She looks at me for a long second. "Why are you lying to me?”
“You believe I am lying, human?”
“You have never admitted to making a mistake. Not ever. Not even once. You won't even admit to Rath.”
“Excuse me?"
“Rath is obviously your youngest son. You don't acknowledge him at all. You're talking to me the way you don't talk about him. So obviously I’ve been off murdering all over the galaxy in some alien fugue state. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“I see.”
“But I don't remember it. It doesn't seem like me. So, something has been interfering with my memory. Probably Mark. He would have liked control of that kind. I wonder how many alien things he used on me…”
I am still trying to digest the fact that she seems to have come to an awareness of Rath’s provenance as my progeny.
“You don't need to know anything more than you already do,” the doctor interjects. "Everything is in your mind, and you can access it whenever you please. If it is hidden, it is because you have decided it is too damaging to your sense of self to remember.”
“I have done things so terrible I wouldn’t recognize myself if I remembered them?”
“Yes.”
She looks around, then smooths her skirt over her knees. “I think I'd like to have a cup of tea. With a slice of lemon. If there’s anything like lemon here.”
“I will get you some tea,” I say. I don’t know why I feel a certain sadness. I suppose I expected this moment to bring us closer together. She’d finally admit who she was, and we would look at one another with real knowledge for the first time. No pretense and no lies.
Ostensibly, this is a happy ending. Krush is back on the throne. Portraits are being made of the golden king with his golden son sitting on his knee. They are quite adorable. The korabi people have forgiven him for launching an airstrike on the palace. It would seem that the ability to produce an adorable infant who looks very much like his grandfather is most convenient when it comes to garnering forgiveness. The humans of Megaris are likewise thrilled with the infant. They believe humanity is now represented in the royal line. They are absolutely misguided, of course, but when are they not? It will make absolutely no material difference to any human in the city that there is a half-human baby in the palace.
Rath has returned to taking a support role, with Tyvian. I am sure they are plotting something or other. I will have to find out eventually, but for the moment I have something more important to deal with. Everything is as perfect as I could have imagined it being. Except for the one thing that matters most:
Margaret.
Margaret, the woman who occupies my home, who cooks in my kitchen, and who pretends on most days that she has no interest in remembering or knowing how she truly came to be here in Megaris. We cannot exist forever in this cozy stalemate. Things must come to a head with her and me, as they came to a head for Krush and Megaris.
“Where’s my tea?”
Her face falls when I return without her beverage. I wanted to leave her in blissful un-memory, but I cannot.
"What are you doing?”
She is suspicious of me. She has good reason to be.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“That’s not like you. You never change your mind. About anything.”
“I told the doctor to make you forget what you just confessed. I thought it would be better for you, and for me. But forgetting is a false luxury, Margaret. I think you need to know. I think I need to know.”
For the last few weeks, she has done little other than bake, cook, and clean. It is as though she is trying to make up for lost time, or perhaps trying to turn herself back into the perfect little housewife she used to be. Those days are long over now, if they ever existed at all.
“I’m going to use the drug on you again, the memory drug. I think there is more locked away inside you.”
Her eyes widen with sudden surprise. “Where’s the doctor?"
“We don't need him for this. This is very simple. I am going to unlock the memories you have been trying to hide, and I am going to leave you open.”
“What!? Why? No!”
“I am doing this because I want to be with all of you, not just the parts you have been led to believe are acceptable. I want you to know yourself as I know you.”
“Tusk, get that needle away from me.”
“Stay down, Margaret.”
“Tusk…”
I approach one step more and she rises from her seat in a concert of careful coordination, limbs flowing and spinning.
Her motions are fluid and elegant, not to mention trained and drilled. This is the creature I saw attack at Krush’s choosing ceremony. There is no doubt about it.