I, Dacien

A Story By Onyx Tao

Copyright Onyx Tao 2020

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Chapter Thirty-Three:

Reverie for an Unaccompanied Xerxes

The thought of selling himself had never even crossed Xerxes' mind when an ebon appeared in his study with that offer. My master will pay off your debts. Restore Dellios' portion of the inheritance. All you need do is ...

Give up.

Surrender.

Accept that he was not a successful financier, and would never be one. That he could never be one. That even if he had managed, he still have no pleasure in that success. Even if were he to restore what his fathers had built, and their fathers, and theirs, he would still be...empty. He struggled, but not for himself. Only the acid guilt of squandering not only his inheritance, but that of Dellios and Iudas as well kept him trying to recover.

And failing, falling ever deeper into debt, watching his liabilities grow like some malicious anti-cash crop.

If it would free him (and Iudas, and Dellios) from his debts, than he literally had much, much less than nothing to lose.

Xerxes had said yes.

He'd thought saying yes would have been like getting a lifeline thrown to him, but that was not the effect. Instead, it had numbed him, let him walk through the next three days, no longer caring that he was about to disappear beneath a maelstrom of his own creation. Xerxes had barely even cared that he was no longer dragging Iudas and Del with him, but even that concern, little as he could muster for it, kept him moving. Only he would sink; free of the weight of Xerxes' ineptitude, his brother and cousin could rise. The guilt that had been eating him like a starving hagfish coiled in his guts quieted. That, and nothing more, but for Xerxes, even that was enough.

The slave dealer, Leonatus, had expected him when he showed up, as secretly and quietly as he could, and showed him the documents. The debts had already been purchased, all transferred, everything sealed and filed, the debts now existing as a sheaf of parchment, millions of suns, all owed, by Xerxes, to bearer. Another three documents, detailing funds that would, over the next decade, become available to Iudas and Dellios. Not all at once; he didn't want them to make the mistakes he, Xerxes, had.

He delivered the documents to his bankers, to be opened and acted upon the next morning, and then returned to Leonatus, and signed the paper. Xerxes Leviathan ceased to exist. He might, for convenience, think of himself as Xerxes, but that name was now no more his than the clouds that drifted over the stars. He was simply a bull, formerly of Leviathan. He didn't know what he had expected that to feel like, but it didn't feel like anything. If nothing had a feel, perhaps this was that feeling.

Leonatus had told him, "Someone will be here shortly. Wait here. And...goodbye." The slaver took a deep breath. "I think this is the right decision for you."

"There is no help for it now," the bull had replied. Signing himself away, if anything, had merely deepened his apathy.

"Who knows?" Leonatus had said, and slipped through a door with the document, the door closing - and locking - with an audible clack.

And then, the ebon who had first approached him was present - perhaps had been present all along, deep in one of the advanced tempus disciplines the bull had once tried - and failed - to master. The ebon wasted no words on the ex-Leviathan bull, simply gesturing for him to follow. had gestured, and he had.

The ebon whisked him into a waiting cart, on a bed of straw. A rough and tattered blanket of jute secured both straw and minotaur, and the cart bumped and jolted off on its journey - to where, the bull did not know. A thousand ships, ports, quays, wharves danced through his mind, each one stinging as it burst into his head, the jolt of pain fading seamlessly into the next image. The bull pressed his eyes together more tightly, forced himself to concentrate on his heartbeat, until the cacophony settled into a single ship, at a single quay, as the cart arrived at its destination on Leviathan Wharf. A rattling trip up a steep gangplank, and then a dash into a tiny cabin he'd never seen before and knew like he knew his own hands. He tried to relax, tried to let the future go, let the past stop pulling him...relax, breathe, relax, he thought.

Not too relaxed, though. He could sense the next few moments. If he had wanted, he could easily drop into a fugue state where everything...just happened. He did what he did because that was what he had done, a puppet watching a script that would play out regardless of his intent or desire. He had spent one interminable, horrible, miserable week in fugue before he'd dropped out of it from sheer exhaustion. Xerxes had just watched the moment of his collapse rush up at him like a blanket of oblivion, and there was nothing he could do to avoid it, stop it, or even hasten it. It happened when it happened when it happened when it happened when...He shook his head, letting the physical sensations of movement snap that unhelpful loop of thoughts, turning aside from its seductive whisper of simplicity.

