“Yes. But I—as every other member of the High Court—have sworn personal loyalty to the Emperor. His laws of exemption provide legitimacy to our laws. I do nothing here of which the Emperor would disapprove. Should the man involved directly in facilitating these murders die—and no doubt he will, after we have spoken—the Emperor would consider the death irrelevant.”
“And if he dies before you have spoken with him?”
“My investigation will, of necessity, become much broader in scope.”
“I am not afraid of you or your petty threats.”
“Cooperation does not, of course, imply fear,” Cassandre said, her tone once again a living expression of ice, “but a desire for privacy, surely? You must forgive us,” she added, speaking once again to Elluvian. “Only give us the name, and we will tender any information we have regarding his activities as it relates to other families, other lines. The list will not be complete; I am certain that your particular skills will in the end unearth more information—but perhaps it will give you a place to start.”
“It is more complicated than that,” Elluvian told her, voice soft. “The men executed to prevent incursions of the Hawks—or the Emperor they serve—are not usually lords of any of our kin’s courts in their own right. Were it a simple matter of servants and those who have not undertaken the Test of Name in the High Court, I would not be here at all. It has not escaped my notice that my company is considered, by many, a blight upon our proud heritage.”
Cassandre abandoned her chair, joining her husband. “Two decades past,” she whispered, her pallor washed clean of color.
Elluvian nodded. “You understand why the normal method of dealing with infractions is not perhaps available to us.”
She did. Corvallan struggled to put meaning to Elluvian’s words, and his realization arrived later.
“Does the Emperor know?”
“If the matter is resolved by the Barrani,” Elluvian said, evading the question, “it will be irrelevant.”
“And if it is not?”
“He will be angry. He does not play at games—not the games of our people—but we have long understood the importance of hoard to Dragonkind. The city, the Empire itself, is his hoard, and the value of the Tha’alani to the Imperial Service cannot be overestimated.”
“The name,” Cassandre said, her voice thinner, weaker.
“An’Sennarin.”
Silence. In its folds, Elluvian waited.
“Impossible,” Corvallan finally said. “An’Sennarin would not—has not—lifted a finger in any endeavor that would cause this political turmoil. He has no love of mortals, no love of Dragons, but there would be nothing to gain. He is aware of the exact boundaries of the protections the laws of exemption cover.”
“He is.”
“Your informant must be mistaken. Mortals have difficulty telling the Barrani apart.”
Cassandre was watching Elluvian; her gaze did not move. “Lord Corvallan is correct. An’Sennarin has extensive contacts in the High Court and the lower courts; he has acquaintances that belong in neither.”
“He became An’Sennarin,” Elluvian countered, “two decades ago, rising in prominence from the moment that he shouldered the line. While he was always considered ambitious, his rise implies genius.”
“Or luck.”
“Luck is made.” Elluvian now rose and turned to Severn. “We will be late if we linger much longer, and An’Tellarus does not forgive tardiness, in my experience.” He then turned to Cassandre and Corvallan. “I regret any discomfort this has caused; think on my words and consider the situation with care. The Emperor, for reasons known only to himself, has chosen to place his trust in me, but I am Barrani.
“If An’Sennarin continues unchecked, the Emperor will decide to oversee this investigation in person. He would not send mortals to deal with the Immortal, and I am not an army.”
“And if An’Sennarin is not your criminal?”
Elluvian smiled.
He did not speak to Severn as they left the Corvallan apartments. The guards remained, but no signal from Cassandre—who saw them out, in the same fashion as she had invited them in—caused them to become would-be assassins. Severn was alert, but he did not appear to expect trouble from that quarter.
He had not, however, expected trouble in the wake of An’Tellarus, either. His reflexes, youthful, were good. Having experienced An’Tellarus’s particular style of testing, there was some small chance they would both escape with their lives, if not their dignity, intact.
Elluvian had ceased to consider dignity—in the eyes of others—of great import. It was a lesson he had learned over centuries, but a vital one. He did not wish to keep an appointment that had been made for him without his desire or permission. At any other time, he would have failed to arrive. But if what he had said to Cassandre was not the entirety of the truth, it was true enough that it required careful handling of the High Court. And as An’Tellarus was here, it would require far more caution than was Elluvian’s wont.
He wished again that Helmat had not insisted that a partner of any kind was required, because Wolves were mortals. It irked him; Severn might have fast reflexes, but had he been with Elluvian at his most recent visit, the boy would be dead.