The Ninth Door

Chapter 8 - Reemergence

Emmerich

The rest of the night unfolded uneventfully. We had a quiet dinner, with just Sienna and me. The servants lurked in the corners, some flitting in and out with the food and wine. The closest to our table were Mrs. Winter and a man called Joel. It was so much different from the days Sienna and I spent alone together so far, eating what she referred to as takeouts or meals that she cooked herself, simple fares that were delicious in themselves but weren’t near the explosion of flavors that stunned me in almost complete silence.

“Who prepared the meal?” I asked, after barely swallowing a mouthful. I had to remind myself that manners were still required even in this time and place.

“Miss Edwards,” Mrs. Winter volunteered.

It made me imagine a plain but efficient young woman who had devoted her life to the culinary arts, but Sienna quickly banished that image.

“She’s Mrs. Winters’ older sister.” A soft smile played on her lips, as if she knew what I was thinking. Her nose had flared when she saw the food so I knew she was famished. However, she kept her appetites under control. She moved a piece of meat on her plate, over the sauce, repeatedly even as her fingers trembled. There was a hint of sauce on her lower lip that I almost reached out to wipe with my own fingers, but I stopped myself. The air between us seemed to tremble with that need for control and balance.

“Older sister?”

“Yes. She’s a spinster,” explained Sienna, as she ate more of her steak, medium rare. My mouth watered at the rest of the feast although I should have had already eaten enough to fill a grown man. I had the appetites of at least two, and I had tried to be a good guest for Sienna at her little apartment.

On the table, there were barely any greens, bread, or rice. They were added like an afterthought as if everyone was aware that they had a carnivore for their guest.

“Oh.”

A spinster.

My aunt was one, and she was relegated to spinning wool for a living. It didn’t matter that her sister became the queen. It even got worse when my brother took over the throne, pushing our mother to the role of ceremonial dowager queen. Her sister Samara was banished out of the castle because of her sharp tongue. She was never afraid to speak against the new king, my brother Luther, who at our last time together was almost thirty years old. It was a prime age for a man, but he was yet to find a bride. He was still busy doing what he referred to as his sampling.

It was no wonder my brother didn’t want to be tied to any one woman, no matter how few rights the fairer s*x had in our world. Luther was already a grown man, but he still couldn’t take a woman’s tongue and judgment. He could only accept people who put him on a pedestal, and that was a dangerous thing – not for him but for the kingdom. Nobody corrected him, except for Fara. The only reason the wise woman was still alive was that Luther was terrified of her. She promised curses would rain upon him if he ever killed her.

The problem was that the only reason Luther was still on the throne was that I was terrified of what he could do. Some might say coming here to save a damsel was, in a way, an escape for me, too.

**

12th century, 3rd year of knighthood, after Eric Wester’s defeat

After I stabbed Eric Wester’s leopard body into a bloody pulp, he transformed back into a man. There were bewildered whispers on how he lay dead and naked on the floor. Who fought his enemies like that?

My fellow knights thought him a mad man, and when I said that there shouldn’t be any one left alive among Wester’s men, they quickly helped me slaughter the remaining ones. They thought I was becoming a little bloodthirsty, and they liked it. It was a quality needed for someone who might have to battle his own brother for the throne. They didn’t know that I was merely trying to rid us of potentially dangerous shifting enemies. There was no way of knowing which ones were like Wester, if there were any like him at all. Death for all of Wester’s men was the answer.

I was nearing the age of twenty-four then, and I had people backing me as their desired king for the past five years even though I had never shown any desire to become one. Many chose me. Not Luther. Not any of the other prospective monarchs, like cousins and advisers.

For all of those five years, my brother the king was cruel. He hid his cruelty under his pleasant smiles and soft voice, always dripping with hidden venom. He would make you think that he had your back, even though he would more likely be plotting how to have you killed without painting him in a bad light. That cold afternoon I was bitten by Wester was the end of any hopes anyone had of me becoming king.

A week after that, I struggled with a fever. My body was hot and cold, and shivering. Some were afraid I had caught an illness during the reclaiming of the juncture and I suspected they were right but not in the way they thought they were.

My followers were afraid that I was dying, especially when I asked to be placed in the barn behind the castle, with everyone else banned to enter the enclosed space. Fara still came to see me, and even she was puzzled with my ailment until she saw my bent back and long claws one night.

“A shifter,” she whispered, her voice sounding both scared and thrilled at the same time.

She helped me tie myself with leather cords and spells as I struggled with the transformation for the first few nights. After a full month, I was back to my old self as if nothing happened.

“Will I still shift, Fara?” I asked, worry creasing my forehead. I could feel the tension there and I could always trace the line between my brows even if I wasn’t touching it.

“You will, but you will have more control after that first transformation. The next shift will be up to you, and you can use it as a weapon.”

“What weapon are we taking about?”

The cold, cultured voice that interrupted my conversation with the seventy-year-old wise woman in front of the barn made my blood run cold.

