The Emperor's Wolf

by J. C. Owens

  Dersai’s lips tilted slightly into a wry grimace as he realized Jaden’s issue. “For now, my wolf, humor me. Just sit. I am too tired to find food for you.”

  Jaden hesitated, then gingerly slid from his master’s lap onto the chair, where he perched uncomfortably.

  Dersai said nothing and did nothing to comfort him. He just slid the platters closer and began serving food onto his own plate. “Take whatever you like, Jaden. Choose your own.”

  Jaden shot a wary look at him and then did as ordered, feeling the unreality of this moment. He could not remember that last time he had sat at a table to eat, much less in the company of his owner. And to be able to choose his own food… Maybe he was dreaming.

  He took a bite and closed his eyes in fervent appreciation as flavor burst over his tongue.

  “Did you get to make use of the exercise room yet?” Dersai’s voice was casual as he filled his plate.

  Jaden looked at him a moment, weighing his response, then nodded. “It felt so good to be able to stretch my muscles again. It will take time, though.” He rubbed at a sore spot on his upper thigh ruefully.

  Dersai gave a little eye roll of understanding between soldiers. No doubt he too had had more than his fair share of aching muscles as he tested himself. They ate in silence then, but it was not an uncomfortable one, more like they had no need to speak. Jaden slowly relaxed as he realized that Dersai was sincere in his desire to have his slave seated comfortably. Once again he found himself wondering about this man.

  What had been wrong when Dersai had entered the room? For brief moments, there had been a hint of that madness Jaden had seen so long ago. There was so very much that Jaden did not know, and the knowledge that unknown things were often dangerous things hovered on the edges of his consciousness.

  Dersai did not take Jaden sexually that night, which was strange in itself. Instead he merely held Jaden possessively close and did not sleep well, often starting awake suddenly with a gasp or a cry swiftly stifled.

  Jaden became more concerned and tried to soothe his master, stroking him reassuringly. Finally, Dersai turned onto his stomach, and Jaden then massaged him firmly, feeling the great tension in Dersai’s finely honed muscles gradually relax.

  Jaden paused then. As he listened to his master’s even breathing, he realized with a sense of great relief that Dersai had finely succumbed to his exhaustion and fallen asleep. Lying beside him with a tired huff, Jaden found himself brushing back the long hair that lay like a cloud of darkness over Dersai’s beautiful face. Curling close, he tried to find the sleep that had been denied him earlier and felt a certain protectiveness he could not understand at all.

  * * *

  That incident seemed to form a new bond between the two men. It was tentative and wary on both sides, but it was there all the same. Dersai took to bringing some of his paperwork into the bedroom so he could speak to Jaden as he worked. They found they had quite a few interests in common. Jaden became more open with Dersai, more able to argue a point without fear of retribution, and Dersai seemed to like that; he seemed to appreciate that Jaden had his own views, his own mind.

  One day, a few words on one of the papers Dersai was reading caught Jaden’s eye. Tension gripped him as he realized that the message brought to Dersai just that morning related to Astoria.

  Dersai must have felt Jaden’s reaction because he leaned back in his chair and watched Jaden’s expression with a certain amount of interest. A silence they both were unwilling to break fell, but Jaden needed to know, needed to understand. Though he did not expect Dersai to tell him anything at all, he had to at least try.

  He waved a hand at the papers. “This is regarding my country.” His voice came out hoarse with feeling.

  Dersai nodded, not even attempting to refute what he held.

  “My people are fighting back?” Jaden could not help a small degree of satisfaction from leaking into his voice.

  Dersai just watched him, a certain reserve coming down over his face as the past seemed to slide between them like a physical force. “They are fighting their own king.”

  Jaden stared at Dersai in confusion. “But you… Tranaden…?”

  Dersai rose to his feet, straightened the papers on his desk, and put several books back onto the ornate shelves. “Tranaden had no desire to conquer. We protected ourselves and attacked the threat. We deposed your king; he was not worthy of leading. His son now leads as Astoria’s king, but that seems to not be enough.”

