Betrayal by a lover.
Magick against magick.
In a flash.
The trick is to eliminate all hesitation. My blade is sharp and long, honed for this special occasion, a public spectacle in front of thousands of souls; but no matter how perfect the tool, if the wielder feels uncertain, it will fail. Flesh, with its layers of skin, fat, and muscle, resists faltering pressure, even in the case of a commoner. The blade will snag or slip. It will leave jagged edges on both sides of the severed neck.
And I don’t want that for you. I don’t want that for us.
What I want is for the execution to be clean instead of messy, beautiful instead of ugly—as clean and beautiful as the death of the once-most-powerful wizard in the One Realm can be.
Sunlight glints off the blade. I squint, just as I did then, when I stood in front of you for the first time.
“You have magick in you,” you said, easily holding my bony wrist with one hand. “Your blood sings like mine.”
I was trembling, clutching the dagger that I stole from your chambers at the bidding of a shadowy agent of rebellion—one among many that failed so totally, I cannot recall the name of the man who offered me gold in return. Only later did I learn that a commoner without any hope for wizardry would’ve instantly died upon contact with your dagger. The man’s plan had been to frame you for my murder or obtain the dagger to plant it in another incriminating scene. Either outcome was fine. He had everything to gain. I had everything to lose.
Silly, silly little girl in rags, I was back then—too miserable, cold, and tired of poverty, powerlessness, and suffering. And perhaps I am still a silly girl now, for failing to forget that past and accepting another, more twisted offer.
One immediately observable result: I’m wearing a rich gown of crimson silk. It trails behind me like liquid fire, embroidered with white heliotrope blooms that climb up to my waist. It is due to these signature colors of my gown that they started saying, The sun of the New Great One rises. Add to that my hair, pinned high, crowned with the golden sigil of the empire, and I am the embodiment of righteous murder. The crowd cheers for me. This execution is as much show as it is a practical necessity.
Old things go and new things come, like sunrise burning away the last stars of the night. Wounds fade and scars form, like fire forging steel.
But the time between forming and fading crawls painfully slow. The waiting between coming and going feels excruciatingly long, for I need to breathe, I want to breathe, and I have every right to expand, to exist—I, the once-nobody.
Thank the Elder Gods for your dignity, which hastens this process. You don’t cry, you don’t beg, and you don’t tremble. You have never trembled in front of me, not then, not ever, not now.
I move as in a dance. My boots click rhythmically against the polished wooden boards. High above the common souls who have gathered to witness the death of one fragment of magick, I sway on this stage, surrendering to the sky. The scents of sweat and incense mingle, sharp and cloying. They remind me of the night of our first lying together.
“You are beautiful,” you said, in that lush garden where the smell of jasmine and roses hung thick in the air. “Not in many seasons have I felt this life force in my blood.”
The palace fountains whispered softly nearby, their cool mist tickling our skin. Fireflies hovered in the dark, their gentle glow outlining our silhouettes. You laughed, you stretched. I giggled, I blushed.
So much ourselves—relaxed, unguarded.
So unlike in recent years—distant, apart.
The old emperor adored you; his court hung on your every word. The Great Wizard, the empire’s savior!
But the emperor’s lunatic son had his own ideas when he usurped the throne. The blood of your allies stained the soil of the Realm. You fled, first to the mountains, then to distant islands, always one step ahead of the pursuer’s so-called assassins. But the pursuit never ceased. Knowing that they could only capture and never kill you, the Great Wizard, you took bold risks; they grew weary, their motivation waning with every failed ambush.
Years passed like this, your name whispered in fear and hatred, or awe and respect. Then came the trap.
The last time we spoke, you already seemed resigned. You knew I was never in danger, the moment you saw me; I’d willingly taken on the role of hostage to bring you back to the palace.
“One Realm cannot hold the blood of two Great Wizards,” you said, the night they captured you in the hidden chamber beneath the great library. “I understand that now.”
Of all the souls in the Realm, I am the only one who can kill you. Only to me, you have taught the secrets of your protections, precisely so I can undo them. You wanted it so. You desired it so. The magick lives in your sinew and marrow, woven into the fibers of your being. Who else but I have you intimately shared them with?
And so I am here, in full ceremonial splendor.
The usurper watches from his shaded balcony, his golden robes gleaming. The new court is silent, their faces masks of solemnity. But the crowd roars, their voices rising to a fever pitch, their cries like flames crashing against the stage.
I look down at you. Our eyes meet. There is no resentment in yours.
You nod, just slightly.
One sun falls, this sun rises.
I give you my blade, with love.