“No one. It was my choice, beginning to end.”
“Ah. Why did you make that choice?”
“To save a life,” he replied.
“Your own?”
He considered that for longer than strictly necessary. “It wasn’t self-defense,” he finally said.
Helmat was not a kind man; one did not become the Lord of Wolves through a surplus of kindness. Nor was he a stranger to death—causing it, commanding it. But he was possessed, in the end, of a particular perception, an instinct that occasionally moved him; it was an instinct that had evaded Elluvian for the entire duration of his service to the Emperor. Elluvian recognized it in him now.
“I understand that you have no wish to speak about it. To expose it. Understand, however, that if you are to work as a Wolf—as one ofmyWolves—that information is necessary. The door is behind you. You need only walk out. If you are lost, someone will tell you how to reach the exit; you may rejoin the masses of mortals in Elantra having wasted only a few hours of your time.
“I do not offer you peace. Nor do I offer safety. But what I said, I believe. We are not assassins. We are Imperial Executioners. I could—and will, should you be accepted—list those executions, the reasons for them, and the evidence upon which the Emperor made his decision. Regardless, you will come to understand just howlittlepeace or safety becoming a Wolf offers. These executions are not to be spoken of to any but the Wolves.
“You are cautious. You are constantly aware of En—Elluvian, if we’re being formal. Trust those instincts. En is the most dangerous man in our ranks. And he is necessary; some of the Imperial Executions we carry out involve the Barrani. The Barrani generally take care of their own criminals; they don’t want them judged by the Emperor. The Barrani we hunt are therefore those that are considered too dangerous for the Barrani to deal with.” He waited to allow that to sink in.
“I don’t want to kill,” Severn said again, squaring his shoulders. He did not, however, turn toward the closed doors.
“No. And sadly, Severn, it is that preference that indicates that you might possibly—possibly—be what we want or require of the Wolves who operate in shadow. It is not trivial, the act of execution. It is not commonplace. Most of the men and women you will meet in your travels have not killed, and will never kill anything other than livestock. You are not a soldier, and will not be a soldier should you join the Wolves.
“Being a soldier is not, in the end, being an executioner. Understand that. In the cleanest of cases, you will not stand face-to-face and toe-to-toe with the enemy; you will not be fighting in self-defense. If you can, in safety, kill your target, you will be expected to do so—when he’s sleeping, when he’s eating, when he’s otherwise helpless.
“Your path will cross city streets, city buildings; there will be civilians on your battlefield and you will be considered a murderer should you kill them in pursuit of your goal. Battlefields define soldiers.”
Severn listened. After a pause that had grown too long, he said, “How many of your Wolves strike out on their own?” His gaze fell to Renzo’s head.
Helmat’s smile deepened; there was approval in it. And ice. “That,” the Wolflord said, “is a very perceptive question. You understand why choosing the right candidates is vital to an organization such as ours.”
“I’m not the right candidate.”
“In your opinion, who would be?”
Severn glanced at Elluvian.
“There are many reasons to kill,” the Wolflord continued when Severn did not answer. “Rage. Greed. Fear. Such crimes, however, are the responsibility of the Hawks. Most of these deaths occur between family members or people who know each other. They are not, and will not, be your concern. Crimes of passion do not need Wolves. Let us assume, then, that most murders in this city are irrelevant to the Wolves.”
The youth could not see the direction Helmat was attempting to steer what was barely a conversation.
“When people think of killers, they think in odd specifics. They think of battles in the warrens. They think of the deaths in the fiefs. They romanticize, for a value of the word; they are telling themselves stories. There are horrific murders that occur within the city proper, and those loom large in the minds of our citizens. There might be one such grisly death, or one such murderer in a decade—but that is the one that people will remember.”
“And that murderer,” Severn said softly, “is not someone you want as a Wolf.”
“Indeed, no. And perhaps I wander, but we have some time yet. Would you care to tell me what you think Iwouldlook for in a killer?”
“Someone who doesn’t want to kill.”
“Yes. But most people do not want to kill. And most people would not make good Wolves. En, tell the boy why you would make a good Wolf.”
“Given how often you’ve derided my attempts to carry out my duties, I find the request almost shocking.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“Very well. I would make a good Wolf for two reasons. The first, to which Lord Marlin has already alluded, is power. I am Barrani, and even among my kin, I am not considered inconsequential. Were I, I would be dead.” His smile was slender and almost warm. “The second: I would be willing to accept Lord Marlin as my commander. He is mortal, I am not, but his authority is absolute.”
Helmat snorted. Loudly.
“I obviously care more about the respect due his office than he himself.”