Violet

Othello said she was wasting too much time picking the right flower. Lyndis ignored him. The flower was the foundation, the base upon which the whole spell rested. It might not serve any direct purpose on its own, but without the right base, the whole thing would collapse.

Wind swirled her long robes as she paced slowly through her personal garden. No windows looked into this closed off courtyard. She had long ago had them bricked over, finding that the curious gazes of maids and pages distracted her from the serious business of magic. Besides, she had learned early in her tenure as palace mage that rumors started easily and spread quickly. Better to head them off at the source.

Roses she had in plenty. Their ruffled blooms were classic. How many empires had a well chosen rose taken down over the years? Many to be sure. They were versatile but also… cliche. Her thin fingers caressed the edge of a petal before she moved on. There would be a use for roses yet. They would not go to waste.

Daisies had the benefit of being plain. Nobody suspected a daisy, or hardly even noticed one tucked in among the other blooms of a bouquet. They were practically invisible. Easy to work with as well, their straight petals taking to the magic easily as the red stain soaked in. Still, they were awfully complex. So many petals, so many factors, so much to go wrong.

She continued down the path but then paused, a flash of color by her feet catching her eyes. A violet. It poked bravely through the grass, fully aware she had not planted it there but boldly growing regardless. This specimen was not actually violet even – a tiny bit of purple hid in its center, but most was pure white. Lyndis plucked it slowly and smiled. Five petals. Enough to get the job done, with no extra to confuse matters. It would be better if it was the same perfect monochrome throughout, but there was little enough color that it should be fine.

She twirled the stem between her fingers and returned to the low stone table in one of the garden’s corners. Rack after rack of vials covered its surface. Othello had spent years building this collection. From the mundane to the exotic, anything she could want was here at her fingertips. She pulled out five vials thoughtfully and carefully deposited one drop from each onto the petals. They hissed quietly as the blood spread across their surface, slowly sinking in and dying the cells and veins a beautiful dusty red.

For a moment that was it. A younger mage might have began to fret, worrying the magic had not taken hold. Lyndis just waited calmly. Finally the flower twitched, wiggling loose from her fingers and falling to the table. It twisted and grew, curving in on itself in unsettling ways. When it stabilized, a small fey stood looking up at her. Lyndis smiled down at it and gave the only order it would ever need.

“Kill the king.”

***

Violet walked down the hall. Her mind was empty save for the command, echoing over and over. She had no self, no personality, no dreams. The only purpose of her life was to fulfill the command of her creator, and she would do it well.

She ran a hand along the edges of the five petals hanging around her waist like a skirt. The last was for the king, but the others would help her on her journey. It was a long way from the gardens up to the throne room, especially for one so small as herself. If she was able to feel daunted, she would have. Instead she just felt the drive and heard the words, over and over.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

This hall had been empty and still, but the next was not. A maid leaned against a wall, mop by her side. She held a crumpled note in her hand. Even from here, Violet could smell the scent drifting off the purple paper. A mixture of lavender and roses, with a bit of something else mixed in as well. Honey perhaps, or perhaps that was just the sweetness of the flowers themselves.

Violet watched as the maid brought the page to her nose, inhaling deeply before returning it to a pocket with a silly grin. The floor behind her was wet; she would be turning this way as she began to mop once more. Was it time to use one of the petals? This early in the journey she could not afford to be seen. A mad dash to the throne would be impossible from here.

She plucked one off the petals and considered it. Most of it was a delicate eggshell pink. The base was still purple though, dark and out of place. Her hand rested on the purple for a brief moment before she sprang into motion, crushing the petal between her hands. Its juice covered them and she leapt onto the wall next to her. Like the lizard whose blood drove this particular spell, she stuck.

Running up the wall on all fours was a strange sensation, an action missing from the basic muscle memories baked into her mind. She was a fast learner though, and in a flash she found herself hanging upside down from the ceiling. The maid standing far beneath her had just recovered her mop and was dipping it into the bucket by her feet. She had noticed nothing.

Violet prepared to move on, but found a strange sensation holding her there. She wanted to do something. The strands of this new desire wove and curled around her driving force, tugging her in different directions until finally they resolved into distinct pulls.

She wanted to create mischief.

She had no experience in life, but she had been made knowing some things. This alternate wish, this need to make a mess, it was wrong. Knowing something was wrong made it no easier to control. Her eyes skittered along the ceiling and landed on a big dusty cobweb. She scampered over and detached the threads holding it in place. It drifted slowly downward before splattering across the newly washed floor with a puff of dirt.

Violet smiled. She felt something new. Joy at her accomplishment, with perhaps a bit of smugness mixed in. Would this be how she felt once she killed the king? Intrigued, she headed onward.

