The Last Dahlia

029

Yuehwa was in her brother's study room—now hers—sitting in his chair, staring out of the window at the doleful droplets of rain that had begun to fall from the grey skies. On the table sat a huge stack of petitions that needed her perusal, but she had not touched a single one.

"The heavens know that we miss you, Sang," she murmured, closing her eyes as she ran her fingers along the worn table edge. In her mind's eye, she could still see herself as a precocious five year old, running into this very room where her older brother would be diligently practicing his calligraphy. She would badger him to teach her how to write as beautifully as he did, and he would hand her a brush, gently guiding her hand through each and every stroke. He would laugh at her messy, wriggly strokes that looked like worms on the rice paper, but still he would patiently teach her over and over, until she could finally write almost half as well as he could.

When she opened her eyes, her brother was gone, and she was once again alone.

The pattering of the raindrops hitting the roof was interrupted by someone announcing the arrival of General Han, and minutes later the stoic elderly man came marching into the study. "Your Highness," he bowed down to her and greeted, as he had done with three generations of kings that had come before her.

"There's no need for all these formalities, Uncle Han," Yuehwa said kindly, beckoning for him to straighten himself up.

"This is the royal palace. Protocol still needs to be abided by from time to time," the general replied, although his countenance had softened somewhat. He sat down on the chair that Yuehwa gestured towards, saying, "We've made the necessary arrangements to swap out the bodies and transfer the king to the ice chamber. The casket has already been sealed in preparation for tomorrow's cremation ceremony, so the swap is unlikely to be discovered. Can you tell me now the reason why you've asked for this to be done?"

Yuehwa walked over to the window, staring at the torrential rain that was showing no signs of letting up. She hoped that it would still be raining tomorrow, since that could mean that someone up there was telling her that she was doing the right thing, and that this cremation should not even be taking place.

"Thank you for trusting me, Uncle Han," she said.

The general had done exactly as she had instructed, no questions asked, even though what she had asked of him was going against one of this kingdom's oldest traditions. The people of Hwa believed that death was merely a transition into a new life, and that rebirth could be found in the flames and ashes with which this life would end. It was thus considered taboo if the body of the dead was not cremated within seven days of death. Despite knowing this, Yuehwa had asked for her brother's body to be transferred to the hidden ice chamber that resided beneath the royal palace, where it could be preserved for a longer period of time.

"The imperial physicians ruled out the possibility of foul play ages ago. We never detected any traces of poison in his blood all this while," the general replied. "Do you not trust their diagnosis?"

"Not every poison can be easily detected," Yuehwa murmured. Some poisons killed silently, cruelly. That was why dark magic was reviled and exiled all those years back, because the price for wielding such power was often paid in blood, and it would always leave destruction and tragedy in its wake.

Since finding out about the true cause of her brother's death, her nights had been haunted by the memory of those dark red swirls—blood, poisoned by treachery. Her heart felt like it was being stabbed a million times over. Who would have thought of doing something like this to someone as kind and gentle as Sang? All his life, her brother had done nothing but try to live up to the lofty expectations that had been placed on his shoulders, even though this wasn't the sort of life he wanted to lead at all. In the end, he didn't even get to watch his little boy grow up because someone had been cruel enough to have ended his life prematurely.