“You don’t need to know, Luther. It’s not about you. Nothing against you,” I said, honestly, turning to the king on his horse, flanked with two of his best knights. Roldan and Thomas would never follow me. They were his most loyal men, cowed into their positions through years of friendship from when they were only seven.

“Fara will tell me if she knows what’s good for her,” he said, his grin widening. I was the new shifter, but I could almost imagine him turning into a wolf with his sharp teeth.

“Remember what I told you, Your Majesty,” Fara warned.

“I’m no longer afraid of you, witch.”

As soon as he said that, Roldan dismounted his horse and pressed the tip of his dagger onto Fara’s throat.

“You don’t need to do that,” I said. “I will tell you what happened.”

“Oh, do tell, little brother,” he said. The top of his head reached my brows, but he still emphasized the word “little,” and never got off his horse. “Know this. If you don’t tell now, I will come for your knights and I know when you lie.”

Sometimes, honesty and honor could also put you down and that was one of those days when they did. I told him about Wester and how Fara discovered that I could turn into a leopard, afflicted with Wester’s condition. I knew that my words would ultimately be used against me, but I didn’t know just how much.

“Witch, give him a trigger word. Make him shift when I say his name in full. Emmerich Kaiser, second born.”

“T-that isn’t wise, my king,” Fara protested.

“I know you will die for him, but would you like me to kill your grandchildren, witch? Oh yes, I know of them.”

His smile was still on his face but everything else had darkened.

“Do it, witch,” spat Roldan, even as Thomas dismounted his horse to pull at Fara’s hair.

So, she made the spell that destroyed me, months after the fact. I had to say Luther had his wise moments. He bid his time. Fara and I thought that the spell was only for fun, a way to show how much he could scare us. A part of me knew that it couldn’t just be that, and that I knew my brother well enough to know that whatever weapons he was given, he used.

On my mother’s fiftieth name day, he had a large banquet. Everyone praised him for his love for his mother. Some began wondering if Luther was the wise choice at all. After all, I now followed his orders closely, barely being sent out on missions. Since the day he forced Fara to curse me, I stayed close. Obedient. Servile. I was thankful that he had never sent me to do anything evil.

Then, it happened.

“Brother, let us make a toast for our dear mother Theresa Kaiser of the Meadows and the Juncture. Everyone, raise your glasses to Emmerich Kaiser, second born.”

Everything that followed happened in what I could only imagine as pitch darkness, as the leopard took over without a shred of my conscience left. I heard the screaming. I felt the arrows piercing my feline body. When it ended, I saw the c*****e. Guests and knights lay on the grass, their blood pooling around them. Their eyes were wide open in shock. There was sobbing. Endless sobbing.

Naked and bloody, I stood watching my brother. If I didn’t know him that well, I would have thought he was grave. His eyes were dancing, though, as he had his knights protect our mother. She couldn’t believe what had happened, looking at me with horror. Luther also had Mary pressed to her side, and I knew then that he wanted her as his bride.

These were things I didn’t tell Sienna.

I made her believe that the only thing I had to fight was my dissatisfaction that my brother was king, but that I had no plans taking him down. It was true that I didn’t want to be king, but the simmering hatred and the need for cold revenge also lived within me. Most people would say I was escaping. It was why it was easier for Sienna to pull me from my world at this moment.

***

Present Day

“Emmerich?” Sienna squeezed my hand and I turned to see the concern in her green eyes. For a moment, I thought her eyes slanted a little, more feline than she was compared to our first meeting. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“It’s time to rest. You should wear the pajamas I brought you. Um, they’re night clothes.”

“Thank you.”

Rest with her next to me wouldn’t be complete rest. I would be too aware of her scent, vanilla and honey, and something else that was simply her.

I was tired, though, and I found myself drifting into the darkness much more quickly than I thought possible. It might have been hours later when my eyes opened to the semi-darkness. Only the moonlight streaming through the large windows illuminated the room. To my right, Sienna slept peacefully. Her blond hair was spread out behind her, but she was sleeping on her side, facing me. She looked hauntingly beautiful and there was that urge to touch her face again.

A door slamming somewhere in the house stopped me, and perhaps it was for my own good. Men like me could only hope to achieve revenge and an honorable death. We shouldn’t hope for things we couldn’t have, like a woman I was supposed to protect. She didn’t know just how devoted I was to the idea of helping someone else achieve their revenge right before I claim mine.

I rose from bed and walked barefooted to the large wooden door. I opened it, half-expecting someone to jump from the shadows. I vowed not to stray away that far from Sienna, and I didn’t need to.

To my right, a man stood. His shoulders were shaking with silent mirth. Next to him was the shadow of a slip of a girl, perhaps around sixteen. When my feline eyes took over, I saw that I was looking at no other than Eric Wester.

“Emmerich,” he said in a voice that seemed to come from the grave. “Would you like to write a story with me?”

In his hand was a leather book, so like the ones that Sienna brought along for the journey.