Abarak 12

The emperor couldn't get used to his pet. For months, the boy had followed him around, always there, always silent. He hadn't had a moment of solitude. He hadn't been able to name it, not a single name he could come up with seemed fit. The court had grown to refer to it as "The Emperor's Dog" or "The Emperor's Shadow" or something equally garish. The beast itself didn't seem to care at all. It didn't seem to care about anything. It didn't speak unless spoken to, and hardly at that. And that silence was not submissive, nor was it rebellious. The boy simply did not care.

It was always dressed in finest silk, precious stones and metals, hair immaculately oiled and curled. It looked strange on such a hunched, fat thing. He couldn't imagine it dressing deliberately, but neither a slave daring to go near enough to dress it.

It never seemed to sleep. It was awake when he laid down to rest, it was awake when he woke up. Of course he could get rid of it if he wanted to, he could even kill it himself. But the boy was valuable. More than an exotic pet, it was a bodyguard, a weapon. He decided to get used to it. To get used to its penetrating stares, the silent patter of its bare feet. To constantly sensing its presence.
And sometimes he could, for once he could walk in the gardens and forget his shadow, to be free for once. But then something would happen again, something only the boy could have caused. And it would stare blankly before itself, as if lost in thought. It was testing him.


*

Late at night, a white figure sneaked out of the Cardineal house. Harom crawled through the hole in the fence and wondered whether he had anyone he didn't presently owe an apology or explanation to. Life could be so much easier if everything wasn't a crime or a sin from someone's point of view.

He had thought it would be harder to disappear from the house with the boy around, but that did not seem to be the case at all. But still for the past weeks he had been to scared to attempt, because he didn't know the boy - he kept telling himself - an didn't know his routines. The boy either didn't want or comprehend the power he had over him. Harom tried to avoid the realisation that his life might be hanging from a thread of ignorance and lack of curiousity, as he passed two guards on the shady street. His other hope was that none of them would have noticed he'd been gone.
He started seeing more people as he approached the place. Nervous, hooded men and women heading to the same direction. Brethren. They ignored each other, did not join each other walking the same street, were as if without knowing. There was an elaborate system on approaching and entering the house. He entered from a cellar door at the east end. A tall full-elf stopped him.
"Speak."
"Never mind speech where actions are called for."

His hands were shaking as the guard let him pass. No matter how many times he passed, each time he was just as terrified that he'd fail. Say the wrong password. He walked through the long hallway to the large hall, filled with men and half-elves. The discussion was about to begin. He'd personally never talked to anyone there. He'd never dared. So far, he had settled to showing up. A revolution starts somewhere.