“An’Tellarus,” Elluvian said. He did not bother to bow or otherwise indicate the respect a superior was due; she was not present.
She ignored him. Were it not for her correction, he might have been invisible. “You have seen that book before,” she continued.
Severn said, “I’m not certain it’s the same.”
“Nor should you be. I believe it to be the same, but we have never occupied the same room prior to your first visit. Do you understand why it is there?”
“No. But I don’t understand why the other two are there, either.”
“You understand their titles.”
He nodded.
“Both books are old—older than the one that looks most worn. And as my kin oft do with precious things, they are armored as well as they can be against the passage of time and the fingers of the careless. If you could take only one of the books, which would you choose?”
“I would take none of them. The first two, as you have said, are precious to you. The third, while it may not be precious, is relevant to you. We share no ancestry, and collections of names would mean little to me.” He spoke quietly, but without apparent fear.
“Perhaps they would mean much to you in the future.”
Severn said nothing this time. When An’Tellarus failed to ask another of her hectoring, testing questions, he once again resumed his approach to her closed doors, Elluvian by his side.
Ah, he thought. Severn walked beside him, not behind.
Books were not the only items on display, although it had been to the books Severn had first been drawn. In the other alcoves were weapons, housed in glass cases, and two statues.
The statues might have been entirely decorative in purpose, like many similar statues the galleries contained, but they had not been present on their last visit, and Severn gave them as much of his attention as the weapons—swords, all. One was a man, and one a woman.
It was not the genders that distinguished them, however. Nor was it the oddly stylized armor the man wore. It was his humanity; he was mortal and human, just as Severn was. The woman was Barrani, her stone expression proud and cold as she gazed across the hall to meet the stone gaze of the man.
Elluvian closed his eyes. He should not have come. He did not know where An’Tellarus had found these statues—into what basement or cellar or dusty room of useless relics she had descended. Nor did he care. He was, he realized, angry.
Severn seemed to be staring at the mortal man rendered in stone. The stone was not in perfect repair; it bore small cracks, and in one or two places along the seams of its cloak, small chips. Artifacts aged, just as mortals did. Or mountains. Or oceans.
“Who was he?” Severn asked.
“He was—”
“Enough,”Elluvian snapped.
“These halls are mine, not yours. You have no halls or home of your own that any of our kin would care to claim. When you do, you may issuecommands, Elluvian, and those commands will not be considered irrelevant. You are, however, a guest and your manners remain, as ever, appalling. Continue, and I will invite Severn in alone while you wait for him in the Halls. Ah, no, boy. Do not touch that—it is extremely delicate.”
Elluvian said nothing, but it was difficult. An’Tellarus was one of the few living beings who could cause these lapses in self-control. He almost turned heel and walked away; he was certain that Severn would follow, avoiding the game she seemed to be playing.
But he had seen the results of the oracle.
The doors, untended, rolled open. An’Tellarus was nowhere in sight; nor were any of the many servants who obeyed her commands so deftly. No guards, no servants; the chambers might have been unoccupied were it not for the visible change of decor in the outer hall.
The statue, however, had been so unexpected that Elluvian struggled to regain his balance. Severn had no need to struggle. The High Halls, replete with Barrani craftsmanship and enchantments, were unfamiliar to Severn, and the oddities in An’Tellarus’s hall were of a piece with the rest of it. He understood that the statue was significant because of Elluvian’s intemperate reaction. Had Elluvian maintained his stony silence, it would be just another adornment.
Or perhaps not. Severn was perceptive, and even Severn might be surprised to see a human of any type given pride of place in such displays. Regardless, he had turned away from it the moment the doors had begun their slow movement, and he joined Elluvian as they opened.
“Please, come in,” the disembodied and despised voice said. Elluvian did not cross the threshold. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and opened them again. The weave of enchantment that became visible with modest effort subtly changed the color of the foyer, but no other obvious sign of magical danger leaped out at him. The enchantment that lay across the doors protected them from magical intrusion and possibly fire; the floors themselves, except for a single, marble square, were otherwise as they appeared.
The walls to either side of the door contained windows—but each window opened into an entirely different landscape.
“You are my guests,” An’Tellarus said, her voice implying fraying temper. “If I wished to cause you harm, you would not be.”
Severn glanced at Elluvian. Elluvian’s jaw locked in place; he finished his inspection. Only when it was done did he move forward, deftly avoiding the one square across the floor whose enchantment he could not easily place. Severn followed, noting the placement of Elluvian’s feet. He chose, in silence and without instructions, to follow Elluvian’s path almost exactly.