Winter's Regret

by Matt Sinclair

  She smiled, knowing it would sense her purity—unicorns could always sense a virgin—and that seemed to ease the tension from its small white frame. With no fear left to hinder it, the little creature stumbled over to her, blue eyes wide and sweet. Evangeline watched, her smile stiff, and waited for it to move just a little closer…

  But it was quicker and more cunning than she'd thought.

  Before she could evade its nuzzling, the unicorn pressed itself fully against her, rubbing its downy-soft fur along her body. Her hands and arms were caught in the tender caress, and all thoughts were wiped from her mind.

  Part of her—the part with over four hundred years of experience—knew she was caught in the grip of magic, the special magic only unicorns possessed; when the beasts touched bare skin, they owned the mind of their virginal victims. Evangeline was helpless, wrapped up in the sweet ecstasy of their combined innocence. The uncontrollable urge to protect and serve the most beautiful creature in existence rose up in her, and she knew she'd die for this one little unicorn.

  Damn the island.

  Damn her people.

  All that mattered was her new little companion.

  It looked at her from under a fringe of snowy-white lashes, its eyes sparkling brighter than any star, and Evangeline wrapped her arms around it, glad to have been chosen. Glad to share herself with it, no matter what it wanted.

  She felt a pull, like the tide drawing waves from the shore, but it started near her heart and drained out of her, leaving her lightheaded. Her knees gave out and she lurched, half-falling against her unicorn. They both stumbled under her weight, and it sniffled and huffed in irritation.

  Evangeline tried to mumble an apology, but her words garbled around her tongue.

  Her blue-eyed friend squirmed out from under her and nuzzled her again, rubbing its velvety face against her own. She sighed, content, even as more energy was sapped from her. Dizzy thoughts clamored around her head, and a memory surfaced while she stared into those angelic eyes. She grasped at it… it was something about unicorns.

  …and magic.

  But before she could wrap her mind around the thought, her companion was gone, leaving her crumpled on the ground. She tried to call out and bring it back to her, wanting only to serve it—but with a flick of its tail, the little creature leaped into the sea.

  Evangeline panicked and forced her weak limbs to move—could her beautiful companion swim? Did it need her help?—and pushed herself past the rocks and into the waves; she swallowed saltwater and choked as she followed her friend…her best friend, her only true friend.

  But the unicorn didn't look back at her when she cried out for it.

  She paddled hard, pushing forward even when her body tried to sink; her thoughts whirled as frantically as her flailing limbs. With every desperate second in the water, her devotion wavered. The creature in front of her, swimming toward freedom, was not her friend—was not her companion.

  It was a unicorn—a thieving, vile leech. It had drained her energy, her very life-force, and left her for dead.

  Evangeline gritted her teeth and surged forward, her fingers encircling a graceful hoof. With a whinny of fear, the little beast kicked back at her, but Evangeline expected that; when its leg was fully extended, she yanked it back further.

  Attempting to escape her grip, the unicorn rolled, twisting and forcing her to either let go or be swept along. She dug her fingers into the creature's flesh until her nails hit bone, refusing to be tossed off and lost to the sea.

  The two of them sank in their struggle, heads disappearing beneath the waves. She opened her eyes and squinted against the sting of salt, and saw the blue-eyed devil thrash and kick in an effort to get back to the surface.

  But she was above the unicorn, blocking its way. When it bit her, desperate for air, she sucked in a lungful of water as she screamed; her blood clouded the space between them, and the frenzied creature below her became just a blur. She saw teeth and white fur, hooves and blue eyes, but she didn't let go or have mercy.

  The part of her that had been entranced by it, the part still willing to die for it, raged inside her; if the sea hadn't surrounded her, tears would be falling uselessly down her cheeks. But the magic was mostly gone, washed away by the waves, and her instinct to protect her island, her people, kept her from giving in to the pull of the false love it had provoked.

  Her body screamed for air, dying a little more with each passing second. But until the mad little beast stopped twitching, she refused to break the surface. And though her blood hung between them like a tinted curtain, she saw when life left it, abandoning the body as a dead weight.

