The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,116
office door was open, an invitation or a command. Severn had shouldered Random’s creations, and he made his way down the hall. He had no office of his own, and no place to put anything he didn’t wish to expose to the Wolves; he accepted this.
It was odd, though. He had had no regrets, felt no hesitation, about Ybelline’s perusal of things he did not wish to expose; he felt no hesitation about the fact that she knew what Random’s works contained. Helmat and Elluvian, however, gave him far more pause.
Why? He had no answer, and in any case, it wasn’t the question that was relevant now.
* * *
Helmat’s mirror was reflective. He spoke a soft word, but the reflective surface remained in place.
“Private.”
Severn nodded. Helmat’s desk was remarkably empty if one discounted the mirror; the surface was clear. Severn set about opening the pack and began to remove its contents.
The first thing he placed in front of Helmat was a small figurine; it was perhaps three inches in height. Barrani.
“En?”
“An’Sennarin.”
“Not a name I’ve heard you mention often.”
“No. You might hear it a touch more in the next few weeks, but it is not considered dangerously significant at court.”
Severn then took out the second figurine.
Helmat’s eyes narrowed. “Random gave you this?”
“Yes.”
“And Master Sabrai allowed you to take it?”
“Yes. I don’t recognize the man.”
“No. He’s Tha’alani.” Helmat did not offer a name.
Severn then removed the most complicated of the sculptures—the tableau of three. As he did, he turned toward Elluvian.
Elluvian’s eyes were gold. He slid his hands behind his back and lowered his chin as he studied the tableau. His eyes lost the gold of surprise, shading swiftly into an odd shade of blue that appeared to have some purple in it. “When,” he finally said, “did the Oracle create this?”
“While we were there.”
“Not before?”
“No. The other two figures were carved before our arrival. This one...wasn’t.”
“She meant this for you.”
“She clearly meant them all for him, En. Why is this one significant?”
“Do not waste time asking questions you know I will not answer,” the Barrani Wolf snapped. He approached the sculpture of the three figures. “May I?” At Severn’s nod, Elluvian lifted the tableau, examining each of the three in turn. “Do you recognize any of them?” he asked.
The question had not been asked of Helmat, to Helmat’s surprise.
“An’Tellarus,” Severn said.
“Ah, yes. Yes, that is An’Tellarus. Do you recognize either of the others?”
“No.”
“One is the Lord of the West March.”
“You think the Lord of the West March is involved in this?” Helmat demanded.
“No.” It was Severn who answered. The answer should have meant nothing to Helmat. “I don’t think this one has much to do with my current—our current—mission.”
“You think it’s specifically about you? How much did you ruffle feathers during your visit to the High Halls?”
Severn ignored this, his attention on the Barrani in the room. “And the other?”
Elluvian shook his head. “I do not believe it is relevant.”
“Let us judge that,” Helmat replied.
As if to forestall what was certain to become a more heated discussion, Severn began to pull sketches from the pack. Helmat’s face, wearing an expression that implied he was not pleased with life, now stared up at the Wolflord, an artistic mirror.
The second sketch was the one of Ybelline. She wore the robes she had worn to the Oracular Halls, but Elluvian’s frown indicated that he had noted some difference. Her expression, unlike Helmat’s, was shorn of anger or irritation. Her eyes, in black and white, had no color that could lend emotion to her face.
The third sketch was of Elluvian; unlike the first two, it was the entire upper body, not just the head and upper shoulders.
“En?”
Elluvian said nothing for a long beat. “They are ceremonial robes, of a type not donned in the High Halls.”
“Where would they be worn?”
Elluvian shook his head.
“Wedding?”
Both of Elluvian’s dark brows crested the line of his hair. “Absolutely not.”
Elluvian was discomfited by the things Severn had placed, one at a time, on Helmat’s desk. Which was, itself, unsettling. “The Oracle did not say when this might occur?”
Severn shook his head. “I don’t think she gets the choice. She tries to capture what she’s seen. But some of this is no doubt decades old.”
“And some is not.”
Severn nodded. “She doesn’t know. She believes it’s all relevant—but she doesn’t know how. I don’t think any of the Oracles within the Hall do when they’re driven to create.”
“So we’ve been told,” Elluvian replied.
Severn’s pack was not yet empty. He now drew another