Elluvian nodded, as if Teremaine were now irrelevant.
“Even were An’Sennarin not to hear about your inquiries, it is highly likely that they would come to nothing. An’Mellarionne has endeavors I’m certain he would wish to protect. Nothing Teremaine says, of course, would implicate An’Mellarionne directly; there is a reason that Teremaine has long been considered a reliable associate.
“But none of our kin can be reliable forever; all it takes is one small slip. Lord Corvallan will, of course, obliquely discuss the difficulty; I am uncertain that the information would reach An’Mellarionne so quickly, otherwise.”
“I am not, for reasons that cannot be divulged.”
“Why, then, are you here? It has been a very trying few days, and I ask you not to lay further burdens at our feet, perhaps in remembrance of what we once shared in the distant past.”
“Corvallan is not implicated in any of this,” Elluvian replied. “Nor will he be.”
Her gaze fell on Severn and remained there.
“It is a caste court matter,” Severn said quietly. “And the caste court is no province of the Wolves; the caste court exemptions are written into the laws we have sworn our lives to uphold.”
Her smile was less practiced as she offered it to Severn. Of course it was. Severn was a mortal youth who could not, in her estimation, harm her at all. Only his placement as one of the Emperor’s Wolves could cause complications, but those complications were not of grave concern. Elluvian, however, was.
“You must take care to keep yourself both safe and alive while you are here,” she said, her tone almost fond. “It is the only way to ensure that the caste court exemptions are irreproachable.”
Severn nodded. In spite of himself, he liked her, liked the sound of her voice, liked the cool smile and the color of her eyes. She was, as all Barrani were, beautiful.
Beauty, however, was a tool like any other in the hands of the Barrani. He wondered, briefly, how they saw themselves.
“I have prepared some information,” she said. “Which I will deliver to you when you feel it is time to leave.” Another smile, this for Elluvian, touched her lips; it was not, in any way, kind or warm. “And I believe that you will be departing soon; you are to meet An’Tellarus in less than an hour.”
Elluvian’s sigh was theatrical; his smile was warmer than Cassandre’s. “You were always the best among us,” he said. Severn thought he meant it. “And your ability to charm even the snakes, stopping them a moment in their path, has not diminished in the slightest.”
“Ah, but it has, Elluvian. In days past, those snakes that stopped died instantly without causing harm. If it will be of any comfort—and I know it will not, but feel obliged anyway—An’Tellarus does not bear you any ill will.”
“At present. Her moods are capricious, and her wrath unpredictable.”
“It is why she has always been feared. Even those who are dedicated to our fall are less dangerous because they are focused and predictable. I am curious to know what you have done to merit this much of her attention this time.”
“And perhaps she will tell you. She has certainly not scrupled to inform me.”
Cassandre’s laugh was like a plant blooming in the dead of winter. It was out of place, and more beautiful because of it.
Severn did not speak a word as they once again traversed the publicly accessible galleries that occupied much of the interior of the High Halls. He walked a step behind Elluvian, as if he were still servant. Elluvian allowed this because he had no wish to break the silence himself, but he was chagrined. As a young man in that tabard, he was not subservient; his entire life was not supposed to be about the whims of an entirely theoretical master.
As a servant, as an attendant, his position and posture were acceptable; even among the Barrani, proper forms could not always be elegantly followed or aped in an instant. But the boy was a Wolf. The tabard implied an equality before the law that subservience of this nature subtly belied. When subservience was automatically offered where it was not due, it implied hesitance or fear. Had he not been human, it would mark the boy as a target—or more of a target than his presence at Elluvian’s side already did. He made a mental note to speak of this later, when the High Halls no longer enclosed or eavesdropped on any possible conversation.
An’Tellarus’s chambers had not, of course, moved, but the objects that now adorned the alcoves that led to her doors had been changed in the scant days between their previous meeting and this one. Severn, having been given oblique permission to consider and study the things she had replaced them with, moved more slowly as he did.
One was an ornate book with a cover of gold and platinum; it looked armored and unapproachable. Severn nevertheless approached it, his brows furrowing in concern or confusion. As well they might: the title of this book was a single word, and it would have been risible to a Barrani youth, even one of Severn’s age.Honor.
Elluvian was not surprised to see the next book; it was similarly adorned, and possessed, along with an excess of precious metal, an obvious lock, such as one might put on a child’s diary, if a child were of a mind to ape mortals. Above that lock was the High Barrani word,Duty.
The third book was not adorned in the manner of the first two; it looked drab and well-read in comparison. It, too, possessed a single word at the center of a cover that was worn at the corners.
“Ancestry?”Severn asked, as if this word, of the three, was the only one about which he was uncertain.
“Yes. The letter style is highly antiquated—it’s as if the ancients decided that reading was far too simple an activity and wished to add severe challenge by forming the words in incompetent calligraphy.”
“It does not look incompetent to me,” Severn said, which was a second surprise. “It looks like art.”
“Which would be acceptable if it was. It is, however, printed language, the point of which should be to enlighten or educate.”
“Pay no mind to him, Severn,” a familiar—and disembodied—voice said. “It is, indeed, artistry. Form is not always dictated by function except in the minds of the small.”