He hadn't had much time to observe the ship - a cargo galleon, he thought - although once down a steep ladder, the ebon pulled him into a cabin, and shut the door behind him. Without looking, he knew the tiny cabin. Two chairs, a desk, two windows - portholes, he thought - both with rough gauze curtain fastened over them. The ebon stacked the chairs onto the wall, and then showed how the bed pulled down, and how the other cleverly secured appointments - a shelf, a small desk, and even a chamber pot, were stowed. "I don't anticipate a rough passage," the ebon said, the first words he'd spoken to the bull the entire evening.

More possibilities stomped through his head. Storms, delays, a swift passage, a giant wave battering the ship, some unknowable length of time becalmed at sea..."What do you expect?" the bull asked, more to try to push back on the variant futures than from any desire to know.

"Varies," the ebon said with a sigh. "Depends on wind, current, the season...Captain thinks about seven days. Which could be as few as five, or as many as ten, depending." The answer didn't help him, but resolutely counting heartbeats did, although ghostly storms haunted his vision the entire trip.

The voyage had turned out to be six days, and, contrary to the bull's expectations, the weather was fair all the way there. He wondered idly just how deep the sea was, but when he inquired, the ebon shrugged off the question. "Over our heads, and that's enough." Meals were water, barley porridge with dried apples and berries, and fish. The bull ate what the ebon offered, and spent the days examining the books: the ten volumes of Plants of the East and West, a fairly complete botanical reference, interspersed with three books on fish, and one on seaweed. He'd read - or at least seen - the Plants of the East and West, but some of the marginalia were mildly interesting. By the time they had reached port, he'd started in on Common Seaweeds of the Western Oceans, discovering that it was every bit as dull as he'd expected. The illustrations were attractive, though. Long, almost gelatinous green leaves veined with lighter color, tipped with air-filled bladders that lifted them toward the diffuse light from the surface.

Port, he who had once been Xerxes realized, meant Mosura Port. The same precautions of secrecy prevailed: he left the ship hours after it had docked, at night, during a lull in the unloading. He disappeared into a covered wagon, into a small nook behind crates of vegetables with at least one crate of ginger roots. The ginger mixed with the less aggressive produce to give the cart a pleasant scent, spicy and earthy at the same time. Without any way to see outside, he had no idea how fast they were moving, nor any sense of direction. From time to time, Xerxes would catch conversations when they went past a city, and he felt the strange but unmistakable frisson that marked a border four times. But that told him nothing, and although he spoke Nipponese, Xerxes lacked the fluency to understand the snippets that he heard. Words. Ginger, usually, along with lotus root, and words he remembered, even if he didn't remember what they meant. He suspected they referred to the other vegetables. One of them, he thought, meant artichoke.

Undoubtedly, his Nipponese would improve. And his new master might well speak Greek.

The journey through the Nippon clan lands took about four days, and at its end, he was again hustled through doors, gates, passages...and then a long, long tunnel up into a small suite of rooms.

And his new Master, an indigo bull who proved...much kinder than Xerxes had expected. More understanding. Certainly more knowledgeable. An hour of conversation with his Master told him more than he had ever known about prescience, and how it worked. And how, sometimes, it was so powerful it could not be controlled. And how an out-of-control prescience could destroy a bull unfortunate enough to develop it so strongly. How that out-of-control talent had destroyed Xerxes. How such a powerful talent could brought back under control.

Xerxes rediscovered an odd, fragile sense of well-being. That maybe there was a path out of the hell he'd fallen into. They started off with the familiar tempus meditation and concentration techniques. Started. His Master knew a great many more meditation and calming exercises - some tempus related, other less obviously so, and they helped. Not enough, but they helped.

Prescience could be treated with medicines, to dull it, or sharpen it, and they experimented with those, as well, but they were less helpful, and made Xerxes (for so his Master chose to call him) feel unsteady. The most useful technique was a simple blindfold. It wasn't a complete solution, but the blindfold, in conjunction with the meditation techniques, provided the closest thing Xerxes had yet found to calm. Simply having someone understand what was happening, and explain it to him so he could understand...that, that alone, that itself was a relief beyond any he'd every expected.

Xerxes had taken nearly two weeks to realize he was in a remote wing of the Imperial Palace itself - some quiet backwater known simply as the Verdant Jasmine Palace; all the security of the Imperial Palace, and none of the bustle of the adminstrative wings.