***

This garden was different than the one she had come from. It was surrounded by walls, but the commonality stopped there. These walls were four luxuriously tall stories, each with wide glassy windows and the occasional balcony. Bricks laid at careful angles made delicate patterns that became just barely visible when the sunlight shone on their surface. Instead of the overflowing beds and cascading blossoms of the witch’s garden, here everything was neat and orderly. Small hedges bordered the gravel paths, and each blade of grass seemed to be in just the right place.

Violet rested atop one of the ornate iron lamp posts. The lizard hands had worn off gradually as a thin layer was left behind with each step she took, and a bigger layer stuck to each of the many dust clumps she flung to the floor with quiet glee. As she caught her breath, she considered what to do next.

She needed to cross the garden to reach her goal. Walking across would be an option, but something held her back. It felt too exposed, too open. Too risky. If she was going to complete her task, she couldn’t get caught. The people slowly gliding across the lawns seemed oblivious, but all it took was one pair of eyes at the wrong moment.

A gentle breeze fluttered the petals at her waist. It was time for another. She pulled one loose and ripped it carefully in half before holding the fragments up to her back. They fused instantly and stretched to form a pair of gossamer dragonfly wings. She gave them an experimental buzz before hopping into the air.

Flying was effortless. The breeze bore her high into the sky, far above the heads of the giants ponderously sweeping the grass with their oversized skirts. She felt the urge to drop something on their heads but suppressed it successfully under her need to avoid jeopardizing her true goal. It was a moment’s task to zip across the garden to the door she knew she must go through in the far wall. She had almost reached the exit when motion caught her eye and she paused.

Something else was in the sky. Somethings. They were like her, tiny creatures born aloft on wings of petals. These were roses though. Deep red stained their wings, and here she knew them to be different. They were permanent guards, designed to last for months. She was meant to die. The instant she was done with her task in life, her life would end.

The guards had not noticed her, or had not cared. She could slip away and continue on. Again something new was pulling at her heart though. Anger. No, worse. Rage. Why should they live and she die? How dare they float so smugly above this beautiful garden while she risk her life for their mistress’s good?

She darted higher to hover in front of one. He acknowledged her with a polite nod and then looked back to the ground beneath him. Wings thrumming, she drew closer, daring him to fight her. He didn’t respond. It wasn’t built into him to fight another of his mistress’s creations. She knew this for she was not meant to either. She was defective. Broken. Somehow this just made her angrier though. Feelings were a curse, and only she could suffer. She angled her wings and sliced through his.

They tore easily. He did not look surprised, or betrayed, or mad. He could not. Instead he just fell. Violet watched as his body tumbled to the ground. It hit the gravel with a quiet crunch. Slowly the magic leaked out, leaving behind nothing but a crumpled blossom.

That would be her soon. She couldn’t avoid it, but at least she could bring them with her.

One by one they dropped until only she was left in the sky. The people beneath noticed nothing, so lost in their lives as they were. For a few minutes she hovered watching their pointless dance across the lawn. Her anger slowly ebbed, replaced by the dull tired throb of frustration at her inability to change the inevitable.

Her wings were growing tired as well and she knew soon their magic would be fade. With the last remnants, she drifted down and landed just inside the doorway. The petals dropped from her back as she walked forward, each step taking her closer to the end.

***

Violet was lost. Emotions pulled her mind back and forth. Thoughts screamed for her attention. The inner knowledge leading her to the king was still there, somewhere. But she couldn’t hear it.

This passage seemed just the same as all the others. Perhaps she had even been here before. Tall windows arched up on the left-hand wall to meet the descending curves of an glittering golden ceiling. Mosaic tiles cluttered the floor, though from her height she could not make out the pattern. If there was one, that was. Maybe the tiles were just as random as her wanderings through these endless rooms.

Walking further was doing her no good. It was dumb luck nobody had discovered her yet. Best to hide for a bit and think. With great effort she hauled herself up the side of an ornate planter. The leafy greens inside provided excellent shelter and she gently pushed them to the side to huddle right by the plant’s base.

For a while, she just sat. Her mind had not been meant to handle anything more than just the one goal, the one thought. It was too much. Any moment now, her head would surely explode. She would die, and then she would fail. Thinking about it only made it worse, the worrying adding one more voice to the cacophony in her mind.

She needed something to focus on. Her goal. Find the king. This wasn’t working. She couldn’t just walk and hope to get lucky. With trembling hands she tugged one of her remaining three petals into view. A dog’s blood. Would it help? Only one way to be sure.

