Two Lies

“The decision will be made tomorrow. As of now, this meeting has officially concluded.”

Chairs scraped the ground as they were pulled out from the tables cluttering the throne room. Nobles clapped and cheered, whispering among themselves about the coming decision. The Queen was going to rule that all from the Lower Isles were to follow martial law. Every hearing under the suffocating lights of the chandelier agreed, every aristocrat in the room chanting for the peons to be controlled and silenced. I knew it would be so; it is why I spent my life climbing this high, why I find myself standing next to their Queen, why I have stood in a meeting people like me were not meant to hear. This was what I was waiting for, and yet my chest twisted at the inevitable.

The Queen used my hand to step down from the throne, heels clacking against the ground as she thanked me, taking her hand back. I could only stare back at her. I knew what had to be done, and I kept my cover for years. All I could do now was stare as she smiled at me.

I trailed behind her as she walked, stopping by the men in ruffles and women in corsets who surrounded her.

“This will get our kingdom on the right track again,” one man said, nodding his head as if agreeing with himself.

“Getting the populace under control again will most certainly work,” A woman curtseyed as the Queen passed.

“Long live the Queen!”

The statements were no surprise to me. They had been circulating for months, first hidden by savory words and saccharine intentions. They wanted to help those in the Lower Isles. Then they claimed those people were lost, and all they needed was to get closer to their Queen. At some point, when the people were gathering in the streets, flooding the Lower Isles with their bodies, the people of the Raised Isles called those marching traitors. The Guard was instructed to arrest any groups on the street, all taken in as traitors to the Crown. I had to sit back and listen, had to watch every plan come together. At night, I would tell my people what the Crown was planning next. Tonight, I wouldn’t be able to tell them. My actions would have to speak for themselves.

The Queen edged herself away from the noblewomen and noblemen who surrounded her. She excused herself behind her hand, “This meeting has gone long enough, no? I let it get too late; I am usually retired to my chambers by now.”

They all laughed and nodded, looking like all but carbon copies of each other as she turned to step out of the domed throne room with shouts of ‘long live the Queen!’ ghosting after her. I followed, watching the wide walls narrow as I entered the hallway, the voices of the room behind fading, and the sound of heels against hard wood replaced it. I could feel metal rub against the soft of my foot as I walked, a reminder of what tonight would bring.

We ascended the grand staircase, navigating a number of hallways that led us to the Queen’s chambers. Lining the halls were those from The Guard, all the way up the hallway to the door. As the Queen was opening the door, a man clad in full armor stepped in front of me. A heavy glove weighed on my shoulder. “The Queen shall be alone tonight. She needs to think.”

It felt as though my body seized. I attempted words, but the Queen was quick and steady, “Do you not see who that is? Saoirse is my prized lady-in-waiting. She accompanies me every night, and this night is no different.”

The armored man turned his plated head toward the Queen, but he did not need to be told again. I felt the weight slip from my shoulder, and I stepped into the room after her, shutting and pulling a key from the folds of my gown to lock up. I knew I would have to be quiet to avoid The Guard’s attention tonight.

“Thank you, my Queen,” I stood by the grand door, my back to it as I watched the Queen stop in front of her framed mirror. It was nearly twice as wide as she was and as tall as the wall.

“Nonsense. Do not thank me, and do not call me that in this room. I have told you before, when we enter my chambers, I am Orla.”

“Orla,” I repeated after her, as though the name had not been seared into my tongue already. I was at her side with a single gesture of her hand, my hands steady as my fingers plucked the earrings out of her ears, taking down her hair to pull every bead and jewel from her head, “I am assuming that the decision you will make tomorrow has already been finalized.”

“It’s what the people are anticipating,” Orla spoke simply, though her voice held a sigh. Her words were expected, but my fingers felt stiff as they moved onto the ribbons and ties of her corset. “I fear that no other ruling is possible. My time in the Lower Isles has been nothing but pleasant. I wish it did not come to this.”

My hands stilled, just for a moment. My eyes were unmoving from the back of her head as her corset came loose. I had to avoid clenching my fists at her words. “There have been attempts on your life almost every visit.”

“I do not mean extremists. It is the households that I’ve spoken with, citizens that have shown me a kindness of an everyday woman. Those who tell me what they face, their hopes for change,” Orla sighed as she felt the corset shed from her frame entirely. “Like you.”

It was no secret that I was from the Lower Isles. It was difficult to hide at first, but I was taken on as the Queen’s staff, and she appointed me to be her lady-in-waiting after years of service. Her unwavering trust would be her downfall.

“I am unlike the people who invited you into their homes. I am paid.”

