But his desire to be a Wolf was implacably linked to the earliest and most important of his oaths. He accepted that. If he could not be what he had been to Elianne—
He closed his eyes. He had never wasted much time on regret, because regret—or guilt—couldn’t change the past. It served no purpose.
Severn made his choice. “The Tha’alani knew the True Name of one of the Barrani Lords.”
“You are certain.” Although the words could be interpreted as a question, the Emperor’s tone made them a statement.
“I am certain.”
“And the Tha’alani used the name of this Barrani to assassinate the Barrani Lord responsible for the murders?”
“No. The Tha’alani—the Tha’alanari—provided information that allowed the Barrani whose name they knew to take the seat of his line. The man in question—he was known as Ollarin—wanted to stop the murder of the Tha’alani at any cost; he was willing to risk his own life in the doing. If he could successfully claim the seat of Sennarin, the deathswouldstop.”
“And the Barrani in question did not consider simply killing Ollarin to end the threat the Tha’alani pose? If Ollarin were dead, the Tha’alani knowledge of his name would die with him.”
“Apparently not.”
The Emperor raised a brow.
“It is what I would have done in his position,” Severn said quietly.
“Then we must be grateful that you are an Imperial Wolf and not a Barrani Lord. What do you desire of me? What did you come here to ask?”
“I ask that you mark this case as closed. And that you bury it so deeply even the Imperial Service will not think to touch it in the future.”
The Emperor’s eyes were orange, but the color brightened until Severn could see flecks of gold. “You know much of the Tha’alani.”
“I know only what the future castelord considered wise to impart. But that is enough for me to make this request. I understand the harm we already do to her and her people. I would do everything within my power—and the boundaries of the oath I will swear in the future—to lessen that harm.”
“Would you remove the Tha’alani from the Imperial Service, if that was within your power?”
“Yes.”
The Emperor’s eyes widened at the flat, unadorned word. But his eyes, Severn saw, had continued to shade toward gold. “You understand why that will never happen.”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” The Emperor then rose from the throne he had occupied for the entirety of this audience. “When you speak of future oaths, you speak of the oaths you will swear to me.”
“The oath,” Severn said quietly. “And yes.”
“What do you believe constitutes that oath?”
This was not a question Severn had come prepared to answer.
“Do you expect that the oath, like the laws, is codified and handed down to you? Do you believe that you merely add your name to words that are written and waiting for just that input, no more?”
Severn looked up, met the Emperor’s eyes, saw the faintest hint of what might be a smile lurking at the corner of his lips. “Yes,” he said. “That’s what I expected.”
“Ah. Why?”
“You’re the Emperor.”
“And as Emperor it is my responsibility to decide what oaths you will swear?”
“Yes.”
“The oaths are yours to carry. You will live or die by them. Did you believe that you might decide only upon hearing conditions, as if the oaths you swear are a simple—or complicated—matter of bureaucracy?”