spoke without humor. Without anger. The flat words, unadorned by either, were a statement of fact.
Severn believed them.
“Private Handred is not Darrell.”
Rosen sat down. “No. Get out of here before I change my mind.”
* * *
The walk to the High Halls started in a silence underscored by the noise of the city streets. It was broken by Elluvian.
“The death was a drowning death. This could be achieved by elemental, but the summoning would have to be absolutely precise to escape the notice of the Barrani Hawks.”
“Would the killer have to see his victim?”
“Yes. Not only would he have to see his victim, but he would have to summon the elemental at a safe distance, and the elemental would be summoned within the victim, not outside of him.”
“A small elemental couldn’t achieve this from the outside?”
“Not without being instantly noticed, no. An elemental of that size takes a negligible amount of power to summon, and a negligible amount of power to control. To summon one inside of a man’s lungs takes knowledge of anatomy and a precision that would require decades to achieve. It is not commonly done.”
“Are you aware of cases where it has been?”
“No. None. There is far, far too much that could go wrong. It was a bold, calculated risk.”
“Were either Teela or Tain injured in their attempt to protect the witness?”
“I have not seen their report. Mascot injuries, however, were avoided entirely.”
Severn said nothing. Ybelline, he thought, would never take the knowledge she had seen on the inside of his head and use it against him in any way. She wouldn’t know, and wouldn’t want to know, any more about Elianne than Severn himself knew.
Elluvian was not Ybelline. He was Barrani. Trust, in as much as Severn felt any, was a matter of power: Severn had none. Trust was irrelevant. Trusting, not trusting, were his risks to take. But he did not want Elluvian to know any more about Elianne than he already did.
The information was welcome, regardless. Severn, however much he wanted to ask questions, had the answer to the most important one: she was unhurt. He now changed the subject. “How long has Mellianne been a Wolf?”
“Just under two years.”
“Has she been this angry for all of them?”
“No, as you must suspect. I am not, however, the person to ask. If you wish to know why Mellianne is angry, Mellianne herself is the most relevant source. She will answer your questions. She will not paint me in the most flattering of lights, however.”
“And this isn’t a concern for you.”
Elluvian was silent for half a city block. “It is a concern for the Wolves. If by concern you mean, am I worried for my personal safety, then no, as you suspect, it is not a concern. It is very, very seldom that a Wolf has been foolish enough to attack me.”
“But not Helmat.”
“It has happened infrequently with Helmat, but yes. The Wolves are, in some fashion, permitted to—groomed to—kill. The killings are not legally considered murders, as I’m sure Helmat made adequately clear.”
Severn nodded.
“When people’s lives and livelihood depend on their ability to kill, killing becomes part of the fabric of their daily life. Death becomes a tool—a necessary tool—but a tool, nonetheless. I am not part of the hierarchy of the Wolves, although I am considered a Wolf. I have been considered a Wolf since the Wolves were founded.”
“Why you?”
“I have asked that question a hundred times—enough, certainly, to become bored with it.”
“You found Mellianne.”
“Yes. As I found you.”
“You found Darrell.”
“Yes. Darrell would have been a Wolf for almost the same length of time as Mellianne, had he survived.”
“How did he die?”
“He died in the High Halls.”
“And the laws of exemption?”
“The decision was not mine.”
This surprised Severn. “Not yours? Would you have invoked the Emperor’s Law in the High Halls?”
“I think I would have found it amusing, had I survived the attempt—that was not guaranteed. My death, however, was not guaranteed either. The decision was the Emperor’s to make: the Wolves are his.”
“How did he die?”
“He allowed himself to be goaded into discourteous action by a Lord of the High Court. There was not enough of him left to bury decently.”
This, Severn had not heard. “Magic?”
Elluvian nodded. His eyes had been dark blue all morning, and their color didn’t change. “Had Mellianne been the attendant Wolf, she would have survived.”
“She’d survive magic?”
“She would not have been goaded into suicide. Darrell was talented. He was, on the surface, far more talented than Mellianne. More than Rosen