A Final Act of Mercy

The queen sat uncomfortably, slouching on the table, clutching a pear from the royal orchards, her sharp and pristine nails delicately grazing the skin. It had been shined to a mirror’s edge, her dark eyes reflected in its surface, along with the others around the table, her advisors in all things regarding the kingdom and its wellbeing. She ignored their reflections and instead focused on her eyes, as if they were from another, someone with more courage than she felt she possessed.

“Your majesty,” came a small voice from the other side of the room. The queen looked up slowly, eyeing the individual who had interrupted her, a spindly young man named Spiegel. Perhaps “man” was too generous. The lad could not be older than fifteen. She let the pear hide her frown but allowed her eyes to glare for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Time is of the essence,” he said, concern filling his voice.

Very well, he was correct. The queen put the pear gently on the table and sat up straight, before nodding to Spiegel, who in turn, nodded to a soldier decorated in full uniform. The soldier, Captain Jaque, wiggled his impressive mustache, lifted his papers in front of him, and began to speak.

“As you are all fully aware, the plague has been ravaging our lands for a little over a year. Our population has been impacted heavily, with thousands sick and hundreds already perished. We as of now do not know the origin nor the means of spread from the sickness, currently being referred to as ‘Devil’s Ring.’ However, our alchemists and physicians have made strides in uncovering certain preventative measures. Notably, the act of washing hands and bathing has had a significant effect in preventing the spread of the rings from individual to individual.”

The room was suddenly filled with murmurs as each advisor assured the others that they had indeed bathed and washed their hands. The captain cleared his throat, and the room quieted.

“At the request of our queen, water has been gathered and distributed to the people at key points throughout the city. Bathhouses have been erected and maintained by the royal guard. Criers have been sent to encourage public use of these facilities.” Again, murmurs, this time of praise for a job well done.

The queen clutched her chair, fury consuming her. She knew what was to be said next.

“We have had initial success,” the captain continued, his mustache quivering slightly. “But there has been an issue with...false proclamations.”

“The girl,” interrupted one of the advisors, another old man, his hair forming a wispy ring around his head. Why were they all old men? Where were the ladies, the women of wisdom? The queen had wondered long on this but supposed this wasn't the appropriate time for this issue.

“Ye...yes,” the captain said, glancing at the queen as if she would strike him. When she made no sudden movements, he proceeded. “There was...is a girl who has been proclaiming that the actions prescribed are a ruse, that the plague is God’s will on the people and that the queen...I apologize, your majesty, these are her words...that the queen is a bloodthirsty tyrant that is poisoning its people with the water itself.” The room grew silent as all eyes, both of her council and her personal guard, stared awkwardly at the queen. She pretended that she didn't feel their gazes boring into her, instead focusing again on the pear. So round, so simple, so unconcerned with the goings on of a plague and this propaganda peddling child.

She envied it. Then she took it and rose from her chair, gliding slowly around the table, aware that each man held his breath as she drew near. She wished they’d stop that.

She reached the window, stained glass with a depiction of an angel stabbing a dragon through its neck. At least, she assumed it was an angel. Maybe it was a knight. She had never been entirely sure. It’s what you got when you took over a kingdom: art that never truly made sense to the conquerors.

“What news from the huntsman?” she said, never letting her gaze into the mirror-like glass shift.

“My queen,” a deep-throated man spoke now. Gerald. Or was it Jerry? “We have tortured our assassin for hours but to no avail. He merely professes his love for the girl and how he would never betray her safety.”

“She possessed him, the witch!” shouted the same man who had interrupted the captain. That was Jerry. Or Gerald. Shit, why could she not keep their names straight? No, not the point. Focus on the girl.

“Not a witch,” the queen corrected, her mind focusing again. “Just a pretty young thing with sweet words.” She sighed. “Those two qualities make a world of difference. It’s why the people listen to her so eagerly. Pretty young things with pretty sounding words are so much more compelling than the wisdom of old men and a queen.” The room fell silent again as the advisors tried to determine if she had been insulting them.

“We made a mistake in our first approach,” the queen said, not letting the captain regain his vocal footing. “We were far too blunt in our approach. I never anticipated the woodsman to kill her, just frighten her off. Now she is living, where did you say?”

“In the woods,” the captain replied, checking his notes. “In a cabin with some...dwarves.”

“Which should have been the end of it. But now we see that her words have been carried by the winds, not just to our land but to lands beyond. She writes letters and sends them with her little minions decrying our efforts for our people’s safety. And they are listening to her.” She turned slowly, keeping her eyes on the pear in her hand. “What are the bathhouse numbers like?”

