Is your name really Ybelline?
It is. It is not the entirety of my name, but it is the name I prefer.
Lord Marlin is worried. About you.
Yes. But Lord Marlin is a man who is always worried aboutsomething.
This doesn’t seem so bad.
She chuckled, both here and out loud, where it might ease the worry of the aforementioned Lord Marlin.I haven’t started yet.
No? But—
Yes, we’re speaking. But we’re speaking without moving our lips. Or at least I am. We’re having a conversation that would be entirely normal—to you—were it not for the fact we’re in physical contact.She paused, and added,Except this time you’re actually speaking.
She felt his smile. Not a chuckle, not a laugh, but something both warm and reserved.
Helmat—pardon me, Lord Marlin—feels that there is a pressing need to conduct your interview; it’s almost as if he’s afraid that if he doesn’t nail your feet to the floor, you’ll slip through his fingers.
Silence. A beat. Two.I wouldn’t slip through Elluvian’s.
You underestimate Helmat, which almost surprises me, given his apparent ferocity. It doesn’t happen often.
But I don’t overestimate Elluvian.
No. He is Barrani. Be wary of him, if you can.
I know.
There, she thought. Something in the quality of that answer was a thread, a small window, a way in. She had not lied. Severn—unlike so many of the mortals given over to the inspection and ultimate invasion by the Tha’alani agents—had choice. She doubted he understood the nature of that choice although he understood the theory.
Why?Severn’s interior voice was soft.
Why?
Why do you think I don’t understand?
You did not grow up in the Tha’alaan. You did not grow up surrounded, always, by the thoughts and emotions of your people. Mortals fear judgment, Severn. They fear exposure. They fear to be seen as themselves. But wedon’t. We see ourselves, and our kin. We see them, always. We see their small fears, but we recognize them for what they are. We do not see weakness and strength as you see it. We do not have to prove ourselves, somehow, to each other. We do not doubt our love, or the love we are given.
She inhaled.But we don’t expect that love to be perfect, either. We see the stress of the day. We see the joy of the day. We hear—She stopped the rush of words.If we did not have the Tha’alaan, I fear that we would be like you, for we are mortal as well. The seeds of fear and need would grow in us, shaping who we might become in isolation.
She was surprised when Severn reached out to hold her hand in his. Not to grasp or steady himself; she saw that.And we are not one mind. We are not one person. Garadin is, as you perhaps saw, himself. So, too, am I. We disagree, we argue, we make our own choices—but we do so as part of the Tha’alaan. We want the same things for our people, for ourselves; we don’t always agree on how to achieve them.
Ybelline.
She quieted, chagrined.I am trying to justify myself.
No. Or maybe. It doesn’t matter. You’re here because the Wolves demanded someone be sent. You’re here because I might want tobea Wolf.
You’re not afraid of me.
I am, he said.But I’m afraid for you, as well. I haven’t—she thought he would stop; had he been speaking out loud, she was certain he would have.I haven’t been good at not hurting people in the past.
His hands shuddered in hers. The whole of his body shuddered. His grip tightened. He held on as if she were a branch at cliff’s edge, and he had fallen. For a moment, she bore the whole of his weight. It was a metaphor, and it wasn’t perfect, but as he righted himself again, she felt that it was true regardless.
Severn’s reaction to the mention of Barrani was an echo of the past Helmat wanted unearthed; his flat statement about hurting people was the heart of it.
I better understand Helmat’s interest, Garadin said. He was, like Ybelline, Tha’alanari. He could see, and had seen, the wild growth of dangerous insanity in mortals. He had touched the thoughts and memories, experienced the storm of fear and rage and fury. He could, and did, contain them.