  She grabbed the silky mane and kicked upward, her lungs burning to ash while her vision went black. With no strength and no air, she felt her own life trying to abandon her. Before it could, her face breached the surface, mouth gaping as she choked and coughed before drawing in the sweetest breath she'd ever taken.

  Too tired to swim, she floated there, fingers still griping her dead prize. And, as though rewarding her, the waves cradled her—rocking her gently to shore.

  She turned her face into the sun-warmed sand and pressed her cheek to the grit, her whole body shivering from repressed fear. She would have done anything to be with her family. Their comfort, their praise—even just the sight of their familiar faces—would have given her strength.

  But she was alone.

  Almost alone, anyway.

  She lifted her head and looked at the drowned unicorn. Its magic lingered in her heart, and those worthless tears leaked out, betraying her. She let go of the colorless mane and crawled up the beach, to where she'd dropped her knife.

  With the smooth blade in her hand, she felt more like herself. She collapsed in the sand next to her fallen companion, her friend, and had to remind herself that it had used her—drained her and tried to escape. But part of her would never believe that.

  She reverently ran her fingers along the spiraling horn before reaching down to close the beautiful creature's now-colorless eyes for the last time. With its magic gone, so was the forget-me-not blue that had entranced Evangeline. But the empty irises held traces of panic from those last moments beneath the waves, and she was glad when the long lashes hid her crime.

  Then, with a deep breath, she set her knife upon its horn.

  She'd spent fifty years as a Reaper, back when she was still too young to be a Guardian, so she knew how to harvest the horns. She sawed at it, just below the first spiral, and hoped she'd meet this unicorn again—sometimes the little beasts remembered their past lives. If this one awoke, she would know…part of her would recognize it, she was sure.

  Her fingers were numb and her knife dulled when the horn finally snapped free. Evangeline's heart broke as she pressed a gentle kiss to it.

  She'd murdered it—drowned it like an unwanted cat—and then mutilated it. Even though she knew unicorns were savage little beasts that sucked the life from innocents, part of her argued that her unicorn was special, all evidence be damned.

  Evangeline couldn't help stroking the soft fur one last time, even though guilt weighed on her. She stared at the pitifully small figure, remembering the way it had fought to live, thrashing against her while she held it under the waves. She'd saved countless lives at the expense of one brutal creature, but her deep-seated sense of duty was little comfort.

  Always before, duty had sustained her, but now it felt like an empty promise.

  The island was a sanctuary and a graveyard, her people protecting humanity from their one and only predator. For centuries they'd culled the vicious little beasts, keeping only a small herd alive at any given time.

  Reapers slaughtered the animals and harvested the horns; Sowers planted the snowy-white spirals and watched over them as they grew back into little fiends; Keepers simply kept the unicorns alive until it was time to reap from them again. The magic released in the never-ending cycle kept the island—and its people—thriving with immortality.

&n
bsp; That was their secret, what the Guardians were meant to protect.

  Her unicorn's body cooled in front of her, so small she could have cradled it like a babe had it still been alive. She choked on a sob as she gazed down at it, hating how much she still loved it. Nothing would ever again be so beautiful.

  Evangeline closed her eyes and let the horn fall from her grasp; it clinked on the beach-rocks as it rolled away. With trembling fingers, she picked up the dead beast and rocked it, singing the song her mother had taught her years before…a lullaby.

  Her sane self knew it was the unicorn's leftover magic ruling her senses, but her stomach clenched nonetheless. The cold flesh she cuddled against herself was precious, while life suddenly seemed endless, filled with nothing more than blood and horns.

  One Hundred Nights by Sakura Q. Eries

  A new boy is with the Emperor's children today. I'm surprised that I noticed. I'm usually too busy with my poetry or important guests to pay attention to the youngest members of the palace, let alone who has been invited to play with them.

