((Entered this in a contest having to do with 'lies'. I won! Except... The winners were randomized, so it had nothing to do with the actual quality of my work. XD))
My name is Trista Moore. And I am a liar.
I trotted down the palace hall, lifting my skirts a bit more than was ladylike so that I wouldn’t trip. Late. Late, late, late… I scurried toward the garden and let my skirts fall to their usual length, then folded my hands and rested them gracefully against my stomach. Inhale. Exhale. When I was sure that I would no longer appear out of breath, I continued on the path through the garden, noting how beautiful the moon was that night.
My king stood before the roses, as he often did, and I took my place just behind him and to the left, doing my best to be unobtrusive. His eyes flickered toward me, noting my presence, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead he stared at the yellow roses; they were his favorites out of all the flowers in the garden. Slowly, as if in a trance, he lifted a hand, reached out, and touched not the petals, but the thorns.
I gave a little gasp and raised my hands, but he looked sharply at me. My hands folded again of their own will, and my eyes dropped to the path. My king pushed his fingertips into the thorns, willing blood to come to the surface. This was not the first time he had done so. I should have known better than to try to stop him… He stared at his fingers – at the blood on them – dazedly, then wiped them on the yellow petals that reminded him so much of the best things in life. He had confided in me many times, telling me the things he was reminded of. The scales of a particular kind of fish he loved to eat, the many golden coins he used to purchase them, and the sun that couldn’t be bought for him no matter how many coins he had. They were all yellow. Or some shade of it, anyway.
I knew that his favorite color was that of the sun, and that his least favorite color was that of blood. I knew that he loved to eat the yellow fish, but couldn’t very often due to the expense and due to how his illness reacted to it. I knew that he hated to eat the purple fruits we fed him, but he had to because they helped to abate the symptoms of his illness. And I knew that, because of all my lying, he thought I felt the same way about all of those things.
How I longed to tell the truth. I despise the taste of yellow fish! I love the purple fruits, and you should be grateful to have something ease your pain when so many of your subjects do not! I prefer the moon to the sun, and think of yellow as an ugly color that hurts my eyes and makes my head ache!
And I do not wish to be your servant!
“Allow me to help, Milord,” I said timidly. Suddenly disgusted with himself, my king nodded and looked away from his fingers. I reached for the bag hanging about my waist and took out bandages as well as some of the ointment made from the juice of the purple fruits. I tended to his hand, then used a cloth from my bag to pick the yellow rose with his blood on it and feed it to the flames of one of the torches that dotted the garden. “Might you be ready to return indoors, Milord?”
“No, Trista,” my king said, scowling. “Is it not enough that I can’t go outside during the day? Now you wish to keep me inside at night, as well?”
“No, Milord,” I said apologetically, bowing my head. You can spend the rest of your life rotting indoors, you miserable excuse for a man! “I only meant that perhaps you should get some rest, with the treaty signings being held tomorrow.”
“The treaty signings won’t tire me,” my king scoffed. “They’ll be over before they began.” My heart skipped a beat, and I proceeded carefully. Treading on a crumbling path now, Trista…
“Milord expects the negotiating parties to come to an agreement quickly, then?” I asked, staring at the ground. A yellow petal fluttered about my feet, a drop of my king’s blood standing out, looking brown. It must have fallen when I picked the rose. I retrieved the cloth and picked up the petal, then fed that to the torch flame as well. My king watched me with a wooden expression.
“No, I daresay negotiations would be endless,” he said nonchalantly. “They’d be full of complaining, bickering, and threatening… We’d never come to an agreement. Both parties would go their separate ways angry, and these peasants’ cursed rebellion would only continue. They would continue to harass my troops and attack our trading parties, and to pay for the damages I’d be forced to tax them even more. There would be no other option.” Except for the option of stopping your black-market purchases of yellow fish and roses - the purchases that take so much from your coffers, leaving our whole kingdom poor and indebted to those vile smugglers! “Things would only escalate from there…”
He paused, and a smug smile came to his face. “Of course, all that would only happen if negotiations occurred.” His smile broadened. “Which they won’t.”
“Milord?” I said, flustered and frightened and furious, all at the same time.
