Elluvian’s clothing was far more suitable for visiting the Tha’alani quarters than the clothing Severn otherwise owned. As he hadn’t been required to pay for any of it, Severn hesitated; the hesitation was brief. He understood Mellianne’s instinctive distrust and resentment of what the clothing itself might signify, but Mellianne wasn’t with him. No other Wolf was.
Rosen was annoyed on his behalf. If the Wolflord had advised Severn to treat each job as impersonally as possible, he hadn’t ordered Severn to treat the men and women who were part of the Wolf pack beneath his command in the same way. And even if he had, he hadn’t told Rosen.
“I can’t believe Helmat is sending you to the Tha’alani quarter. It’s been less than aweeksince you were examined.”
“He isn’t sending me against my will,” Severn began.
“No, of course not. You’re young and you want to make a good impression. But this is beyond the pale. He should send Jaren if he wants information.”
Any attempt to tell Rosen that the information desired was desired by Severn himself was going to end in dismal failure. Severn did try. Although he knew very little about Helmat Marlin, he instinctively almost trusted him. He didn’t want to cause trouble for the Wolflord.
That trouble, however, was not his to mitigate. Rosen was annoyed. Severn accepted what he couldn’t change, as he always had.
He discovered that the Tha’alani quarter, unlike the Leontine quarter, was heavily walled and guarded. Both mortal Imperial guards and Tha’alani guards blocked the only visible entrance Severn could see. He hadn’t fully scouted the entirety of that wall; he didn’t want his progress to be noted as suspicious activity. He’d do it later if he felt it necessary.
And on some level he did. But maybe, twenty years ago, security had been more lax; people were viscerally afraid of the Tha’alani, and were unlikely to seek them out. Those who sought them had murdered them. It seemed, to Severn, that the Tha’alani had more, much more, to fear than the mortals who resented their racial abilities.
Everyone had secrets. The darker the secret, the greater desire that no light ever be shone on them. And the Tha’alani, mythically, could unearth them all with a simple touch.
The thought that the unearthing would be costly to the Tha’alani never occurred to anyone who feared them. And why would it? Secrets—the secrets of others—were a tool the powerful could use. Or the weak could use as a lever to gain power. When one didn’t have power, the weakness of others looked a lot like strength.
Not to the Tha’alani.
Severn spoke first with an Imperial guard, who had been informed of his visit. The guard was brisk, efficient, and slightly bored; he passed Severn off to the Tha’alani guards. Unlike their human counterparts, they didn’t look bored; they looked alarmed and slightly angry.
He treated them the same way he had treated the human guards. He answered their questions clearly and waited with patience. He had always been good at waiting; it was a lesson he’d been taught early. Waiting here was necessary. The Tha’alani guard wanted to turn him away. Although he didn’t speak, and did not send a messenger into the closed quarter itself, Severn was certain he was nonetheless communicating with his superiors.
If Severn was to be allowed entry at all, he would not enter unescorted.
His hope that Ybelline would be sent to meet him was dashed when the gates were finally opened; a man of an age with the Wolflord stood in the open arch.
Age appeared to be the only thing the two men had in common, at least at first glance. The Tha’alani man wore robes, not the fitted jacket and pants that Severn now wore. His hair was darker than the Wolflord’s, but glints of silver brightened it. He paused a moment by the gate guard, stepped in; their antennae tangled briefly before the gate guard squared his shoulders, nodded, and returned to his position.
“You are Severn,” the man from the inside said. “I am called Scoros by my kin. Come, you are expected.” He couldn’t have been delighted to see Severn, but no hint of displeasure or worry colored his expression. “You were not expected, and I should perhaps warn you that your visit has caused some agitation.” He spoke gently, his smile rueful. It was impossible to take accusation from the words. “I admit that I am surprised. You were visited by the Imperial Service less than a week ago, by our count.”
“By mine as well. The Wolflord was at least as surprised.”
“And far more blunt?” The smile deepened.
“...and more blunt, yes.” Severn smiled in return.
“Tell me, how do you find him?”
“Find him?”
“Ah, forgive my Elantran. What do you think of him?”
This wasn’t the question Severn expected. He punted. “What do you think of him?”
This deepened Scoros’s smile. “I believe—and this is not a universally held opinion—that he is an honorable and honest man, in as much as he can be.”
Severn was silent.
“You do not agree.”
“No, I believe you. I just don’t understand something.”
“And that?”