Xerxes had knew that the Emperor of Nippon, the Venerated Grand Lord and Most Puissant Font of Honor lived in a huge palace, in the Imperial Lands. That the 'palace' was actually a complex of several palaces laid out in a complicated interlocking spiral of buildings, gardens, and bridges over six rivers and two mountains, was something he'd been less aware of. Even now, Xerxes could name the Six Fortunate Rivers (Joy, Strength, Truth, Health, Peace and Prosperity) and the Two Sacred Mountains (Integrity Peak and Mount Defiance) as glibly as any native Nipponese. That he couldn't tell quite which river was which, nor recall if the Integrity Peak loomed slightly higher then Mount Defiance, or if it were the other way round did not concern him.

He still couldn't name all the palaces, lodges, estates, outbarracks, or the tiny towns that had grown - cautiously - in the Imperial Lands. He most certainly hadn't even known that the Emperor lived in the Verdant Jasmine Palace, or that the remainder of the Imperial Family lodged in the adjacent (and larger) Fragrant Peach Hall.

His Master had expected Xerxes could bring his overwhelming prescience under control with combination of drugs, meditation techniques, and a blindfold. A month of trial, however, convinced them both otherwise. That had been...an unpleasant conversation. Xerxes could still remember it, almost word for word.

"I am sorry, Xerxes. Your prescience is too strong," his master had said. "Your mind interprets the world around it through the senses, but it has only those senses. In your particular case, your prescience is so strong that it actually disrupts your other senses. Headaches, I know you have. But...I think I need to ask some other questions. You are sensitive to hot and cold, yes? When you bathe, you need the water at body temperature, is that right?"

"Yes, Master", he'd said, surprised.

"I noticed that you wore exceptionally fine cotton when you arrive, and your clothes now are silk. But, even before...before this, you could not tolerate cloth rougher than, oh, a fine satin, is that right?

All Xerxes could do was admit that was so.

"The Verdant Jasmine Palace is...quiet, I know. Let me ask - you do not care for loud noises. Thunder, many conversations at once, perhaps even singing. Are those...distracting, upsetting, or...disruptive of your thoughts? Do they seem to ... assault, or batter, or even chase you?"

"Not...now, but before...yes. Yes they did."

"Taste and smell can be affected. Food. Spiced, strong herbs, or blander? Scents. How do you like them?"

"I like...a little spice, but, perhaps, not so much as...others. Before. Mild scents. The night-blooming jasmine is sometimes a little strong."

His Master paused at that. "I...well. I will have the staff shut the windows against it, and move your quarters farther away. You must let me know if it continues to trouble you - and if you can notice it, it troubles you. You will obey me in this."

"Yes, Master."

"I already know strong light makes your headaches worse. What of many colors, vast landscapes - does that cause you distress? Vertigo? Tiredness?

"Vertigo, Master on great heights", he'd said. "Yes, Master. Clashing colors...they can be hard to look at."

"I ought to have asked these things earlier. You could not know their meaning. I had so hoped to control them without...I suspected many of these things, when I offered to pay your debts off, all this would be so. I had not thought you would suffer all these things, but...that you do, means your prescience is enormously powerful. The intrusion of your prescience through your senses means your body perceives itself as unwell. In other cases, similar to yours, what we have done has brought the matter under control. In most such. There are still steps to take, but they are drastic.

"Yours is a talent of unusual power and breadth", his Master had said. "And so much stronger than I expected. I am sorry - I am deeply sorry. But we can go further, if that seems good to you."

"That seems very good to me, Master. May I ask what remains that we have not tried?"

"Two things. Both drastic. One is unconscionable, the other horrific.

"That does not sound promising, Master."

"I would put to death anyone who knowingly took the first route. I might order the death of anyone who even knew of it. It is a...perversion and corruption that has done more damage, led to more death and bloodshed than I care to recount. The only purpose to retain that knowledge is to recognize its abuse."

Xerxes had considered that carefully, both the implied threat, and the interesting fact that his Master, whoever he was, clearly held the power of high justice in Nippon. Nor would his Master hesitate to use it, if he felt it right. But that was not his concern - thankfully. His Master already held the power of life and death over him. "Then I suppose you recommend the second, Master? Why even mention that which is forbidden?"

