“The Hawks have adopted a mascot. That was the word that was used. Intelligence documents highlighted it; the person who wrote the report was clearly not a person from whom all sense of humor has been leeched. I would expect you to be peripherally aware of the difficulty; it involved the Halls of Law.”
“It didn’t involve the Wolves.”
Her expression made clear that she was tired of games for the day, but he held his peace for a moment. It was far easier to see anger—even chilly as it was—on her face than pain or grief.
“I am aware of the unusual situation.”
“You are aware of the reasons that it became so?”
“Mortals are seldom mascots, but yes, I am aware of the reason the Emperor was against it.”
“And against the survival of the child in question.”
“And against the survival of the child in question, yes.”
“It is my belief that that child, Severn, and the two children he killed are linked.”
Helmat regarded the sleeping man in question. The killing of children carried with it a weight of assumptions, evoked a visceral disgust, that the killing of adults of any race did not. Even for Helmat. Perhaps especially for Helmat. Wolves killed, and were killed, in the line of duty. It happened frequently enough that it was not remarkable. It was always regrettable.
Helmat could think of no cases—he would search through Records later—in which those unavoidable and regrettable deaths involved children. The Wolves had hunted children before, it was true—but only in tandem with kidnappers the Emperor had deemed sufficiently dangerous. The Emperor, however, erred on the side of caution when handing down his edicts. Many of those who worked in the Halls of Law felt he was too conservative.
Helmat, oddly enough, was not one of them. He understood that the burden of evidence, the burden of proof, was necessary. Without it, it would be far too easy to pass judgment oneself, and far too easy to turn the Halls of Law into a terrifying, personal fiefdom.
But he was human, same as most of the rest. There were crimes that infuriated him, deaths that made him feel helpless and useless. That feeling drove him to work harder—but it could easily drive him to a merciless rage, and the decisions made from that place might not withstand more rational scrutiny.
Some of the men and women he accepted into the scant ranks of the Wolves had killed before, often in what they had considered self-defense. Helmat tended to agree with their estimation, which was why he accepted their service. But none of those deaths had involved children.
He exhaled. “Ybelline.”
“You want me to show you.”
“I want you to show me.”
En coughed theatrically.
“I will throw you out by the ears,” Helmat said, “if you say another word.”
En being En immediately proved Helmat a liar. “Are you certain you want to do this? It is not required.”
“I do not have the visceral, lasting fear of the Tha’alani that characterizes your people.”
“You only have a mortal lifetime to accrue dangerous secrets.”
“Your thoughts are appreciated,” Helmat replied, in a tone that implied the opposite. “But the decision in its entirety is mine. And children are involved.”
En retreated, literally.
Ybelline did not. She approached Helmat, and in spite of his decision, he braced himself for the contact.
Elluvian waited as Helmat stiffened. The Barrani envied the Tha’alani their ability to ferret out truth. It was not something that magic could easily—or perfectly—grant; while magic could be used in a similar fashion, it was prone to damage the target’s mind, sometimes irreparably.
But that was an old life, an old series of experiments. He shook himself free of the memories as he watched Ybelline’s report of events. Ybelline herself did not speak; she had no need of words now. When she had finished, silence grew. Her antennae left Helmat’s forehead. The Wolflord’s knuckles were white.
The girl, then. The child he had seen with An’Teela. Severn had been following her, and capably enough that he had not alerted An’Teela to either his presence or his interest. He could now understand An’Teela’s interest in the child: she was almost certainly Chosen. A mortal. While it was not unheard of, it was extremely unusual.
“En.”
Elluvian turned toward Helmat. Helmat sat heavily in a free chair, hands gripping the armrests. There was about him a look that implied both shock and certainty. Severn, Elluvian thought, would be a Wolf. There was no question of it.