, “Though perhaps in the future you should have more faith in those you hire.” The king looked up, surprised. Five groups were hired in a span of two weeks, and this was the first hint of backtalk he’d received. Talking to the king was a dangerous business. If he didn’t tread carefully, his head would be served on a silver platter at the king’s next party.

“Oh, I have plenty of faith in you,” The king’s toying smile hadn’t left his lips, “But trust is a rather hard thing to supply, especially for one in your line of work.” The king sipped his drink, staining his teeth red. I wondered for the hundredth time if it was blood he was drinking, and not wine. The mercenary’s face reddened with frustration under his long, plaited beard. Sweat trickled down his brow in thick beads; it was difficult to tell whether he was overheating in his furs or if he had realized the danger of standing in this room.

“I understand, your majesty,” The man gave a mocking bow, not the defense I would’ve gone with, “But would you mind letting us see the gold, just so we know you won’t go back on your word?” The king pretended to consider for a moment. Pity for the mercenaries drifted through my mind; the king was playing with them. I’d seen him do this same trick thousands of times before. His cold black eyes flitted over to mine.

“Shall we?” The pleasure in his voice was sickening. I bowed, resisting the urge to grab my knife and throw it through his sadistic brain.

“Of course, my king,” I murmured. I thought back to the first time he played this trick. I’d had no idea what he’d poured on the gold, no idea the chest was full of slow-acting poison. By the time the assassin was dead, mere days after his job was completed, I’d realized the true meaning of having a tyrant for a ruler. The five mercenaries watched as I stepped out of the shadows and down the steps leading up to the throne. I suppose a rather slight girl dressed in dark clothes, carrying a sword and an assortment of daggers, was a rare sight for them.

My footsteps echoed off the castle walls. It was as if there was nothing else in the castle besides myself, the chest of poison, and the unfeeling king who ruled with advisors from the pits of Hades by his side. With every step, the walls seemed to weep; it was a dreary day. Then again, ever since my uncle died and my cousin was given the throne, every day was more gray than the last. Rain pounded against the stone towers, perhaps grieving the imminent death of the mercenaries waiting in the throne room.

“Good, you're back.” The king smiled as I entered the dim room, “I was just telling these lovely men about our adventures as children. Pity they won’t hear the one about the viper’s nest.” Sadistic intent disguised as useless conversation had always been a strength of my cousin’s. I nodded respectfully.

“Yes, how unfortunate.” I replied, “I have the gold that was requested right here.”

“Lovely, would you care to open it, cousin?” He beamed. I glared before schooling my features back to their usual impassive expression. My gaze flitted to the mercenaries, hoping they hadn’t noticed. I opened the chest wordlessly, a small smile crossing my lips at the expression the northerners made. Clearly, they’d never seen that much gold in their life.

“Feel free to count it,” the king's smile grew wider, “If you’re still unsure.” The head mercenary nodded at his companions. Each one counted their share of gold twice. In a few days, rashes would begin appearing on their skin, followed by fever and fatigue. Then the hallucinations would start. I remember when the king poisoned me when we were children. The hallucinations had been the worst. I’d watch my father die over and over again. The poison isn’t very fatal in itself, I suppose that's why my cousin likes it so much—watching the victim’s mind betray them, torturing them in unimaginable ways, until it’s all too much for the poor soul.

“I wish you luck on your mission.” The king told the mercenaries, “Oh, and stop by the kitchen on your way out, the cook just made the most wonderful pastries.” The king chuckled. As the door shut, a feeling of dread settled in my bones. I was trapped with a monster once more.

“It’s slower than last time.” It took me a moment to realize my cousin was addressing me, “My alchemists have been working to perfect a poison that causes small hallucinations that grow stronger over time. With any luck, they’ll make it back to the castle, and an antidote will be their payment. I rather liked these pirates.”

“You say that about all of them, and not one has survived.”

“Don’t blame me, dear cousin. Blame the alchemists. I ordered them to have the formula perfected two months ago. On another note, I need you to do a job for me.”

“What is it?” It wasn’t the first time my cousin had done this. But his jobs were never pretty ones; most likely, I’d have to carry out yet another assassination inside the court.

“I need you to go undercover for me. Rumour has it that there is a convent in the capital full of rebel sympathizers. I want you to find the rebels and eliminate them.” Disgust surged through me. Convents were filled with thousands of innocent people. The last time the king sacked a convent, the streets ran red with blood.

“I won’t do it.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. Unexpectedly, they proved to be strong and defiant. The king's eyes flashed.

“Excuse me?”

“I will not slaughter nuns,” My voice was stronger now, “rebel sympathizers or not. This isn’t what I signed up for when I agreed to help you run this kingdom.”

“I’m sorry, my ears aren’t working properly.” My cousin responded, “Can you repeat that?”

“This isn’t what I signed up for,” I repeated. For the first time in years, I sounded like my old, defiant self. The one who could keep my sadistic cousin in line. The king glared.

“You are a puppet,” He reminded me, “You know what happens to puppets when they break.” I was dancing on a bed of coals, running from a slithering monster. That was the last hallucination that plagued me before the royal doctor gave me an antidote. Ironic, really, how imagination becomes reality. I nod.

“You cut their strings. But what happens after a discarded puppet is freed from a tyrant? How do they seek revenge, dear cousin?” I fingered the dagger at my side. The king was standing now, expensive sword just a grab away.

“You have me at a loss, cousin.” He answered. I looked up at him and smiled.

“They kill the puppeteer.”