“Father, may I ask you a question?” Owen asked, thoughtful.

  The Emperor stood behind him as he attended his daily lesson with his master-at-arms, watching in silence.

  “I… I’d like to know… how to become like you.”

  “Like unto me?” he replied, with interest.

  “Yes, as strong… and without any fear.”

  The Emperor did not answer immediately. He took a moment to reflect, then said:

  “Thou shalt grow strong if thou dost train. Thou art my son. Thou must needs be patient and steadfast.”

  He paused before continuing.

  “As for the rest… the higher a man stands, the more foes gather ’round him. And the stronger he is, the craftier they grow. Strength will not free thee from fear, yet it shall grant thee the means to face it.”

  A sudden flash crossed the boy’s eyes.

  “Does that mean… you ever feel fear too?”

  The Emperor seemed to hesitate for a moment.

  “Mayhap… To go forward, one hath need of courage. And without fear… it cannot be.”

  “But…,” Owen continued, “Who could your enemies be? You fear no one…”

  “A man doth not always fear for himself. My charge is to guard what is mine. To guard thee.”

  “And Mother? Shouldn’t you protect her too?”

  The Emperor remained silent. Owen sensed an opening.

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  “Since she is important, you should fear for her life too.”

  “Thus is she kept here. She is safe. None may lay hand upon her. Thou needst not be troubled.”

  Owen added in a whisper,

  “No one… except you…”

  The master-at-arms cast a brief glance past Owen, then abruptly ended the lesson and withdrew without a word. Puzzled, Owen remained alone in the room, his father still behind him, unaware of the gesture he had just made. He turned and saw him approaching.

  The Emperor, smiling, lowered himself to Owen’s level and asked, with an unusual softness:

  “Owen, hast thou found naught of worth in thy wanderings through my memories?”

  Owen’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, his throat tightening.

  “W-What? What do you mean?”

  “Didst thou truly deem I would not mark thy little ventures of the mind? Thou didst strive… yet beheld only what I granted thee.”

  Owen’s breathing quickened. Had he made a mistake? Had his father known everything from the beginning? Why had he not been reprimanded? He froze, unable to respond, his breath coming short.

  “Thou wouldst know why I suffered thee to do so, wouldst thou not?” the Emperor continued. “Thy gifts are of great weight, and thou must master them with all haste. To wield them against me is perchance the best path. Ever have I held that the end doth justify the means. Thou hast made thy progress… yet much road lies before thee.”

  “You let me believe what I wanted… All of this… for nothing…” Owen murmured, his eyes shining with frustration.

  “Nay, my son, it was not in vain. Surely thou hast gained somewhat from it. It mattereth little to me…”

  He continued, in an almost indifferent tone:

  “It mattereth little to me the cause that moved thee. If hatred of me doth make thee stronger, so be it. Hate me, grow stronger, and stand before me. If thy resolve be steadfast, perchance thou shalt one day o’ercome me.”

  He rose and walked toward the door. Without turning, he concluded:

  “But mark me well: I shall not make thy path an easy one. If thou art so sworn to shield thy mother, thou must needs be as unyielding as I. At the least, if thou wouldst spare her further woe…”

  He left, leaving Owen alone in the emptiness of the training hall. Shaken, the boy sank to the floor and buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the fear that his failure might fall upon his mother and bring her even greater suffering.