  But for some reason, he catches my eye. He's a handsome lad, probably nine or ten. He holds up a sparrow-shaped kite to test the breeze. Then he sprints, his indigo robes flapping. The kite soars, and a girl's delighted shriek pierces the garden.

  The Emperor's youngest daughter bounds up to the boy. He hands her the kite string with an indulgent smile, and my heart constricts—

  "Lady Komachi!"

  I start at my attendant's voice. From the way she stares, she's been trying to get my attention for some time.

  "Yes, Oku," I say. "What is it?"

  "Everything is ready." She gestures toward the tatami mat inside the garden pavilion. On it lie brushes and ink, paper and paper weights, all in their proper place.

  She goes to her cushion beside the ink stone. My eyes shift back to the boy, now showing the younger child how to make the kite swoop and dive. "Oku, do you know whose son that is?"

  The girl follows my gaze. "Ah. That's Harutoki, Chamberlain Munesada's son. I saw him come in when I got our tea from the kitchen. He looks just like his father."

  He does. I'm amazed I didn't make the connection sooner. That loping stride, that intelligent brow, those nimble hands. The sight of him hovering protectively over the tiny princess is like a vision from my own childhood.

  "My lady?" The concerned look returns to Oku's eyes. I usually start writing the instant the ink is ready.

  "It's nothing." I smile. "Just an old woman getting lost in her memories."

  She gasps as if I've cursed the Emperor. "Don't say that, Lady Komachi! You're the most beautiful woman in Kyoto! The Emperor's favorite!"

  I stifle a laugh. Unlike most palace inhabitants, Oku is genuine. But she's also naïve, a sixteen-year-old from the provinces, less than a year in the capital. With time, she'll learn how ruthless the court is, how nothing is secure here, even for the Emperor's favorite concubine.

  But I chose this life.

  I step into the pavilion, but instead of taking up my brush, I move my cushion outside. "The Empress Dowager's autumn poem can wait," I say, settling on the grass and gesturing for Oku to join me. "Did you know I once challenged Chamberlain Munesada?"

  "To a poetry contest, my lady?" I'm famous for those in the palace.

  "No," I reply. "This was when I was your age, still living in my father's house, and the Chamberlain was a new courtier." I don't often talk about the past, but between those children and my youthful attendant, I wax nostalgic. "I challenged him to call upon me one hundred nights in a row."

  Oku frowns as she hands me a cup of tea. "Call upon you? At your father's estate? But that's in the mountains outside town. What foolishness is that?"

  I shrug. "It was his fault. He proposed and then wouldn't take no for an answer."

  The girl nearly upsets the teapot. "Proposed!"

  Munesada might be past thirty, but he's grandson to the previous Emperor and still regarded one of the handsomest men in the capital. This or that court lady is always scheming to catch his eye. "You refused the Chamberlain?" Oku sputters.

  I regard her with amusement as I sip my tea. "Astonishing as it might sound, the thought of him as my suitor was absurd. You see, we grew up playing together. The way those two are now." I nod toward the boy and princess. "So I considered him family."

  "Ah." The shock in Oku's eyes turns to understanding. "You thought of him as a brother."

  "A bossy, too serious brother to be accurate," I say, remembering how Munesada scolded me for ruining my kites even as he fixed them. "And to him I was only a little sister. Until he learned I was entering the Imperial Harem."

  That was the summer of my sixteenth year. My father had finally agreed to let me go to the palace. I already had our patriarch's backing, and thanks to our clan's influence, all that stood between me and a position at court was administrative formalities.

  But I hadn't counted on Munesada being the official handling that paperwork. The day after Father submitted my petition, Munesada stormed to our house. "Why didn't you tell me, Komachi?" he demanded, shaking the letter in his fist.

  I scowled at him across the receiving room. "It's none of your concern, big brother. Besides, my father approved." Granted, it had taken months of persuasion, but Munesada didn't need to know that.

  "Well, I don't approve." He tossed the petition to the floor. "Aside from the fact the Emperor's three times your age, the harem is a treacherous place. Stay away from it."

  I bristled at his condescending tone. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

  "Komachi—"

  "I may call you brother, but we're not even related. Why should I listen to you?"