"You must know. It is needful that you know there is another path, it is not needful - yet - that you know what that is. I hope it never is. Some knowledge is simply a burden to carry, and you, my dear, already stagger under your load. I would not add to that carelessly."

"Master?" He had asked.

"You have not determined whom you serve, then? I had thought you might have. What do you know of your Master, Xerxes?"

"You are kinder than I had expected Master," Xerxes said diffidently. "There are other things - you control significant wealth, and prize your privacy. You have responsibilities that demand your time. You have kept me apart from your guards - I am not sure they even know I am here. Of them, I know only that they are of a Nipponese clan, and keep the oldest tradition - ebon and pristine, only, and in equal measure. Leviathan has, from time to time, Grand Judicars - appointed by the Lord of Leviathan, and answerable only to him. My thought, Master, is that you hold a similar position. Perhaps an ambassador, dealing in matters of statecraft that...are not usually discussed. Not the Patriarch, I think. A brother, father, or uncle - an uncle, if I had to choose one. But I have never heard a name, only terms of respect, so I do not know who, or which. If I knew which clan, I would know, but it has never come up in conversation, nor have your humans ever spoken of such."

"You have not asked."

"No, Master. I thought about it...I am sure it matters, Master, but...it does not matter to me."

"I had not thought of that way, but that is...undeniably true." His Master had been silent then, for a long time. "You do not fear me, you seem content to serve...are you so?

"Yes, Master I am. I was...displeased with myself at first, that I had brought myself to ruin - but I brought myself to ruin. You rescued me from terrible situation in the only way you could, rather than taking advantage of my debts For that alone, Master, I am grateful. I am astounded at your care of me, Master. I had never known why my prescience was so...self-destructive. Or even that it was self-destructive. So clear, and so wrong, at the same time. If I had known...or guessed...but I never thought to question it."

"Why should you?, his Master had replied. "Much of what I know is what I consider forbidden lore, secrets that would harm if they were widely known. I share as little as I can with you, in part from care, in part because some things nobody should have to know, but you deserve to know what I am doing, and why.

Xerxes had knelt, then, and lowered himself into full prostration. "I have surrendered such responsibilities to you, Master. Tell me as much or as little as pleases you, and I am content with your decision, will obey your commands and follow your desires as best I can."

"Rise. I think I have withheld my identity because it is so much a part of who I am to everyone...even my humans look on me and see...something you do not. Not yet. You are the only bull I can simply be myself with. I am not even sure I know who I am, when I am not...that."

Xerxes looked up from the floor. "Master, if I have that to offer you - I offer it."

"Thank you, Xerxes. However, I do need to tame your power, and I need to make use of it. And to understand why I need that, and fulfill that...you will need to know. And choose. The next step is horrific, I said, and I will not command it. I will not even ask it. But once you have mastered your power - which I will tell you is properly termed oraculus - you cannot be of use and ignorant."

"That sounds severe, Master."

"An understatement, my dear. You will lose your power of tempus, his Master continued. And you will be blind. I will repurpose your connection to time to support your prescience, instead, and you will see - everything. Anything. You will see deeper into the temporal flows, even as you lose any ability to influence them. The blinding will be painful. I cannot ask a mage to do it, because the mage would ask questions I will not permit asked - not even in the sworn silence of a mage I trust. Nobody must know this is possible, that tempus can be...altered to embrace prescience. It skitters across too many other terrible things. My predecessors worked hard to cage that secret, and I...will...not...risk...that." The last five words came out with an utter finality that made Xerxes wonder at the certainty in his Master's voice.

"Master?"

"The best method is to use a hot iron to burn our your eyes. Cauterization will slow healing, but not prevent it. Your eyes will regrow - and they will have to be burned out again, before they fully heal. I...suspect having it done the second time is even worse than than having it done once."

"That...that is truly the best thing, Master."

"Yes", his master had said. "I promise that this will bring your prescience under your control, and that the nightmares and daymares and sicknesses and discomforts which have accompanied it will trouble you no more."

Put that way, Xerxes thought, it was...maybe it was the right step.

