“The Emperor keeps two hours at the end of his day to speak to those who have not been otherwise granted an audience through official channels. These seats will never be empty until the Emperor leaves the throne room in which audiences are held.
“You will never find a Barrani in any of these chairs. No Barrani, no Leontines, no Tha’alani, no Aerians.”
“Just humans?”
“There are far more humans in this city than any other race, and far, far fewer Dragons. Most of the humans here will never have seen one—not in the draconic form. To them—to you—the Emperor is almost like a different kind of human, one who lives forever.
“Had he chosen to govern in an aerie, had he chosen to occupy a throne room in full military splendor, these seats would never be filled.”
“They would,” was Severn’s soft reply.
“Oh?”
“Some losses are far worse than the fear of simple death.”
“Until one is in the jaws of that death.”
“Until then,” Severn agreed.
The waiting room was almost full when Severn was at last called forward. Elluvian’s name was not mentioned; Severn half expected that Elluvian would be sent back to the waiting room by the guards tasked with ascertaining that the person entering the room was the one expected.
None of the guards, however, seemed to notice Elluvian. They did notice Severn, but as it was Severn’s appointment, he was expected. Elluvian might have been a guard, just as they were.
The Emperor’s throne felt like it was miles away from the door, and the room, absent the chatter of people both bored and desperate, was silent as a tomb. The ceilings here were high; they reminded Severn of the ceilings in the High Halls. Light fell in almost solid beams from that ceiling, broken only by stray motes of dust.
He felt as if he were one of those motes as he walked the length of a carpet that dampened the sound of all footfalls.
On the dais that was the end of his path sat the Emperor. As Severn approached, the eight guards—four to either side—left the dais at an inaudible command. This left one bearded man by the throne, and no others.
Severn reached the end of carpet, the visual signal that he was to stop and kneel. Elluvian accompanied him, and Elluvian fell to one knee as if indicating wordlessly that this was the stopping point, and this the gesture of respect due the Emperor. Severn had spent hours—literal hours—engaged in nothing but kneeling, until Elluvian felt he had demonstrated the correct blend of abject respect and personal dignity. Severn’s attempt to have the word “abject” translated into the human tongue had produced only irritation.
Regardless, Severn knelt, just as Elluvian did, and bowed his head as Elluvian did.
The Emperor showed far more mercy than Elluvian, as a teacher, had.
“Private Handred, rise. You may approach the throne.”
Severn rose. Elluvian did not.
“Elluvian of Danarre, rise. Please wait at the end of the hall for the private.” The Emperor didn’t send the Barrani Wolf from the chamber, as he had his personal guard. Barrani hearing was excellent, but given the size of the room, Severn wasn’t certain that the conversation—if it were to be a conversation and not an interrogation—would carry that far.
“You have requested an audience,” the Emperor said. “Your concerns were brief to the point of opacity. You are new to the Wolves.”
Severn nodded.
“And the Wolves are of personal import to me. They are part of the Halls of Law, the single edifice I consider most important to my Empire; more important than even the palace in which we now meet.”
Severn said nothing.
“Your first task with the Wolves involved a series of murders that occurred decades ago.”
“Twenty years, two months,” the bearded man said, “for the first such murder.”
“I have heard no report that your mission was complete.”
“The mission,” Severn said, “was impossible to complete.”
“Oh?”