“Why would the fieflord hunt me?”
“You might be a thief. You might have absconded with something of value to him.”
“Have you seen Castle Nightshade?”
Elluvian laughed. The hint of that amusement remained in the corners of his eyes and mouth. Helmat’s glare intensified, as if there could only be so much amusement or good humor in his office, and Elluvian had just grabbed all of it. “Yes, I have. It was a ridiculous question, but you will discover that there are often ridiculous questions that nonetheless must be asked. Especially when events become somewhat political.
“Do you understand what the Wolves do?”
Severn shrugged; the shrug was fluid. It was not, however, a dismissal, an attempt to hide ignorance, or a gesture of annoyance. Elluvian waited, and the youth finally said, “No.”
“But you’ve heard stories?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what, among those stories, struck you as accurate.”
This caused more discomfort, but Severn’s discomfort was contained. “You’re the Emperor’s Wolves. You hunt the people who run.”
“People who run?”
Severn’s impatience was a glimmer in the eye, but he mastered it. “Most criminals aren’t going to stand around, waiting to be arrested. They run. I imagine they run a lot—but most aren’t very good at it.”
Helmat’s glare was gone, but his stare was intent.
Elluvian chuckled. “No, they aren’t. You, in your two hours, were far better than most. The majority are apprehended by the Hawks or the Swords. The rest, by us. That is all you’ve heard?”
“No.”
“And the rest?”
“The Wolves are the Emperor’s assassins. He sends them to kill.” He met, and held, Elluvian’s gaze. There was defiance in him, but it was difficult to pinpoint—not a problem with most mortals of his age. Elluvian glanced at Helmat.
Helmat said, “They are sent to kill, yes. It is not, however, assassination. The crimes committed have been investigated, and the weight of evidence is considered great enough that the Emperor’s jurors, and the Emperor himself, acknowledge a severe breach of Imperial Law.” He paused to allow Severn to speak, but Severn was not a talker. He waited, Helmat having—at last—grasped the whole of his attention.
“Do the Wolves always kill?”
“No. In all but a handful of cases, they apprehend the criminal, who then graces our prisons until some suitable punishment for the crime itself is decided.”
“Do you want me to kill?” He straightened as he asked the question; the nervous watchfulness fell away, as if he himself were a dagger that had, at last, been drawn from its sheath. “Is that the job you’re offering?”
The answer was no. Helmat, however, did not give it. “Is that the job you want?”
“No. If that’s the job on offer, I’m sorry for wasting your time.” The boy bowed.
Elluvian laughed, then. Helmat smiled—if that grim turn of half his mouth could be called a smile. “You’ve killed, boy.”
Severn did not deny it. “In the fiefs.”
“Yes. You don’t want to do it again.”
“No.”
“Who gave the orders?”
“Orders?”
“Who did you kill for?”