"Do not answer me yet. As your Master I could simply command it - but I am not going to do so. I offer it. It will bring your power under control, absolutely. And it will serve me, I will not pretend otherwise, as I have need of an oraculus adept - an oracle. I will not discuss this again, nor for...seven days. After that, if you have questions, I will hear them. If you desire to reopen this conversation, you may do so after that time has passed. The drugs have failed us; there will be no more. I...offer...you the choice of whether and when to wear the blindfold. Wearing it at all times will be better than taking it on and off, but you may wish to determine that for yourself. Is all this clear, my Xerxes?"

"Yes, Master. I will comply."

"I had so wanted the drugs to work...I am sorry they failed, Xerxes. Deeply."

It had been a horrible decision, but ultimately, Xerxes had understood why his Master had had him make it. It would have been difficult - perhaps impossible - for Xerxes not to resent being blinded. This way...he knew, truly knew, his Master had been right to offer, and Xerxes had been right to accept.

It had been in the second month after he'd blinded himself, that he realized that, however lofty Xerxes had thought his Master, he had undershot the mark. While he recovered, his Master had kept him close - and that had meant he could hear the discussions. His Master might instruct him to ignore them, but both Xerxes and his Master knew that could only go so far.

His Master was none other than Emperor Oto himself. And after that, much became clear to him. The Imperial Army had an elite force hidden within it - the Imperial Guard. This wasn't a great secret, but the Army and Guard went to some lengths to obscure what responsibilities accrued to which section. That the Imperial Guard itself had divisions - a brigade for each Prince, and two for the Imperial Heir - was a more closely kept secret, and only a few outside the Imperial Guard knew that. That the Imperial Guard was not the guarantor of the Emperor's personal safety was a secret more tightly kept still.

The Emperor's personal safety and attendants came from The Emperor's Own. They wore Imperial Guard uniforms, and insignia, and aside from a small purple medallion of a bull's left hand carried in an inner pocket, the Emperor's Own looked exactly like the Imperial Guard. Only after a few years might a bull of the Guard notice that some bulls rotated on duty through all of the divisions - and others did not. And that some bulls, who looked exactly like any other Imperial Guard, from privates up to colonels, commanded the focused attention of any senior Guard officer they addressed. The Emperor's Own recruited almost exclusively from those alert bulls who noticed, and inquired into it with sufficient discretion. The Emperor's Own, too, had divisions, but these were more functional. The Emperor's Unblinking Eyes served as intelligencers; the Emperor's Swift Feet as couriers, the Emperor's Strong Arm as the bulls who stood next to him, and the Emperor's Long-Reaching Hands as his agents.

Xerxes had been utterly unaware of any of these details for several weeks until he recognized the voice of the ebon who had negotiated his purchase from Leonatus. Then, and only then, did all the little details start collecting into the full picture, that his acquisition had not been for some Imperial Minister, but for the Emperor himself. The ebon who had collected him, Gozreh Kamehameka Z?, was the Emperor's Long-Reaching Hand.

Xerxes knew, then, that others saw his Master as Oto Hideyoshi, the Emperor of Nippon.

It changed nothing.

Xerxes was a slave; he had a Master, and that was all he needed to know. He might have learned a little more, here and there, and that might have helped in the context of oraculus to understand what to look for, and what his visions might mean, but it changed nothing between him and his Master. How could it? His only duty was to obey. His only concern was pleasing his Master. Today, that meant watching the unfolding events in Leviathan, and cursing softly as the Iudas' and Dellios' shadows fell over his sight; a thorny sort of darkness that hurt even as he peered into it.

"Xerxes?" a deep voice startled him. "What are doing? You're bleeding." Again, said the hint of disapproval.

Xerxes turned his head toward the voice. "Attempting to see, but ..."

"You cannot see through blood," his Master said. "And I have asked you not to try."

"So you have," Xerxes answered, in a tone ill-suited to that of a slave addressing the Emperor of Nippon, or, more importantly, a slave addressing his Master. "Something critical has happened, but I cannot see it clearly."

"I grant the inconvenience, but even true omniscience would have its own set of inconveniences, and undoubtedly be no less frustrating."

"Master, my brother may find me."

That provoked a reaction, a pause rather than an outburst. The Emperor considered that for a long, long moment, before he asked, with nothing other than curiosity, "How did he manage that? I thought we had blocked all those paths."

