Unless he chose not to interfere, of course. If he chose not to interfere at all, the matter would remain within the laws of exemption.
An’Tellarus’s apartments did not follow the same halls as Corvallan’s; Corvallan was not the head of his line. He was significant enough that he was granted the use of Mellarionne suites, but his suites were a geographic reminder that that significance was lesser. An’Tellarus, being head of her line, was not treated as if she was insignificant. The High Lord respected her, as did the Consort who ruled, like a statue, by his side.
She, in turn, seemed to bear some affection for the High Lord and his Lady, but An’Tellarus’s affections were never gentle.
Her quarters were, however, magically protected. No show of guards—armed, armored—graced the halls that led to doors almost the height of the ceilings, and while these ceilings were not the vaulting, multistory ceilings of the public gallery, meant to inspire awe and a sense of open space where none existed, they were nonetheless taller than Corvallan’s ceilings had been, and they artfully implied sunlight as they passed beneath them.
No armor, no metal, adorned the wall alcoves here: instead, there were small sculpted trees and artfully arranged flowers—things that implied growth, change, and ephemerality. Severn saw them, just as he had seen the armed men.
“Is there a significance to the colors?” he asked, which surprised Elluvian.
“The colors?”
“The flowers on the left and right alcoves, the third alcoves, are of a kind, but the colors are radiant—and different.”
“Different?”
“I haven’t seen green flowers before. Leaves, yes—but these are the color of emeralds.”
“Cassandre was right,” Elluvian replied. “Your Barrani is excellent. All of the Wolves—all members of the Halls of Law—must speak passable Barrani, and more to the point, read it. The use of the wordemerald, however, is not legal cant. And yes, the colors are significant: emerald and indigo. It is highly unlikely that either plant was cultivated without the use of magic.”
“You use magic for plants?”
Elluvian chuckled. “For beauty,” he replied. “You will find that all living beings will spend much of their labor and time to acquire or become things of beauty.”
“Do you find them beautiful?”
“I? No. They are a statement, of course. You know that green, in the eyes of my kin, denotes happiness, comfort, perhaps joy. Indigo is its opposite. To pass between these flowers is to accept that broad spectrum of Barrani emotion.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“It seems like more of a warning.”
“Ah.”
“You might cause the one or the other. Both are possible.”
“I almost regret offering you to the Wolves. Yes. The middle path—the path we now walk—is the safe path. It is possible that you might be the bearer of tidings that invoke happiness, contentment—but I have never seen either in An’Tellarus’s eyes.”
“And the short trees?”
“They are a signal that all beauty, in the end, is a matter of will and design; that one can be both alive and sculpted into something better or more interesting.”
“The tapestries?”
“Do not spend time gazing at them. They are meant to draw and hold the eye in an endless way; they imply pattern, but there are inconsistencies in the flow of the design that challenge the viewer. Would you have preferred armed guards?”
Severn shook his head. “But armed guards are far easier to understand.”
“They offer an obvious warning, not a subtle one, but they can be seen as a sign of respect for another’s power.”
“That’s not what guards meant where I grew up.”
“No? No, perhaps not. But in the warrens, they are not referred to as guards by those who are not residents of those streets.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN