“You will join me?” Corvallan said, gesturing to the decanter.
“Given the appointment that is to follow this one, I must decline.”
“Ah. We had heard that An’Tellarus has chosen to grace the Halls with her presence. It is fortuitous timing. Will your servant join us?” The emphasis on the wordservantcould not be missed. The words, aimed at Severn, demanded an answer.
Severn, however, stepped back, toward a wall, as if he were in truth a helpmate, a public adornment. He did not answer Corvallan, but the tone of the question did not demand a response beyond that; the question had, after all, been indirectly addressed.
The boy was not Darrell, although their early environments had much in common.
Cassandre now took a seat; she also took the drink she was offered and held it in perfectly still hands, her gaze drawn to its surface as if it were a work of art meant to be viewed, not consumed. Elluvian almost regretted his decision to avoid it.
Silence now settled over the gathering. Social skills might have allowed a superficial recovery, but Elluvian did not consider this a social visit. Severn’s presence emphasized that. He glanced at Cassandre, who now chose to sip the amber liquid.
“You have come to my husband with concerns,” she finally said, taking, as she often had in the past, the lead that no one else desired.
“Yes.”
“Elluvian.” Her voice was chiding; the husband in question had not said a word.
“Recall that perhaps two decades ago—in the Imperial calendar—a string of Tha’alani kidnappings and murders took place.”
“Surely the killers were apprehended, given the nature of their victims?”
“Some, yes. Not all. It was mob violence—mortal mob violence—and the dying memories of the victims were not coherent, given the number of aggressors.”
“And this is relevant to us how?” Corvallan said.
Cassandre’s eyes narrowed briefly, the color darkening to a shade that more closely matched her husband’s.
“Very recently, one of the mob who had remained at large was apprehended for a series of much more mundane crimes. As is the Emperor’s desire, the Tha’alani were called to review the details of one of those crimes. I am not at liberty to speak of the nature of the crime itself.”
Silence.
“That man, however—mortal, of course—had one item of relevance to the earlier murders: there was a Barrani man present at the time. The man himself was not a participant in all of the mob violence—but the Barrani man appeared to have been at the scene of each death that this particular man participated in.”
The silence grew depths as both Corvallan and Cassandre focused on Elluvian.
“The Emperor now desires information.”
“Who was the man?” Cassandre’s question was casual.
“I do not know. As you are well aware, the Imperial Tha’alani are not required where Barrani are concerned. I did not see the man in question. I spoke with the Tha’alanari, but their description in simple words leaves much to be desired.
“One of the Tha’alani who serves the Halls of Law, however, has drawn the likeness. I have seen that—as, I imagine, have most of the relevant officers in the Halls of Law.”
“And you have brought this with you, then?” Cassandre asked, voice far steadier than her hands. She set the drink down gently, her former reverence shattered. “You believe that we may somehow identify this criminal for you?”
“Ah, no. I have some desire to speak with the man myself. I do not wish his body to be deposited near the Halls of Law like the inconvenient detritus it will no doubt become.”
“You wish, or the Emperor wishes?” Cassandre asked. It was the first time she failed to contain the edge in her voice.
“The Emperor wishes,” was Elluvian’s neutral reply.
“You are still the Emperor’s Dog,” Corvallan snapped. He turned to Severn then. “And you must be one of his dogs as well—hunting dogs, but dogs subordinate to their master.”
Severn inclined his chin. His expression was placid, as if Corvallan’s words were the expected words, the only possible words, in this situation.
Elluvian did not understand his temporary partner. Had he believed the boy capable of great subterfuge, he might have been impressed at his self-control—but it seemed to Elluvian that no self-control had been necessary. He had just been called an animal, and no twitch of facial muscle implied that this had unnerved or angered him.