"I don't know," Xerxes said, his frustration evident in his voice. "I can barely see anything in Iudas' shadow. I'm not even sure it's him - it could be Dellios'. All I can tell you is that one of the Alexanders is dead, or will die - Xavien or Wolachya - but I can't tell which. Or even if it has happened yet. Not until my kin moves out of relevance."

"And you are concerned for them. Of course. You don't imagine that I think less of you for that." A frown creased the Emperor's muzzle. "Do you?" He breathed out a deep sigh. "You do, don't you."

"I am supposed to keep my feelings out of it."

"Xerxes, you are too hard on yourself. You see nearly everything I need. It's just been luck -" and Xerxes felt a hint of warmth from the Emperor's body as he sat down on the bench "- that it hasn't come up before. There are limits to what an oracle can do, what anyone can do. You have simply reached yours."

"But ..."

"I know. I believe you, I believe the troubles you foresee, and I have sent Lyo Kelvin and Noroma Newton to prevent it," the Emperor said gently. "Lyo is new to mandamus, but Noro is adept. Between them, they should be able to avert disaster. We have done what we can, for them." Hidiyushi Oto lifted his hand to Xerxes' face, gently tugged at the now-bloody bandages covering Xerxes' eyes. "You have reopened your wounds, Xer."

"I know," Xerxes whispered.

"Spade, fetch me the basin and a clean set of bandages," the Emperor said softly, to a personal slave hovering at the edge of the garden. "And a sleeping draught."

"Master, I can see around the edges, I ..."

"Once the wounds open, your sight is not reliable," the Emperor cut him off. "You see too much, and it only makes it worse. I will rebandage you, and you will sleep. Consider it a command."

"I will obey," Xerxes said. "Of course. But this is a fuss over nothing, Master."

"But it is my nothing to fuss over," the Emperor said quietly, carefully daubing at the matted blood and hair with a moistened cloth, wiping it up and off the red-streaked pelt. "Stay still, Xerxes. The skin...it's dry. You are not using enough salve. The blood is setting to the bandages, and sticking, which pulls at the skins as it heals - one of the many things Toroloshi's ointment is for. We are not short of salve."

"Yes, Master" the green minotaur sighed, and he trembled as the Emperor pushed a little harder to wipe the crusted blood from his muzzle. "It just smells ..."

"Forgiveness," murmured the Emperor, but he didn't stop daubing at the other's face until it was clean, if a little damp. Imperial Hands carefully spread a cooling, mint-scent ointment over the freshly-opened scars across the empty eyesockets. "It should be numbing, a little?"

"Yes," whispered Xerxes. "It's all fading away. I can't...I can't...see!"

"Come to bed, Xer," the Emperor said. "There's nothing more to do right now."

"But it's all going away ..." was almost a wail.

"Come," the Emperor said again, carefully tugging Xerxes up from the garden bench. "You don't need to see. I can tell you right now that Xavien Alexander will survive - only Xavien's survival would open a path to find you. Iudas will make the request of Xavien, and Xavien will request it of Teodor, and...Teodor will involve Polychrome." the Emperor said.

"Master? Polychrome? Who?"

"Lycaili's intelligence network. My own agents rate them as very, very good. Better than Leviathan's, or even Ancalagon's. Very secretive. Hard to identify - and even then, hard to confirm. We know, with certainty, of three Polychrome agents. Two of whom...well, suffice to say that after decades of observation, we have still been unable to track their contacts with Polychrome. We know it's there - my agents just can't find it. Regardless. Because of what Iudas had done, Teodor will authorize assistance, probably at Xavien's request. Or perhaps Xavien will command it on his own."

"That ..."

"That is my concern. Lyo and Noro will head it off if they can. Do not fear for your brother, or your cousin." The Emperor straightened up on the bench.

"But I could ..."

"No," the Emperor said, with a sigh. "Xerxes...this is...this is on me, I think."

"Master?"

"Yes," the Emperor said, as if he had just decided something. "That is it exactly. Come," he said, and took Xerxes by the hand, and led him out of the garden, back into their rooms. "This is my fault. I have been lax."

"Master?" Xerxes whispered, as they stepped over the threshold.

"Indulgent," the Emperor said, leading him through the suite. There was a soft click as the Emperor turned the deadbolt on a door, and then a faint whisper as the door opened.

Xerxes had been in the discipline chamber before, of course, but..."Master?"

"Stand in the center of the room," the Emperor directed. "Three steps in. Raise your hands, and grip the restraints."