“You’re a good servant, Trista,” my king said. I was taken aback at this statement; compliments did not come easily from our ill-tempered king. “Loyal. Honest. We share a common interest. Peace for the kingdom.” At least the last thing he said was true… Both of us wanted peace. We just had very different ideas of how to get it. “I have a special job for you at the signings of the treaties tomorrow…” He took a few more steps down the garden path, ushering me along with him. I followed uncertainly, wringing my fingers anxiously.
Before long we were completely alone, hidden behind the large hedges in the center of the garden. With the trellis of roses arcing overhead, not even the soldiers in the guard towers of the palace would be able to see us. Before I knew what was happening, my king hastily unwrapped the bandages on his fingers, drew a knife from his belt, and dug the tip into his thumb, more blood rising to the surface. I squeaked and backed away a few steps, but managed not to scream. How could he be so careless with spilling his own blood? If it touched another human being, his disease would spread, just as it had been doing in the streets, where blood ran freely in brawls over food. Among the poor, where the ointment could hardly ever be found, the illness usually ended in death. The purple fruits were rare – almost as expensive as the yellow fish – and favorite servant or not, my king would not pay for my treatment if he contaminated me.
He reached under his shirt with his uninjured hand and pulled out a small glass vial on a cord around his neck. There was already liquid within it. Red liquid. He uncorked the vial with his teeth, held his thumb over it, and squeezed, watching determinedly as drops of his blood fell to join their brethren. He pinched more of his blood into the vial, not stopping until the vial was all the way full. I watched on in horror. He replaced the cork in the vial with smug satisfaction, then skillfully rewrapped his fingers one-handed. I got the sense that this was not the first time he had performed this task, and in the past he’d always done it alone. You’re more of a monster than even I thought!
“Don’t you see, Trista?” my king asked. His pleading sounded like that of a child, begging for approval. “If they ask why my hand is bandaged, we’ll just say that I pricked my fingers on the roses’ thorns. That part is true… You’ll be serving the refreshments, as you usually do. You’ll drip some blood into the wine, and serve it to me and those foul rebel leaders. They’ll start to feel the effects of the disease right away – the first symptoms tend to show themselves violently – and without being treated by the ointment they’ll be dead by day’s end. My blood is the perfect poison! They’ll be expecting something, of course, but you’ll pour for everyone without leaving the room even once, I’ll drink first to show that it’s safe – after all, my own blood will do me no more harm - and they’ll have no reason to suspect anything! Then they’ll be dead and out of my hair! It’s perfect! Perfect!”
Perfectly mad! The disease has addled your brain! “But… Milord,” I said, frowning worriedly. “I’m not sure I can… I mean… To kill them-”
“Is necessary,” my king said gravely, “for the good of the kingdom. They cause trouble, Trista. And people who make trouble must be dealt with. You will do this.” His gaze hardened. “Unless you are not so loyal as I have believed you to be all these years...”
“It’s not that, Milord,” I said softly, meeting his eyes and sighing exasperatedly. “You know it’s not that. I would gladly serve you to the end of my days…” But preferably, to the end of your days! “It’s just that… I wish no one had to die to bring about peace… It seems so hypocritical… Could you not simply imprison them? I apologize, Milord, for speaking this way to you, but…”
“No, no, don’t apologize,” my king waved his bandaged hand impatiently. “You are too kind, Trista… We cannot imprison them, for there are those who would be loyal to them for as long as they still live. There would be rescue attempts. As it is, there are those will be loyal to them even after they no longer live. This is necessary, dear one.” He raised a hand to touch my face and run his fingers through my long yellow hair (Curse the color!), and I flinched backward.
“The blood,” I reminded him. He made a face and dropped his hand, and I resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Acting as if I loved him was always the hardest part. To lie about love is the worst kind of deceit there is, in my opinion. But it was necessary. Or I believed it was… Just as he believed murdering the rebel leaders was necessary. I looked down at the path and bit my cheek as I thought. I came to a decision. “Very well,” I said. “If it pleases Milord, I will do it. For the kingdom, for peace, and for you.” Lies, lies, lies! All of it!
If you’re going to betray someone so completely, isn’t it the least you could do to not do it quite so well? One would think you were born with a snake for a tongue!