“Oh yes, I do pay you,” Orla hummed, “but you do things you are not paid for. You listen to me at night and talk to me about your own opinions. I hope you do not think your words lack meaning for me. It is quite the opposite. You have experience where I lack. Me and the people flooding that room nearly every day do not have much experience in the Lower Isles. You have helped me understand more than any in my position has before. I believe it’s why this festered into the edge of a civil war.”

I did not answer as I focused on Orla’s clothing. It slipped from her frame, her curves meeting air as I tucked the used fabric away. I attempted not to look at her too long as she was left bare, but I felt her fingers slip into mine as I took the last piece of her clothing off.

“I should fill your basin,” I tried to keep my voice steady.

“No need,” Orla’s finger traced my knuckles slowly, “I am feeling tired. You can fill the basin tomorrow.”

We were silent as I started preparing her nightgown. Flames flickered as I walked past their mounts, my hand movements practiced as I pulled clothing on her. The chambers were an everyday sight that had dulled to me over time, but I looked over the walls and curtains as if they were all new. Orla adored red and white, and the room reflected this. The floors were a dark wood, but the walls were red flowers over a white base, the bedsheets matching with abstract patterns and shapes.

“You’ve been distant all night,” Orla’s voice broke my concentration on the decor, “is it the decision?”

“Yes,” a good lie always had a bit of the truth mixed in, “perhaps you could sway them. Make them see reason. You’re the Queen, they have to listen to you.”

“That is not how it works, not necessarily,” Orla moved around me, her hand finding the blankets of her bed and pulling them back, “I will enact martial law, and over time I will give privileges back one-by-one. Those of the Raised Isles will be more than happy, and those of the Lower Isles will come to see that nothing will be taken away from them in the end.”

“But how long will that take? Will the nobles pressure you not to give anything back, just as they have pressured you to do this?” I did not know where my words were coming from. They were my own, no doubt, but speaking to the Queen in such a manner—I had never seen it before.

Orla looked back at me, as if surprised. She slowly slipped under her blankets, “They won’t. I am in control.”

I could feel a scream tearing its way through my lungs. To put people under martial law, even for a short time, is hellish. I knew Orla; She meant well. Unlike her, I knew it would not work. The only way to stop it was to make sure it never began, “Please. You can’t go through with this.”

I was begging for her life.

My legs instinctively moved as Orla gestured me over. “I understand your feelings, and I wish there was a different way. I simply want everyone to get the right to exist,” I felt her hand slip over my own once more, except now she brought my digits to her lips, kissing the pads of my fingers. In the privacy of her own chamber was the only time she could do so, “Stay by my side. Watch me sleep tonight. It makes me feel safe.”

I wanted to do as she asked, just as I always did. I wanted to climb in her bed, a rare moment to be ourselves completely, unapologetically. I wanted to pretend that we could do this forever, this secretive song and dance, but one cannot hold up two lies forever.

I stood by the lavish bed, even as the candles around the room burn out. I did not extinguish them this evening, unlike other evenings. I did not close the curtains, nor did I clear her desk or side tables. The moon was raised high, her windows big enough to show the glint of metal in my hand, no longer in my shoe. My eyes were hot, and I tasted salt. I think I was crying.

The next morning, The Guard had to break down the Queen’s chamber doors, and the Queen was announced dead. The papers described her throat slit and her assailant cradling the body, marinating in the kill until dawn. Even behind bars, I heard of the Civil War’s beginning. There were public stabbings, executions, hangings. The Guard had abandoned the Raised Isles in hopes of controlling the Lower Isles, but it made it easier for radicals to raid homes and enact their own executions. What the people of the Raised Isles needed was hope. They needed someone to hate.

They needed to see the Queen’s killer die.

I knew I was going to the guillotine before I was told. The guards shoved me forward while holding the crowd back. My body didn’t flinch as spit hit my face, feeling feet from my sides trying to kick my legs out from under me. My body was already empty.

They pushed down onto my knees on a wooden platform. My head forced into a slot, locked in by another piece of wood above me. I was stuck facing down, looking at a woven basket beneath me. One guard was speaking, perhaps listing my crimes. The people were shouting, but I could have almost mistaken it for cheering. The only words that registered came from the guard standing beside me: “What are your last words, wench?”

Last words? I wanted them to be about my love. About a secret I held for years, with another secret added on top. I wanted to scream about my life, about why I threw it away. I wanted to shout that there was a reason. I wanted to yell at them to do it already.

I didn’t. There were only four words I could force through my crushed throat.

“Long live the Queen!”

I heard a rope being sliced and saw a glint of metal fall.