Xerxes did that, finding the cuffs easily. He'd made them himself, at his Master's direction. Heavy manacles, rough-hammered steel. He'd wrapped the unforgiving steel in thin strips of rubber, and then his Master had him wrap them in a second layer of soft oiled leather. A final layer of black silk velvet, to soften them further. They were meant to be comfortable, the Emperor had said.

They were comfortable, at the same time they were steel. He'd worn them for several months, until the Emperor had decided they were no longer needed. Xerxes had hung them from chains in the discipline chamber at that point, as instructed, and...he had been back, occasionally, using them, like now, as simple holds. Xerxes trembled a little as he heard - felt - his Master walking around the chamber. Opening cabinets, closing them.

He started, as his Master's hands touched his left hand, lifting it firmly off the manacle, fastening it around his wrist. "I can hold ..." he started.

"Shhh," the Emperor said. "I know you can," and did the same to Xerxes' right. "That's not the point. Hold your head still." The cool, mint-scented salve made Xerxes shiver as his Master's hands applied it - thickly, and then wrapped his head with soft gauze. And then, a tightness, the strong smell of oiled leather as the Emperor tied up a fitted hood, tight around his jaw, but looser, much looser, around his nose and eyes.

Xerxes didn't move as his Master added two more manacles, one just above each ankle. Xerxes hadn't made these, but after they had been fastened, he tested them - they felt similar to the one on his wrists, except that...these were attached not to a single point on the floor, but to two, or maybe even three chains, preventing any movement at all.

Something brushed the back of his neck, then. A kiss, he thought.

"Relax," his Master said. There were more sounds, a jar? Bottle? Xerxes drew air into his lungs, thinking to scent whatever his Master had, but all he could smell was the strong mint of the salve. Xerxes knew that was not an accident, and he tried to relax, really he did, he was expecting...yes, the sensation of warm oil stroked just under his tail, and an oiled finger working itself inside of him, deliberately and slowly, in and out, and then...something else, harder, thicker, but cool, a small plug, he thought, and tired to relax, to let it enter, but ...

... it slipped into him, and Xerxes wasn't sure if it was because he'd allowed it, or simply because it had slipped in. It was large, thicker, and seemed to thicken as he adjusted to it, although Xerxes knew that was illusion. A belt, holding the plug in. An oiled hand caressed his shaft as it hardened, but only a fleeting touch, leaving him aching for more.

Another kiss on the back of his neck. Words, too. "Struggle. Free yourself, if you can." Another moment, and Xerxes heard the door click closed - he tested the restraints, finding less than an inch of give. Pulling at the chains attached to the ceiling, trying to grip the chain itself, but...he couldn't reach them, not with his left hand, not with his right - the Emperor had been careful. He tried to pull up a leg, discovered he had no more than a fraction of inch of give on his leg, just above the ankle...both legs. He couldn't kick - he tried, but ...

It just made the plug inside him move. Not unpleasantly, but...not...not the way...Xerxes pulled on the chains again.

Harder. Nothing.

Harder. Nothing. The slack didn't increase, there was nothing except the pressure on his wrists and calf. Very little effort left him hanging a fraction above the floor, and Xerxes let his feet take his weight again, before throwing himself against the restraints, just to see ...

Nothing.

A frenzy then, as Xerxes pulled against the chains, throwing his weight against them, again, and again, and again.

And again.

And again.

Some time later, Xerxes hung there, suspended and exhausted. The room seemed hotter; he seemed hotter. Xerxes clenched himself, trying to expel the plug, but it, like the chains, had only an illusion of slack. He could no more expel it than he could rip the chain from the ceiling, and he knew he wasn't strong enough to dislocate his arm. Or his wrist, to pull the bones apart and let himself slip out of the restraints.

He didn't even know how long he'd been locked in, which...even after so long, still felt strange, not to feel the flow of time, but he'd surrendered that, too, with his sight and the expansion of his sense of prescience. Five minutes? Ten? An hour, two, three? He didn't know.

Long enough for the plug to become, if not comfortable, then at least less irritating, as it forced his muscles to relax around it. He tried, one last time, in an almost desultory way, to pull the chain out, but of course it wouldn't.

