He could hear, and I could see.

We had nothing to talk about at first.

Perhaps if I had listened, or been less reckless, we wouldn’t have found ourselves both beneath the ax.

Oh but those nights we spoke together and those letters we shared –

How beautiful they were.

- Unknown date. Patricia of Shreik.

In the cupboard he called a room, Tristan inspected the seams of his breeches. Crisp. Clean. Not a speck of dust or lint to mar the black silk and gold thread of his livery. He tenderly reached for his matching jacket, fingers roaming over the buttons. His greatest treasure, brushed until it glistened. He took his time slipping the jacket on, worshiping the snap of every button sliding into place.

“From the gutters to the palace,” he told himself with no small measure of pride. Today was a very special day. “You’ve earned this, Tristan. You are truly magnificent.”

Using a silk and cotton puff to pat a fine sheen of silver powder on his otherwise black hair, he was satisfied. Not a moment too soon. A sharp rap on his bedroom door alerted Tristan of the hour.

Dawn already? What a shame. He’d hoped to spend just a little more time planning. The door opened, and an ancient man with an overly large nose poked his head into the room.

“Are you ready?” The old man asked, voice crackling like a wave of static.

“Beauty,” Tristan explained, emphasizing each word sharply, “takes time, Leopold.”

“I’m quite sure,” Leopold said in kind, stepping back into the corridor and stiffening his spine. A wonder it could even be stiffer than it already was.

“Come along. He is waiting,” The old man’s dry tone implied that somehow they were already late to being early. A grave sin in Leopold’s books.

Tristan patted his front lapel pocket. The snuff box was there. Good. He could make a fashionable gesture in front of the emperor if necessary. Snuff was in vogue this season. Only the finest of peers used snuff, and the more elaborate the case the better. He’d had his own specially crafted, and anyone else would have cringed at the idea of spending three month’s wages so extravagantly. Not Tristan. To him, fashion was an investment, not an expense.

“Lead the way,” Tristan implored, hastily exiting the room and closing the door behind him with an extravagant flourish of his hand.

Leopold shook his head, not even dignifying Tristan with a withering look, “you are a peacock.”

Tristan sniffed, “when one has such bright feathers, they can not go unappreciated.”

“Yes, well, keep in mind what a delicacy those birds can be,” Leopold warned, grasping an elaborately carved cane and striding forward at a speed anyone who didn’t know the old man might be taken aback by.

Tristan followed, years of experience with Leopold’s pace allowing him to keep up with relatively little effort, “so, it’s true then?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“What’s true?”

“The ball. For the autumn season. I’m finally to become the emperor’s ears?”

“You are,” Leopold agreed, “the apprenticeship is finally over.”

“Thank god I’m not his hands,” Tristan replied snarkily, “the god’s scales know what they must have to do.”

Leopold rounded on Tristan, using the full force of seniority and decades of ill humor to level him with a very stern expression, “don’t think for even a moment that his majesty has a sense of humor. There are plenty of gibbet cages in want of fresh residents dangling from the palace towers.” He turned away from Tristan, moving forward again, “think on that.”

Tristan didn’t visibly pale, but the thought was sobering. To die in a cage as a mere ornament dangling in the wind was a hellish fate.

“May you know the peace of balance, boy,” Leopold blessed him. Funny. It felt more like another warning than a blessing.

They made their way down vast corridors and through doorways, the mazes of the palace almost dizzying at the pace Leopold took them.

“Recite the principles of the emperor’s ears,” Leopold directed, cane snapping at marble tile.

“I’d rather not.”

“Gibbet, Tristan. Starvation. Sunlight and famished crows.”

“The ears must listen,” Tristan began, stifling a yawn, “the ears are seen and unseen. First is the emperor, and then the empire. Balance and patience. Finesse and subtlety.”

“Go on,” Leopold urged, “finish.”

Tristan had the good manners not to utter a petulant huff, despite his instinctual urge to do so. He met Leopold’s eyes, “the ears must ensure that treason is never spoken twice. For the empire, root out all who dare speak against the rule of law. Friends do not exist for the emperor’s ears, for they are no longer human. These are the principles we must follow.”

Leopold nodded, tapping his cane on the ground, “good. Good. I see these years of training haven’t entirely been without purpose.”

They had come to a grand set of double doors, elaborately gilded with images of all manners of creatures and battles. To some it might be beautifully gruesome, but to Tristan these were the doors to paradise. The moment he stepped through them, he would no longer be an apprentice to a retired servant, but one of the most important people in the empire. Someone to be respected and admired, if others could only know that he even existed. Too bad that would defeat the point of his role.

“Tristan,” Leopold turned to the young man, a solemn look smoothing his features, “from here you are no longer to speak with me. Nor anyone without rank. You will have no name but what is given you in that hour by the emperor himself, and no will but his. You must not fail.”

The young man’s lips twitched, “I mean, yes. Of course. No one can know that we are friends.”

“No. We aren’t,” Leopold clarified with force, summoning forth the strength of his younger days and placing a firm hand on Tristan’s shoulder, “we will never speak again, my boy. I found you in the gutter without a family, raised you, and gave you the sacred knowledge you carry with you now. Make good use of it. Live the noble life you have been given.”

“Leopold,” Tristan whispered, “no one will know if we write or - - or if I visit your rooms for a round of cards every now and again. It isn’t that bad, is it?”

The old man shook his head, “never again. We do not know each other. We never have. You have no past. Only a very bright future..” With that he drew his hand from Tristan’s shoulder and nodded towards the doors, “they’re not as heavy as they look. Go on. Go through. You won’t regret it.”

Tristan pulled back, unable to find the sting of Leopold’s words. He’d always been told these things, but to actually on the day hear them again from the old man’s mouth - - it hurt. A fear like he hadn’t felt since he was a child in the streets pinched at his heart and eyes.

“I don’t have anyone else, Leo. Please,” he was panicking now. “Don’t.” Tristan’s bravado and vanity disappeared for an instant, revealing the terrified young man underneath.

Leopold shook his head and turned his back on Tristan, clicking his cane on the marble tile and slowly walking away. The energy to keep up his smart pace had left him. Soon, it left Tristan too.

The young man looked back at the golden doors, and all at once the golden images were far less appealing to him. He regretted them, but he couldn’t take back the vows he’d made. He owed Leopold and the empire that much.

“The ears must listen,” he whispered to himself, pressing his fingers against the doors until they slowly creaked open, “the ears are seen and unseen…”

He barely registered his own voice now, though he knew he was still speaking. Tristan stepped through the golden entrance to his new life, knowing even as he did so that someday he would likely try to turn back. Even if it did get him killed.