Llanwyre Laish | 45
with a fond memory. "I started it the day after I poisoned my father and mother with nightshade. I thought to honor the flowers that helped me escape my own prison."
I calmly swish a gear around in the water to remove a particularly stubborn bit of flesh. I used to think his calm marked his madness. He reaches out and touches me gently on the shoulder. "I am honored to have you as the head of that Cabinet."
I raise my head now and look him straight in the eyes. "Are all your works so ugly, your excellency?"
He smiles at me in kinship, glad for my sympathy. "Enabling entrapment always requires ugliness, as you well know."
And I do know. I think of Ons and Ani, crushed by my work. I think of how I left aside my early intent to organize, to protest, to scream and kick out of this pointless life, all of which fell away when the Emperor effortlessly subsumed my one shining coup. I think of how I have grown entrapped in my own silver cage, and how the music inside me cuts my innards which erode over time.
That night, a windstorm approaches the palace. I hear the workers in the longhouse complain about the coming cleanup. I walk slowly past, my head held high, and climb onto a cliff near the sea. I step off and fall to the rocks below, listening to the sound of bells behind me. I fancy I hear the call of the last free bird in the kingdom, but I myself land soundlessly. ♦