—Stairs spiraled underground,

rough-set stone, torch-lit,

soldiers either side

of a barred iron door—

Within, curled on a mattress,

chained by both ankles, Connol:

one eye swollen shut,

red fist marks on his stomach.

Fuck. His little brother.

Donal hadn’t seen him like that

in twenty years, not since

their father—fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The soldiers unbolted the door.

Two steps to cross the cell.

“You fucking idiot—

What were you fucking thinking?”

Connol fixed his good eye on him.

“I saw her, a bird in a cage,

a little girl with pigtails.

I saw her, bones and all.”

A moment’s doubt, then Donal

shook his head to clear it.

“Connol, King Xau is here.

Beg him for your life.”

Xau stirred, said, softly,

“That is not required.

We will not execute a man

who is... unbalanced.”

Connol looked past Donal, smiled.

“I see you, I see you, Princess.

I see you young, I see you old.

I see you dancing, hair flying.”

Donal followed Connol’s gaze.

No one on that side of him.

Not Xau. Not the guards.

Only air. Only madness.

Donal’s rage doused to dread.

Bile in his throat,

the same sick feeling

he’d had years ago.

“Hush, hush now.”

He crouched down,

clasped Connol’s hands.

“I’m sorry, little brother.”

“We will wait outside.” Xau’s voice.

Footsteps. The door.

Then Donal alone with what

remained of his brother.

THE HOUSE OF MEMORY

Princess Mei folded the barbarian’s drawing.

But it was no use. She had seen it.

Rough strokes on rice paper.

A willow tree on an island,

a fisherman and his little girl

in a sampan boat;

in the girl’s hand,

dangling by one ear,

a toy rabbit.

Poorly rendered. Sentimental.

Composition crowded.

Also, impossible. And intolerable.

Impossible because that scene

had been Mei’s childhood daydream.

Years back. Private. Never told.

(She who hadn’t wanted

a king for her father,

because kings were too busy.)

Intolerable that any man,

least of all that man,

had invaded her very thoughts.

She placed the drawing carefully,

precisely atop the one

of bones on a mountain.

Both kings—

his brother, her brother—

had decreed the barbarian mad.

Yet these drawings proved

Mei’s own mind breached.

The house of her memory ransacked.

Defiled as he had tried

to defile her body—

his hands on her hair, his heated breath—

Her guards had stopped him then,

but no soldiers could ward

the doors to her mind.

Her brother must be told—at once—

and the barbarian executed

for his transgression.

PETITION

Fish darted beneath the bridge

where King Xau stood: gold, silver, orange,

bright as jewels, trapped.

“Kill him. Please.” Mei, his sister,

dropped to her knees on the rocks

by the edge of the pond.

“He does not deserve death.”

“He broke into my mind.”

“Not by his choice.”

“You will let him violate me!”

“We will let him live.”

Xau crossed the bridge,

and Mei reached for him.

Gently, saying nothing,

he held her in his arms.

He had no answers to offer.