Carefully she broke it loose before rolling it into a long cone as big across as her head at the wide end. She looked at it dubiously. The magic was already running though; she couldn’t just put it back. Closing her eyes, she lowered her face to meet the petal’s edge.

The pink curve blocked out her vision. In exchange for her blindness, the world of scent opened up to her. There was more than she could ever have imagined. Dirt had its own richness of worms and compost and minerals, leaves had a depth made of many months of water and sunlight and dust, even she herself smelled of blood and flowers.

Crawling on her hands and knees so she didn’t have to figure out how to balance based on this strange new sense, she felt her way to the edge of the pot. Here a new wave assailed her. People, some stale and some fresher. Almost overwhelming the smell of flesh were the smells of everything they wore. Perfumes, lotions, make-up, soaps for themselves and their clothes, the remnants of food on their fingers and dirt on their feet.

Could she even recognize the king in this cacophony? Either she could not, or he had not been down this hallway recently enough. If it hadn’t worked, she would give in to panic and despair again. Better to assume this was the just the wrong location. She dropped over the edge of the planter and fell awkwardly to the floor. The going would be slower without sight, but she would just have to hope she found him before the spell wore off.

Thankfully it did not take long. Two turns later she picked up the thread. It was different than she expected, but in her heart she knew it was him. Wood smoke and ash mixed with the musk of an active man. The trail was recent, within a few hours. She ran after it. If he hadn’t gone too far, she would be able to find him in time.

As she grew closer, more and more details filled into the picture painted by her nose. Horses, leather, wool. Fresh grass and the blood of a freshly killed deer. A woman, worried but loving. His own worry, and the air of confidence he put on to hide it. Violet found herself drawn deeper and deeper into the world of his smell. Could she learn enough to help her dispatch him more easily?

Suddenly another smell cut across and dragged her to a screeching halt. The witch. Her mistress. Guilt filled her at the thought of the one who had so generously given her life. After all the work that had been poured into creating her, Violet had been disobedient. She had thrown dust at the maid, cut down the guards, gotten lost in the maze of her growing consciousness. She was bad.

The trail curved off left, away from her goal. Indecision paralyzed her. The proper action would be to go back to her mistress and beg forgiveness, tail between her legs, and hopefully be rewarded with pity and not a boot to the side. But perhaps her mistress would be happier if she returned after fulfilling her job? Her job would end in her death though, and then she would never get a chance to beg forgiveness. Tears filled her eyes as she stood, trembling, unable to chase one or the other.

***

She wasn’t sure how long she had been frozen. A new smell was coming closer. It was like the king’s, but different. Younger, with a touch of silk and washing powder. She should run. Should, but could not. Fingers scooped around her and lifted her up.

“Are you lost, little flower?”

The voice was concerned and innocent. A child’s. Violet felt a tug on the petal glued to her face as it was pulled loose, magic too far spent to keep it in place. The boy looking down at her could hardly be more than five or six years old. He was overfed and a bit short for his age, but his round face was kind and gentle as he said, “There, much better. Poor thing. I wonder how long you were walking around with your head stuck like that. Are you hungry? Do you eat?”

She just stared at him, still too unsure to react. He didn’t wait for a response regardless, instead fumbling in a pocket to set a lint-covered biscuit onto his palm next to her. “Here, dig in. It’s good!”

It did not look particularly appetizing but she obeyed anyway and chewed a corner slowly. Cinnamon and sugar rushed across her tongue. She smiled slightly. The bits of lint were chewy and unpleasant, but the flavor was worth it.

Stabilizing her carefully with his other hand, the child plonked himself down in the middle of the hall. He watched as she ate, seemingly engrossed by each crumb that passed her lips. She took her time. The act of eating helped break the loop of her thoughts and let her start actually working on a solution. She was close, but now she had no way of finding the king. There was only one petal left before she used the final one to kill him. A parrot. Uncertainty filled her but this time she did not let it overwhelm her. Instead when she reached the end of the biscuit, she pulled the petal from her waist and ate it as well.

The taste was bitter and acrid after the lovely sweetness. She choked it down. The child’s bemused eyes watched her as she struggled to parse her new ability. Finally she opened her mouth and spoke, soft as a whisper, “Thank you.”

His eyes grew wide like saucers as he exclaimed, “You can talk!”

She nodded slowly. What should she say? The truth would not be wise, but another way presented itself. The way of the mimic, the liar, the manipulator. Words strung together quickly as she stalled until finally she said, “Can you help me please, sir? I need to find the king. I have a message for him.”

A smug thrill ran through her as the boy sprang to his feet without question. His chest puffed up proudly and he declared, “Of course! I can always find the king. He’s my dad, you know! Come on, this way!”

