13: Hidden
The blade came in the dark, as they generally did, and took the Queen completely by surprise. It was, her assassin reflected, not really worth killing her in the first place – she was old enough that time would prove an effective enough knife in the end – but, the assassin supposed, it was the principle of the thing. Monarchs being allowed to die peacefully of old age, sitting at the top of empires built on the corpses of the oppressed, reaping the benefits of a rotting empire. That the oppressed would have the ability to secure the talents of a hidden blade was not something even the most paranoid of monarchs would consider.
Assassinations were for the wealthy. They were for those with power who desired more, and had the means to remove obstacles in the way of that. They were not the tool of the oppressed. The oppressed could crowd the streets, throw their bodies against the grinding security apparatus that protected the interests of the Empire and its capital, but because that selfsame capital was kept from them, and healthy doses of propaganda encouraged infighting, there would never be the ability for any true organization or coordination: certainly not the sort required for the hiring of an assassin.
What the Queen, and all her advisors, and all those in power failed to realize, of course, was that sometimes, assassins were willing to work for free – if the cause was worth it to them. An outbreak of class consciousness among the wielders of the hidden blade was a catastrophic scenario that had never entered their minds. Once the outbreak started, however, it moved quickly.
Unsurprising then, that the blade buried in the Queen’s throat that night became something of a holy relic to its people. The Revolutionary Blade, it came to be called, although in truth the revolution had come after. As for the assassin, she vanished completely – her name was never known, only that she’d been a much-needed hidden blade.