  Jaden was speechless. There had to be lie somewhere in his words. Tranaden was the enemy to all the countries that lay on the western coast, not just Astoria. To try to proclaim it wanted only peace—

  Dersai turned to look at him. His face was grim, and the muscles of his jaw twitched. Something flickered to life in his eyes that held no warmth at all, only a cold watchfulness. “Tranaden has never done anything but protect her own. Astoria attacked us four years ago, Jaden. Not the other way around. We did what we had to. Your king set it all in motion, not I, not my countrymen, whatever you might have been told. As to the atrocities, do you think Astoria would have done less? Certainly your king would never have gifted us autonomy if he had won.” He turned away and walked to the windows, one hand on the jamb as he stared outside. “I have no further interest in Astoria, yet still they try to attack me, destroy my leadership.”

  His eyes fell upon Jaden. Whatever it was that lay in his eyes was more evident now—sullen and dark, seemingly roused by the talk of war and conflict. Then he blinked, and it was gone once more. “Pray your countrymen learn to leave Tranaden alone, Jaden, or there will be war once more. We will protect our borders in any way necessary, and this time there will be no mercy at all.”

  * * *

  Jaden woke next morning, missing the warmth of Dersai’s body. Last night, his master had not touched him. They had slept with a disturbing distance between them.

  Jaden turned over blearily and watched as Dersai rose silently and disappeared to the washroom. Falling back with a groan of weariness, Jaden pondered the day to come. Something was going to happen today. He felt it, could almost taste it. It had to do with why Dersai had been behaving so oddly lately, and it was nothing good.

  When his master returned, Jaden’s thoughts were confirmed by the grimness on Dersai’s face and his stiff demeanor. He began to dress and then paused and looked up at Jaden.

  “I will have you accompany me today.” The words themselves were potent— strange. But combined with what had happened the night before, Jaden found no excitement in this sudden freedom from the room, only a certain fearfulness.

  Dersai had been so distant the night before. Why this sudden desire for his slave’s company outside? Fear rose that Jaden had shown too much turmoil about Astoria in his words to Dersai the day before. He tried to dismiss the ache within his chest at the distance he felt growing between them.

  Jaden swallowed with difficulty. Was this where he finally encountered the true emperor? The one everyone feared? The one Jaden had seen in action back in Astoria? The one that would turn and treat Jaden as the true slave he was?

  Dersai turned away, half dressed, and went to the double doors that led to the huge room where his clothing hung—uniforms along with more casual outfits. He rummaged through several before finding a shirt and pants, both black. He tossed them to Jaden, along with a belt.

  “See if these fit you.” He turned back to the task of dressing himself. Jaden pulled the clothing on hurriedly and felt relief at being covered properly. He had feared that perhaps he would be paraded naked before the emperor’s court. The pants were a little too long, but he rolled them up appropriately and tucked the shirt in, fastening the cuffs so the sleeves did not hang too far down. He felt a little like a child trying on his father’s clothing. The evidence of the difference in size between Dersai and him was quite obvious, as though he needed any reminding.

  When he was modestly covered, he turned and without prompting began to assist his
master with his complicated uniform. He fastened the ornate buttons on the black jacket, threaded gold braid through fastenings, and smoothed the high collar—black with intricate gold embroidery—into place. Dersai sat to pull tall, over-the-knee black boots over his white pants. His face was smoothed into expressionless neutrality; he accepted Jaden’s help with silent aplomb.

  Jaden did not speak either. It didn’t seem like the time. Therefore he was surprised when his master snapped his fingers as though remembering something. He went back into the clothes room and returned with a pair of well-worn boots, smaller than his own, and a pair of soft socks. He had Jaden sit, and leaned down to unfasten the metal cuffs from Jaden’s ankles to free Jaden’s legs for the boots.

  “Wear these. My father made them for me, and I never had the heart to dispose of them, though I grew out of them long ago.” Dersai’s tone held no particular inflection, but Jaden could not believe the offer.

