Access to the Hawks and the Swords consisted of access to the reports they had personally lodged, and the reports that referenced them. There were no logs for the child that accompanied An’Teela; no references to her in the Records reports that An’Teela had either made or had been referenced in. The sergeant in charge of the branch of Hawks she served, however, was notoriously slow at such logging. He would have a word with the Emperor about this dereliction of duty.
Though there was one thing of wonder about the child. An’Teela was taking interest in a mortal.
“Why are you interested in the Barrani Hawks? Worried that you won’t be special?” Helmat had asked, a half grin robbing the words of obvious challenge.
“No. It is a child’s desire to be special, and I have—unlike many of my kin—survived childhood and escaped it.”
“There are many men and women who would find that observation offensive.”
“There are many who find the weather offensive.”
Helmat uttered three words, and the mirror display—technically Elluvian’s mirror—showed the Wolflord the whole of Elluvian’s current research. His posture and tone changed. “That is not under the Wolves’ jurisdiction.”
“No. It wouldn’t be. The Wolves wouldn’t understand the significance.”
“En.”
Elluvian turned from the mirror toward the titular Lord of Wolves. Helmat stood his ground; no one else would have dared. “I was against the hiring of Barrani Hawks.”
Helmat nodded. “The decision was not yours to make. They’re not Wolves.”
Elluvian was surprised by the information he had unearthed: the girl had the marks of the Chosen. He better understood An’Teela’s almost shocking attachment.
The girl did not appear to understand the significance of those marks. The Emperor did. The Dragon Court did. And An’Teela had come to court to lay claim—of kinship, of friendship—to the child. As had several of the Hawks, although the girl was far too young to be employed as a Hawk.
The Emperor had wanted her dead.
He was Emperor; he was ruler. The girl should be dead. She was demonstrably still breathing, and she remained under the protection of the intimidating and ferociously competent An’Teela—a woman who had killed the head of her line, her own father, and then refused to take that line’s name, rejecting the whole of the life she had been expected to lead. Teela was the name of her new line. She had not offered to take the name of her mother’s family. To do so, she would have had to push out the current head of that family. Clearly she felt more respect for her mother’s kin than her father’s.
Teela had always been a mystery to Elluvian—and dangerous mysteries were best kept at a safe distance while one observed, noting weaknesses that might, if necessary, come into play.
He knew the child’s name: Kaylin Neya. He knew nothing else, and the name itself had come to him only because he had perfectly functional ears. The girl had a temper. She was prickly. She was, however, trying tofit inwith An’Teela—whom she called Teela.
Ah, but he knew this one. She did not want to disappoint An’Teela. She was, conversely, certain that she would be nothing but a disappointment. He had seen this behavior often enough that he was surprised he had not immediately recognized it for what it was. But he associated it with training. The child was too young—by law—to be a Hawk. Yet she was clearly involved in Hawk business. She was a curiosity.
It was his natural curiosity, then, that led him to the boy.
If Elluvian had noticed An’Teela—and the girl—first, it had taken some time to notice the boy. That both intrigued and annoyed him; he was a Barrani tracker. He should have been aware of the boy instantly, for the boy was intent in some fashion on the same quarry Elluvian himself was. He was tracking An’Teela.
Elluvian might have excused his lack of observation; might have said it arose because the streets were full of mortals in all shapes, all sizes. Mortals were trivial; he might just as easily fail to notice one rabbit in a colony of rabbits. But that would have been a lie; his pride was pricked. As none but he was aware of this minor failure, he did not attempt to justify it.
He had overlooked the young man.
The young man’s clothing was the clothing of a subsistence thief. It was poor, but some elements were in better repair than others; he had boots, although they had seen better years. His hair was unkempt; some effort had been made, but it was wild and snarled in the back. It would be much better cut and tended, but most things that grew were. His appearance would have been both masterful and impressive had any of it been a deliberate choice. Elluvian was certain it was not.
How long had the boy followed An’Teela? Why had he taken that risk?
He might have told the boy that this was not in the best interests of survival, but the young man appeared to understand this. He kept a good distance. He tracked An’Teela during the hours of city daylight in which the streets would be busy enough that An’Teela would feel constrained by the tabard she wore.
He did so frequently.
Given his clothing and his demeanor, he did not appear to belong to one of the gangs in the warrens, but there was a sense of desperation about him.
Elluvian had time, and time unfolded, but this boy, over the two months that Elluvian had paid attention, did nothing. If he had sold the information he had received simply by observing An’Teela, it had not altered his circumstances.
To Elluvian’s surprise—which annoyed him, because surprise implied a lack of knowledge, a failure to anticipate—the boy who followed An’Teela at a safe distance did not look, often, at An’Teela. No. It took some weeks for Elluvian to be certain that the young man’s target was not the Barrani Lord or even her attendant, but her adopted fledgling.
Elluvian watched the young man, but the young man made no effort at all to speak with the girl; he made no effort to communicate. Doing so in An’Teela’s presence would be exceedingly unwise, of course; the young man was not a fool. But the young man made no attempt to contact the girl at all. And she was not always by An’Teela’s side.