The captain looked at his notes and frowned.

“Down almost fifty percent your majesty.”

“Fifty percent. And I imagine our sick have increased accordingly?”

“Almost exactly,” he agreed.

“Unlikely to be a coincidence?”

“I expect not, my queen.”

She sighed and let the next words form gently into her mind, their weight not lost on her. “Continue captain.”

He coughed slightly and returned to his notes. “As has been discussed in private chambers, the girl must be silenced and in a manner that sends a message to the people.”

“What message?” Not Jerry asked. Brook? That must have been it. No, focus. This was the part that mattered.

“That she was wrong,” the queen stated bluntly. They all let the words sink in. She nodded to the captain to continue.

“We have decided that in order to send such a message, she must be silenced in a way that looks like she has succumbed to the Devil’s Ring. We have determined that a poison will do the trick and convince many of her listeners that she contracted the illness and passed from it, thus destroying her faith in her words.” He looked up from his page to the queen who gave him a knowing, convicted look, followed by the slightest of nods. “We will kill the girl.”

The room now avoided her eyes, and the sight of each other, not a one convinced that this was the correct decision.

The queen did not have the luxury of waiting for their conviction to manifest.

“How will it be carried out?” one of the men, it didn’t matter to her as to which one, whispered.

The queen tossed the pear onto the table, where it bounced and rolled to the center, turning on itself, its stem pointing back at its owner.

“A poison derived from the pear trees in my garden will be coated onto the very fruit they stem from,” she said. “The fruit will be offered to her by a traveler, one of us in disguise. She will not refuse, especially with some eager ears to hear her tale of how evil I am.” There was some smirking but no laughter from the table. “The question is, who will be our courier?”

The room became silent yet again, the discomfort filling every facet of the tower. She felt disdain for them all, knowing full well what they were about to do to her. To their queen.

“I am ashamed of you,” she wanted to spit. “I despise every one of you for making me, your leader, take this arrow for you to continue to be old useless men. Sitting there, unable to take the vitriol of the world, unable to keep your loins from rousing at the pretty young woman with her sugar laced lies. If the huntsman was not able to plunge a knife into her chest, what would stop you from pulling the fruit from her lips? You are weak. You are everything wrong with this world.”

She wanted to say all of this, but her eyes drifted to Spiegel, the young boy who had come to her from the streets, letting her know first hand of the girl’s efforts to drive the citizens away from help, the lad who had betrayed his friend from birth, the child who had spoken to her in hushed tones a day prior:

“It has to be you,” tears in his eyes. “It cannot be one of us or an assassin cloaked in shadow. It has to be you because we are not strong enough to do this. It has to be you because you are not our queen by birth but by deed and deed alone. Because you took this throne not with the intent to rule for glory or power, but because you wanted the world to be better than it was before. Because you alone must be the messenger and the message.”

“I will be hated,” she had said, looking out the same window she had looked out today.

“But we will be safe,” Spiegel had said. “And she will kill no one else. Her message will fade, and yours will too. People may even assume it was because you were jealous of her appearance or her tongue.”

“Ha!”

“But we will be safe, by your hand, and your hand alone,” he finished. “And we...I will know the truth.”

Today, she looked at Spiegel and saw in his eyes the conviction she needed, reflecting her own eyes in pools of hope and sorrow. Stupid boy. Stupid, kind, merciful, wise child.

“If none shall take this task,” she said, her voice steady as it escaped her lips due to the number of times she had practiced throughout the night. “Then I will slay the one they call Snow White.”

A sigh of relief from the table, disguising the rattle in her voice that she had managed to contain. This had been a show, of course. She needed them to hear her decision, her method so that it would be leaked eventually. She would play the role of the villain for one last act, and in doing so, save her people. Let them theorize why she did it, let them blame the fair maiden’s beauty, so long as it appeared that the maiden had died of a disease for not following the safety, it just might work. And wouldn’t that be worth the cost?

“Your majesty,” the captain said, drawing her mind back into the room. She leveled her eyes in as harsh a manner as she could muster, despite the dread that threatened to engulf her very being. He grimaced but continued. “Even if she does not recognize you, she will surely recognize the pears you offer. You are the only one in the kingdom who grows such a fruit.” The table murmured agreement.

“Then use an apple,” she said, then walked out the room, her robes fluttering beside her as her feet carried the weight of the world, her heart set on this murderous mercy.