  "Because I love you!"

  His declaration resounded through the house. My attendant clapped a hand over her mouth. An excited buzz went up in the courtyard. I rolled my eyes. "Really, big brother," I said over the servants' chatter. "I expected a better argument than that."

  "I mean it!" His hands slammed the tatami. "I'm in love with you, Komachi! I just never realized until I learned you were going to another."

  "Isn't that convenient?" I didn't know what trick he had in mind, but I was not falling for it.

  "I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth." His tone was pleading now. "Forget the Imperial Court. Marry me."

  I gave him a hard look. His words were ridiculous. However, I knew him well enough to tell when he was untruthful, and the gaze that met mine was clear as a cloudless spring day.

  He actually believed what he was saying.

  My mouth tightened. "Fine. On one condition. You must call upon me for the next one hundred nights. Miss one, and I go to the palace."

  "One hundred—!" His mouth flapped like a landed fish.

  "It's only right, don't you think?" I said, picking up the crumpled petition and smoothing it. "You may have realized your feelings, but please understand that I need more than your words to accept that as truth. So prove it."

  This will bring him to his senses. Munesada had always been overly protective. What he took for love was probably a misguided sense of brotherly devotion. Once his head cooled off, he'd see his feelings for what they were. A nightly hour-long trek to my house after an exhausting day at court would speed the process.

  Oku's expression is a mixture of disbelief and fascination as I recount this. "So what was his reply?" she asks.

  "Nothing. He left without a word."

  "Oh." Disappointment dims her eyes. "So that was the end."

  "That's what I thought." I pluck a leaf from a nearby shrub and twirl it in my fingers. "But the next night he returned."

  Oku's head snaps up. "He took up the challenge?"

  I nod, remembering the stir his arrival caused. My father was ecstatic. He'd always liked Munesada. Although having a daughter at court would boost his political standing, having Munesada as a son-in-law held far more appeal. I thought Father was overly optimistic. One night was not one hundred.

 
"I was certain he just couldn't admit he was wrong so I sat behind the receiving room screen and didn't speak a word to him. After three nights, my father scolded me for treating a close friend like a stranger and removed the screen. Even so, I stayed dumb as a Buddha statue whenever he came.

  "That's how it went on, night after night. Eventually, people heard, and courtiers started laying wagers on how long Lady Komachi's suitor would last."

  Had I been one of those betting, I would've lost at once. I thought Munesada would give up within five days, but he proved far more persistent. Whether fair weather or foul, he returned, time and again. Some visits, he'd fill the hours expounding on his virtues as a mate. Other nights, he'd woo me with love poems. Occasionally, he'd attempt to provoke a response with horrendous poetry, which he knew I hated, but I'd bite my tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

  "He was truly stubborn," I recall with a laugh, "but so was I."

  "I think I would've been moved." Oku's expression is thoughtful. After a long pause, she says, "Lady Komachi, why were you so determined to go to the palace?"

  Munesada asked the same thing on his fiftieth visit. It was a full moon, a night too beautiful for his usual one-sided conversation. So he brought out his flute, filling the courtyard with its sweet melancholy melody as we admired the heavens. Then the music stopped, and for the first time in fifty nights, he uttered not a proclamation of love but that soft-spoken question.

  I rise and gesture for Oku to follow me into the pavilion. "Oku," I say, kneeling before the pristine white sheet on the mat. "Do you enjoy my poetry?"

  She blinks. "Of course, Lady Komachi. You're the best poet at court."

  I dip a brush into ink. "Can you imagine me doing anything but composing poetry?" I ask, making graceful strokes upon the paper.

  Oku watches my brush dance across the sheet. "No, my lady."

  "Then how can I be anywhere but the palace?"

  I put down the brush and look up at the girl's confused face. "This may sound arrogant, but I've known since I was a child that I have a gift. The gods have blessed me with a love and talent for poetry. Having been entrusted with this gift, wouldn't it be a sin not to use it to its fullest?"