Thirty-Three Tastes Of Poison

II. The Spy

She lay still on the pebbles, her cheeks streaked with Elemér's blood, a stray lock of dark hair obscuring her view, glazed eyes staring at the cloudless sky. For a moment, the noise around them turned into a steady hum of a beehive. Leaning over Emőke, Elemér proffered her a hand that she rejected. Again. Even now, she did not accept him.

No matter how high Emőke rose, no matter what she became, she would always remain the 'girl that rejected him' for Elemér. She did not remember, of course. Why would she?

Once, in a far-away land, in front of another bridge, a handsome young man knelt before a promising architect, saying, "Take my heart, take my life. Anything." A cold 'no' was her answer. She didn't give him an explanation, but he didn't need one. She didn't want him not because she was busy studying materials and proportions. Not because she had no time.

No, it was because she, like everyone else, saw Lightning - the strange bastard famous for the eccentricities that would have landed every other Magor in prison. He was a brilliant musician, everyone said. A man who knew no rules and paid no respects, an artist flaunting his freedom without deserving it. That was unfair! Of course, Emőke would fall for someone like Lightning, not Elemér, who wouldn't have been considered an artist had he not been Magor.

When Emőke rose to her feet, rearranging the string decoration on her green jacket, the brightly-dressed Sen officers surrounded them in a circle. Disciplined and moving like limbs attached to the same body, they dipped their heads and quickly formed two rows, making way for General Min Lian.

The most powerful man in Senrei barely reached Emőke's shoulder. As if to highlight this discrepancy in height, his red-golden uniform made his thin figure appear even tinier. Like other Sen soldiers, he wore a shirt with a leather front, wide pants, and a cloak that flapped behind him like a continuation of his long hair. By no means could Elemér consider someone as slender and small a hardened soldier. And, yet, Min Lian's fearsome reputation preceded him. A nightingale rather than a hawk, he moved silently and adorned a thin smile.

His grin reeked of poison. And when he spoke, his melodious voice promised nothing but doom.

"Welcome to Senrei, lady Emőke," he said, clasping his hands in front of his chest to greet her. "I hope your little excursion proved to be illuminating. At the very least, I assume you'll take no unnecessary risks in the future."

Not a single muscle in Emőke's face trembled when she replied, "I don't doubt your ability to ensure the safety of your guests, General."

"Fine words from an artist." The general clasped his hands behind his back and approached Emőke to size her up. If he noticed Elemér, he did not give him much heed, snorting and squinting at the indifferent woman in front of him. "You must be very troubled by the Moon-Marked farms that will soon render the glory of your nation irrelevant. Who knows..., your Magor hell may soon become empty."

"That is doubtful," Emőke replied, standing still. Then, looking down at Min Lian, she added, "Art cannot be stifled. Temporary suppressed - yes. Snuffed out – no."

"Ha, Xin Yuan, the leader of the Longgrasses, believed so." He paused, keen eyes darting from Elemér to Emőke. "She also believed she could save the Moon-Marked—those unnatural animals. But, you see, lady Envoy," he pointed into the distance with his manicured hand, "she won't be bothering us any longer. Perhaps, her burnt body is still swinging from the upper gates of the city. You may want to see it."

"An interesting offer, General. But I am here to represent my people. And we focus on the living." Unreadable face, no emotions, only a mask. But why did Elemér shiver?