My king nodded gratefully, a weight lifted off his shoulders, and he bowed deeply to me before he left, leaving his vial of blood behind in my bag. A king. Bowing to a servant. Could I really have taken him in so completely? Didn’t he know what I was planning to do?
I stood shivering for quite some time, chilled by (among other things) the cool night air – the only air that my king ever felt anymore without pain. Of all the things my king hated about his disease, not being able to freely feel the sun’s light was the worst. Inhale. Exhale. Hoping that I didn’t look too distressed – And why would you? You’ve never looked distressed before, except when you wanted to. You’re the best liar your king’s court has ever seen, not that they’d know it. – I left the garden, glancing up at the moon one last time.
Up came the skirts, and I ran. Down the deserted hallway. Up the empty stairwell. To the tower that the guards didn’t care enough about to check. To the source of my earlier delay - the thing that had made me late for the meeting with my king.
“Trista!” Darrel enveloped me in a hug, grinning broadly. My cheeks turned red, aware that the two fellows he’d brought with him were looking on in amusement.
“It wasn’t an hour ago that you saw me last,” I mumbled, half-heartedly trying to escape his embrace.
“Yes, but every time you go to see that rotten king,” Darrel said, his voice dropping a bit lower, anger edging into his tone, “I grow certain that you’ll either not come back at all or you’ll come back with that dreadful disease…”
“Glad to know you have such faith in me,” I muttered. He snorted in amusement.
“If you only knew how much faith we have in you… Me… The rest of the rebels… Everybody from the leaders on down. You’re our best source of information on the king’s condition, you know. Everyone’s counting on you.”
“Alright, alright, I understand.” I sighed, picking up on his hint that it was time to turn to business. I couldn’t be too irritated about the prodding, though. After all, they needed the information. And besides… He still made no move to release me from his grip. “He plans to poison the rebel leaders tomorrow.”
“Poison?” Darrel’s brow furrowed. “What kind of poison?”
“His own blood.”
“The monster.” Darrel said it matter-of-factly, and his comrades nodded sagely, one of them taking the time to spit on the ground in disgust. “In the drink?”
I nodded. “But he’s trusting me to do it, so you won’t have to worry. I’ll leave his blood out of the drink… But… You did ask me to keep my eyes open for an opportunity to assassinate him. I would say now is the time.”
“You think we should turn the tables and poison him at the treaty signing?” one of Darrel’s fellow rebels asked, raising an eyebrow. “Won’t he suspect something?”
“No, he’s certain that he has my loyalty,” I said.
“My girl is a very good liar,” Darrel said, a trace of pride in his voice. His girl. That sounded nice…
“What’s more is,” I continued, “he’ll be weak and in pain, since the negotiations are to take place outdoors in the heat of the day. Even under the tent he plans to have set up, he’ll be uncomfortable.”
“We have you to thank for that…” the other rebel said in a low voice, admiringly.
“He thinks his blood is the perfect poison, since he’ll be able to drink it and it won’t harm him in any way,” I went on, rushing now, “so he’ll be drinking from his cup first. Even if you use a more traditional poison, you probably won’t even have to pretend to drink from your cup…”
“But you have another suggestion,” Darrel guessed.
“I told you before that something about the yellow fish gives him a negative reaction? That it causes his illness to progress more quickly?”
“Yes. Some of the brilliant, science-minded men in our forces have concentrated it into a liquid and think it will set off the reaction ten times stronger than just eating the fish would. Even if it doesn’t kill him, it should give him plenty of grief... You think we should put it in the drink.”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “That way, if someone besides him happens to drink it… They won’t be affected unless they have the disease, too.”
“Brilliant.” Darrel planted a kiss on my cheek, and his associates broke out laughing as I sputtered. “Trista, you’re incredible. With this, we’ll finally have peace…”
I hope so, I thought. One thing I had said to my king was true. It seemed hypocritical to bring about peace with a death. I’m sorry, Milord. But I am a liar. I hate the color yellow. I don’t care for the sun as much as you do, no matter what I’ve said in the past. I hate the taste of those expensive yellow fish. I don’t love you. And I don’t serve you. You are not ‘my king.’
I serve my friends…And I will lie for them.
It is necessary.