  “I…am honored, Master, but—”

  Dersai turned away abruptly, his boots sounding loud on the marble floor. “I wish you to wear them.” His words held no compromise. Jaden swallowed his objections, wondering bitterly if this would provide an excuse for the emperor to finally discard the boots after a slave had touched his filthy feet to them. He shook off the introspection. Now was not the time. He pulled on the socks and boots, and they fit perfectly. He had never worn such a fine pair. They might be aged, but their quality was evident.

  Jaden stood up, feeling more himself with the addition of clothing and footwear. The absence of the ankle restraints felt a little odd, but to be free of them… Dersai hadn’t chained him after the first week, indicating a certain trust, so perhaps this was part of it. Or perhaps he would simply put them back on when they returned to the room. Jaden felt a pang when his thoughts turned to his hope of escape, something that would certainly break that trust forever.

  Dersai came to stand before him and straightened the collar of Jaden’s shirt almost absently. His dark eyes trained on Jaden’s. “You will follow me to the throne room and stand behind me with my guards.”

  Jaden nodded and waited for further instructions, but there were none. He was not to be told of what this all meant, then. His master turned away, pulling on his formal gloves. His lips were drawn so tight that they looked almost bloodless. He drew a deep breath then, as though preparing for something, and gestured to Jaden to follow him out the double doors.

  The emperor’s elite guards standing in the hall saluted Dersai and fell into formation behind him, leaving Jaden safely enclosed between the two forces. People passed by in the great hallways, so Jaden tried not to gawk at things. He had only ever been in the servant’s quarters, never in the main part of the palace, apart from that first day. His impressions of that time were blurry indeed.

  There was muted splendor everywhere. Nothing too ornate, but all of it screamed luxury, money, and power. No one lived like this unless they were powerful.

  They paused into one of the massive galleries where many people had gathered. Several came forward to speak to the emperor, bowing deeply. Jaden stood silently behind him, watching and listening with the elite guards looming behind him, wondering again why he was there at all. He glanced around, then noticed immense paintings on the wall. After staring at them for a few moments, he realized they were portraits of previous emperors. Dersai’s ancestors? And a grim lot they were. There was not a smile to be seen amongst them, and their eyes were intense and hooded, with a hint of darkness in their depths.

  Jaden shivered. His moved his gaze to the end of the royal portraits, and there, like a beacon, was a portrait of a young man—very young, perhaps fourteen or so. The light of life shone from him, bright and fierce. His eyes were clear and with a sense of humor in them. This portrait’s contrast to the other paintings was startling, disturbing almost.

  Jaden’s gaze traced those features, realizing with a sense of disbelief that this was a portrait of Dersai. There could be no mistaking those features, not when Jaden had touched them, knew them now perhaps almost as well as his own. He glanced back to his master and felt a sadness well up within him. How had that beautiful boy turned into the care-worn man Jaden held in his arms each night? Were the burdens of being emperor that heavy?

  With a last look at that portrait, Jaden followed as his master began to wend his way through the crowd, pausing here and there to speak for a moment but then continuing with a certain determination.

  There was obviously something that needed to be done. The great doors before them began to open as the palace guards saw their emperor approaching. Jaden drew in a deep breath as they passed through them and into the throne room.

  Here was opulence designed to impress. The floor was golden marble—rare in the extreme—interspersed with black mosaics. At one end was the throne, which was intricately carved black wood with gold inlay; it rose above the floor on a dais of blackest marble. To the rear, behind the throne, rose banners in profusion, but most prominent was a massive floor-to-ceiling one, black with a golden wolf in midleap, jaws wide. Beautiful golden embroidery edged it, and a huge jewel formed the wolf’s eye, which looked real enough to blink.

  Murals and paintings ringed the whole room, and from a brief glimpse, Jaden could only surmise they were of past battles and events of Tranaden. With a deep bitterness, he wondered whether there was one portraying the fall of his own lands under the might of the Tranaden army. He managed to school his expression as his master moved with purposeful stride to the throne, Jaden and the elites close behind him.