He held her firmly and then took off at a run through the halls. She paid no attention to where they were going; her mind was thoroughly occupied with planning. The king would see her coming. Sneaking in quietly and getting close to eliminate him was no longer an option. What if he wanted her to give her message from too far away and she wasn’t in range?

Well, another lie then. She would claim it was just for his ears only and ask to get on his shoulder. She would be close enough then that he wouldn’t be able to react in time once she did… whatever she did. It struck her that she did not yet know what the last petal did. The blood was from a human, but how it would help… she could only hope it would become clear as immediately as the others had.

For now, there was little to do but wait.

***

Violet and the prince waited in the hallway. The king was in a meeting with his advisors. A page had gone to tell him that they were there, but it was an important affair and they were warned that he wouldn’t be able to interrupt it.  While the child waited patiently, Violet paced back and forth across his hand and rubbed her throat anxiously. What if her voice wore off before they got to speak with the king? How would she get close then?

Minutes passed and the page did not return. Violet’s pacing grew more and more agitated. Suddenly a door opened and the page stepped through. To her surprised, he was followed by a tall man with a bushy black beard. The king.

The prince rushed over to give him a hug which he reciprocated with a wide grin and a deep belly laugh. Violet took the chance to clamber onto the king’s shirt and begin climbing. Maybe she would not have to deceive at all.

Despite the urgency of whatever meeting the king had been in, the two took their time. She had made it almost to the king’s shoulder when he finally released the prince to hold him at arms length and say, “Michael said you had a friend with you. I’d love to meet her.”

The prince noticed his hand was empty for the first time. He looked around wildly before spotting her just cresting to stand on the king’s shoulder and pointing. She froze as the king’s head swiveled to regard her. “Well, hello there. It’s nice to meet you.”

Violet didn’t respond but thankfully the prince did for her. “She’s shy, dad. She said she had a message for you though.”

The king smiled at her and then looked back down to his son. “That sounds very nice. I would love a message. You just take your time, miss. Whenever you’re ready is fine.”

Freed from his gaze, she pulled off the last petal hastily. It was covered in tiny inscriptions. Words maybe, but she had no knowledge of reading. Panic rose in her. Was she meant to be able to read? Had something been missed in her creation? Suddenly her vision clouded over and memories popped into her head, playing in black in white.

The man whose eyes she watched through was an assassin. He did it for money, nothing else. There was no joy in his work, but he was good at it and it paid well. Money could be hard to come by. At times he considered turning to honest work. There were debtors though, and it wasn’t just his life on the line anymore.

He waited in a cell for the guillotine. Ten years, and finally he had been caught. Death did not scare him, but the consequences did. His son had no one else. Without him, the child would be on the streets when the rent ran out on their little apartment. He thought of his truest love joining the urchins littering the street corners and his heart broke.

She came to him then, a tall woman in long robes. A witch she said, a mage of great power. She wanted to use his blood for a spell but needed his permission before he died. He refused.

Then she made the offer. His son would be cared for, protected, given a loving family in the countryside and enough money to never want. All he had to do was give his blood. It would be used once. One last assassination. He agreed.

Violet blinked as reality flooded back. She knew how to kill. It would be easy, even for someone as small as herself. Just a quick action, and she would be done. Her mission would be complete.

And yet… Her heart weighed heavy with the regret of many lives lost. She looked at the king’s face, loving and joyous as he watched his son playing with the ring on his hand. Could she really take another father’s life? Did that have to be the price of saving the assassin’s son?

The king heard her sigh and glanced over at her again. His smile fell at the sight of her face. “Is everything alright?”

She took a deep breath and told the truth.

***

The king caught the tiny body as it tumbled off his shoulder. It shriveled and dried in his hand until nothing was left but the stem of a broken flower whose petals had been plucked off one by one. He closed his hand over it reverentially and slipped it into a pocket. His son was in tears, scared by the flower’s revelation or upset at its death, or likely both. The king scooped him into his arms and looked over at the page who still stood frozen off to one side.

“You heard all that, yes Michael?”

The page nodded mutely.

“Good. Please tell Captain Rice, and have Lyndis and Othello arrested. I will notify the council.”

The page bowed before running off down the hall. The king watched him go and then looked down at his prince and murmured, “Shshsh it’ll be okay. She was very brave to do that. We’ll all be fine, okay? I promise. I’ll always protect you, remember?” He wiped his son’s tears dry with a thumb and was relieved to see a brave smile creep tremulously onto his lips. He really was an incredibly strong child. “There you go. Will you come with me to the council? And then after we can bury her in the garden?” The child nodded and with a deep breath, the king returned to the meeting chambers.