or even Jaren. Helmat was his equal in the early years of his training. This talent at mastering basic lessons quickly seems to impress your kind; it does not impress ours as readily.”
“Why?”
“Because it is not the speed of absorption that defines success for my kin. If one cannot survive, talent and promise are utterly irrelevant. He was good, yes—but far too impressed with his own talent. I did not see that clearly when I brought him in. The Wolves were not as impressed with his talent as he was, but it was close.”
“But they blame you.”
“He was my attendant at the time—as you will be today. For no other reason would he be allowed into the High Halls. His death was seen as my failure.”
Severn’s face did not take up the frown it might have had he been with Ybelline. “Was it seen as a failure by you?”
“You are perceptive, Private. It was my failure—but not in the way Mellianne believes it was. I am Barrani. I am, to her eyes, old. She understands some larger measure of my power than you do, and while she has access to Records, she has spent little time with the Barrani.”
“She thinks you could have saved him.”
“Yes.”
“The Wolflord doesn’t.”
“No. But Helmat is decades older; he has seen far more. In as much as he is willing to trust anyone, he trusts me—but it is a trust born of necessity. He was not happy, of course. But he did not fault me in the way Mellianne does.”
“You wanted to leave the office before he arrived.”
“Yes.”
“Because you didn’t want him to see the tabard.”
“Indeed.”
“The tabard,” Severn continued, after a pause in which he gathered words. “It’s not for Corvallan or Cassandre or any of the Barrani we might meet in the gallery. It’s for An’Tellarus.”
Elluvian’s eyes lightened slightly as he glanced at Severn. “An’Tellarus is not part of our investigation, and Cassandre has agreed to entertain us. It is the reason we now return to the High Halls.”
“It was the reason we went there the first time, as well. You seemed more concerned with An’Tellarus than with the two Lords who could well help us find the person responsible for the Tha’alani murders.” When Elluvian failed to reply, Severn said, “It’s An’Tellarus you’re worried about. It’s An’Tellarus to whom you wish to make a point.”
Elluvian surrendered, then. “It is indeed. We will need to walk very, very carefully in the presence of An’Tellarus. The oracle made that clear.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Elluvian had lied. This became obvious when Severn entered the High Halls and made his way to the rooms that Lords Corvallan and Cassandre occupied. The long row of burnished guards were not in the final hallway; the guards that were there numbered four, and they wore far less ostentatious armor. To a man, their eyes darkened until they matched the shade of Elluvian’s. None, however, left their post.
This probably meant that guards or pages—he thought the latter word applied, but wasn’t certain—were not the sole source of information about possible intruders to either lord. Severn had little doubt that Cassandre at least was aware of their approach.
He said nothing. The tabard he wore drew the eye, but not in a way that implied attention was a prelude to death; that attention was fixed firmly upon Elluvian.
Only when they reached the doors did the guards closest to them raise weapons; the gesture was clearly ceremonial. “You have no appointment and no permission to enter the chambers of our lord.”
Lord, not lords.
Elluvian made no reply. He didn’t touch the doors or take another step toward them, and Severn walked one step behind. Elluvian simply waited.
The guards were not Rosen; they had done their duty. They had stopped him from touching the doors. But they didn’t attempt to remove him or drive him back, nor did they attempt to speak for their lord in any other way.
Severn didn’t know how long they waited; time always passed more slowly when one was aware of it. He’d taken the posture of servant, and the tabard seemed to grant him an invisibility that Elluvian’s fancier clothing had not. He didn’t touch his weapons. He didn’t raise his voice. He studied the tops of his boots while he waited. Elluvian would decide when enough time had passed. Elluvian or Lord Cassandre.
It was Lord Cassandre who blinked in this figurative staring contest; the doors rolled open. She stood between them looking every inch the militant her guards had not.
“Elluvian,” she said, smiling. “I