This probably meant that guards or pages—he thought the latter word applied, but wasn’t certain—were not the sole source of information about possible intruders to either lord. Severn had little doubt that Cassandre at least was aware of their approach.
He said nothing. The tabard he wore drew the eye, but not in a way that implied attention was a prelude to death; that attention was fixed firmly upon Elluvian.
Only when they reached the doors did the guards closest to them raise weapons; the gesture was clearly ceremonial. “You have no appointment and no permission to enter the chambers of our lord.”
Lord, not lords.
Elluvian made no reply. He didn’t touch the doors or take another step toward them, and Severn walked one step behind. Elluvian simply waited.
The guards were not Rosen; they had done their duty. They had stopped him from touching the doors. But they didn’t attempt to remove him or drive him back, nor did they attempt to speak for their lord in any other way.
Severn didn’t know how long they waited; time always passed more slowly when one was aware of it. He’d taken the posture of servant, and the tabard seemed to grant him an invisibility that Elluvian’s fancier clothing had not. He didn’t touch his weapons. He didn’t raise his voice. He studied the tops of his boots while he waited. Elluvian would decide when enough time had passed. Elluvian or Lord Cassandre.
It was Lord Cassandre who blinked in this figurative staring contest; the doors rolled open. She stood between them looking every inch the militant her guards had not.
“Elluvian,” she said, smiling. “I am gratified to see you again so soon after your last visit.” Everything about her expression all but sparkled—except for her eyes, which were indigo. That color didn’t lessen when she extended a smile to Severn. “And you have brought your cub.”
Honey was decidedly poisonous here. Severn, however, offered her a very low bow. It was almost the equal of Elluvian’s.
“I was not expecting you,” she said, “and my lord is away. I hope he will return before you must leave. Please, come in.”
The guards that had halted Elluvian’s passage to the door now stepped back, their movements graceful. Their weapons were once again put aside, although their eye color matched that of their lord.
Lord Cassandre led them to a different room—a smaller room that was, to Severn’s eye, no less expensively furnished. A desk stood in the corner to the left of the door; shelves, glassed, lined the walls that did not possess windows. The windows, however, were the center point of the room; they had been built to occupy the entirety of the wall that faced the door. Through them, Severn could see a garden, in which a fountain was perfectly framed.
“We have done as you asked.” The moment the doors closed, Cassandre’s face lost its bright, welcoming smile. Her eyes lost none of their indigo.
Elluvian nodded.
“You will not, I’m afraid, find Teremaine to question. We have been unable to ascertain his whereabouts ourselves.”
“As of when?”
“As of your last visit.”
Elluvian nodded. “I am aware that Teremaine is neither Casarre nor Mellarionne. He is an associate—perhaps not even that. His location is no longer your concern. The information we hoped we might receive from your lord has been superseded.”
Cassandre indicated chairs and took one herself. She then offered Elluvian a nod better suited to a monarch than a host. “I see. You will forgive me for asking the purpose of your visit in that case.”
“I would forgive you almost anything you asked,” Elluvian replied. These words were less stilted, his posture less perfect; he had leaned slightly toward Cassandre as her expression receded into distance.
“Almost anything?”
“Almost. We are a people to whom contingencies are as necessary—and natural—as breath.”
“It was not always thus between us.”
“No. I regret the changes that time and circumstance have wrought.”
She stared at him as if she couldn’t quite make herself believe his words, which was fair; Severn didn’t.
“What would you have me say? Your regrets are pretty, but they are the consequence of your choices. As,” she added softly, “are mine.” She bowed her head, just as Elluvian had done. When she lifted it, her expression was harder and colder. It said much about the Barrani that that harshness seemed to feel more open, more honest.
“Teremaine has served many lords when it was convenient for the lords in question; he has many connections in the mortal world and few of relevance at court.”
Elluvian nodded.
“He has been of service to Sennarin in the past—but that service was offered and accepted by the previous An’Sennarin and his heir. To our knowledge, he has never served the current An’Sennarin.”