  The emperor seated himself in the massive throne with the ease of familiarity and watched as his nobility began to file in. Jaden stood at parade rest behind Dersai’s right shoulder, watching it all. The guards ringed around both him and the emperor, making Jaden feel somewhat hemmed in, but the men had indicated no surprise or displeasure at his presence, so he guessed he could trust them at his back.

  As he watched the nobles, Jaden soon discerned that they were nervous and uncomfortable, as though they knew what was going to happen. Strangely enough, though, when they looked at their emperor, they did not seem to fear him. Indeed several looked sympathetic; a few even looked away with what appeared to be tears in their eyes.

  Jaden could not understand this. This man was the most feared entity in the known world. Would his people not know this more than anyone? Perhaps the kindness he had seen in Dersai these last weeks was the true soul of the emperor. If so, where was the tyrant, the killer he had encountered in Astoria? These people seemed to know, and Jaden resolved to question others when he could.

  Silence fell then, which was impressive with so many people in attendance. All eyes were fixed on the emperor. His Imperial Majesty waved a hand, and a door to the side of the massive throne room swung open. Four men escorted by guards were brought through. Each of the men was chained and gagged, and they looked to be in rough shape, perhaps beaten.

  Jaden’s mind balked. His heart began to tell him where this was leading, and he wanted to deny it. Surely not… The prisoners were brought before the throne and forced to kneel. The guards then forced their heads back by their hair so they could do little else but look up at the emperor. Three of the men seemed to be thirty or so years old; the other prisoner was quite young. Seventeen perhaps? It was hard to tell. The young one seemed much more terrified than the others, who stared up at their captor with stony defiance.

  For his part, the emperor watched with calm interest; his silence and hooded stare made him look far too much like the wolf his banner portrayed. When at last he spoke, his voice was quiet, though easy to hear in the stark silence of the hall.

  “You have come into my country, killed two of my guards, and tried to attack my royal person. I think you are well aware of the penalty for this.”

  One of the men tried to spit through his gag, his eyes raging.

  The emperor was still for long moments; then he leaned forward, and people began to shift backward as though they s
aw something rising within him. The prisoners froze, their expressions betraying their rising fear. Jaden knew then that whatever inhumanness he had seen in the emperor’s eyes in the past was back.

  The emperor rose with lazy grace, drew his gloves off with slow precise movements, and dropped to them to the floor before he descended the stairs of the dais like the predator he was.

  “You do not come into the lair of the wolf and expect to live.” He let his hand stroke through the boy’s blond hair, petting him in the same fashion as he often stroked Jaden’s hair.

  Jaden shivered.

  The boy cringed away, terrified gaze locked on his captor. The emperor merely smiled and stepped away, moving through the men, stopping to capture each man’s chin and force him to meet the emperor’s dark gaze. Each man was defiant for a moment; then it seemed as though they saw for themselves what lay within the emperor. Then they went pale indeed.

  When the emperor turned Jaden’s way, Jaden searched those eyes and shuddered. Now he could see what had terrified everyone else. Once again reviving Jaden’s pained memories, there was a beast there, something without mercy or compassion; it was awake and stirring, sensing prey. And it owned Jaden. He realized then that he had as much to fear as the prisoners.

  The emperor gestured to one of his guards, and the guard brought forth a sword. The hiss as he drew it from its scabbard was loud and ominous in the silence. The brilliance of the steel reflected in the light, and several people shivered in response.

  The emperor held the blade lovingly in his hands, turning it over and over, letting the prisoners take a good look at it. He let it cut his thumb, then licked the blood away with long, slow sweeps of his tongue.

  He paused. Time itself seemed to pause; then with a backward slash of his arm, the emperor beheaded the first man so swiftly that no one could even react before the head rolled onto the floor, its expression forever frozen in the same angry fear its owner had worn moments before. The body toppled sideways, and several people in the crowd gave small choked cries, several almost retching; however, Jaden noted, most seemed, if not injured, practiced at viewing this. Which indicated that this was not the first time something like this had occurred.