Blind, time-blind, and exhausted, he slowly realized he wasn't alone any longer. He wasn't smelling just his own sweat and exhaustion, but another, cleaner, sharper scent. Master.

"Master," Xerxes said.

"I wondered how soon you'd notice me."

"I don't even know how long I've been here, Master."

"About two hours," the Emperor said. "I'm going to ..." and the belt loosened for a moment, and the plug slid out. Xerxes sighed, he'd wanted it out, of course, but at the same time, he felt...empty."

"Good boy," the Emperor said soothingly, and then...a slight pressure, and the plug slid back in, only...no, it wasn't the same one. A bigger one, longer, and as it slid into place, the truce Xerxes' gut had with the first plug stretched along with Xerxes. "Relax, Xerxes," and Xerxes knew the words, however soft, were as much a command as anything else. And of course, between the first plug, the additional oil, the careful but relentless pressure guiding it into him, there was nothing he could do about it, and the belt slipped back into place, holding it in him. And there was still nothing he could do about it.

Nothing.

A soft nuzzle to the back of his neck. "I adore you, Xerxes, I truly do, but you are mine," the Emperor said, and a hand ran down his back. Lovingly? Just testing? Xerxes couldn't tell the difference. A finger traced a line across his back. "Mine," the Emperor repeated.

The line of fire across his back, along the line the finger had just traced, bloomed without any warning save a slight whisper as the cane slid through the air. "Mine, Xerxes," the Emperor repeated, and another blow opened another line on his back, a mere finger lower.

The heavy scent of blood joined the scent of his master. Only a steel cane would do that to a minotaur's tough skin, the pelt would cushion the blow, spread it out - only a steel cane could cut open his back. Xerxes screamed, as much from surprise as pain.

"No," the Emperor said, calmly, and as Xerxes opened his mouth to howl again, a gag slipped in, locked into place in a fraction of a split moment, at the speed of tempus. Stillborn, the howl turned into a muffled grunt.

"You."

Another line, exactly a finger's width below the second one.

"Are."

Xerxes tried - desperately - to avoid the blow, but the chains were every bit as unforgiving now as they had been earlier.

"Mine."

Yet another blow, exactly placed, the width of a single finger below the last one.

Xerxes jerked in his chains.

"You agreed to be mine," his Master continued. "For any number of reasons. Even before we awakened your power, Xerxes, your prescience was too strong to bear."

Another lash, another jolt, and Xerxes sagged in the restraints. He could feel heat trickling down his back - sweat? Blood?

"And none of that matters, not here, not now" - another stroke, the exact same distance below the previous one - "because what matters is that you are mine." Another blow, and the voice softened, slightly, although it lost none of it's assurance. "And because you are mine, I am responsible. Not you. Never you." Another blow, now only a scant handswidth above the cleft of his legs.

"Why is that, Xerxes?"

Xerxes found himself tensed for the next strike, but it didn't come. He managed to make a confused sound, past the gag, that could have been his intended because I am yours to anything at all, and then collapsed, as much as he could, in the chains.

Perhaps his Master guessed correctly. Or perhaps it was his position - bowed, accepting, and no longer resisting. "Good," his Master's voice said. "Very good. You will take five more strokes for me, Xerxes."

Defeated, he nodded, and the cane hissed through the air again. "Count with your fingers, left hand," instructed his Master, and Xerxes did - what else could he do? Index finger. One.

Middle finger, Two.

Ring finger. Three.

Little finger. Four. If only it hurt less ...

"You've done so well, Xerxes," his Master said. "Ask me for last one."

He knew why; knew he had to take that final step, from resisting to accepting to welcoming, but it was hard. But he was a slave. His Master's slave. And he would obey. It came out as the same muddled, incoherent sound as before. He made himself say it, even if nobody could hear it, nobody could understand it, nobody could know what he meant. Please, Master, let me have another. And he added, Thank you, Master, the same meaningless grunts.

The final blow was just a tap as his Master lay the cane, hot, wet, slick, directly across the small of his back. "Good boy, Xerxes. Well done."

That approval, that kindness, the sheer gentleness of his Master's voice and words, would have broken him, if he weren't already broken, hadn't already shattered, sometime over the last few hours. Xerxes wasn't even aware of being released, lost in his own sobs, until he was kneeling on the floor, as his Master rinsed the blood from him with his own water, binding Xerxes to him.

As Xerxes wanted.