The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,130
it was, he had come close to failing in that moment. But he thought it was not; An’Tellarus’s focus was entirely absorbed in the newest Imperial Wolf. If she had noticed his tabard at all—and she must have—she paid it no attention. No derision, no suspicion, no mockery, shifted her expression. He might not have been wearing it at all.
“Have you spent time with Imperial Mages?” she asked.
Elluvian frowned.
“No.”
“Ah. Well, you will. I wish you to examine a few objects.”
Severn nodded.
“What are the purpose of these objects?” Elluvian asked.
An’Tellarus did not choose to hear him.
* * *
The oval room was large, the center portion recessed. Two long couches faced each other across a table that was the shape of the room itself, shrunk down to accommodate the smaller space. At the midpoint of walls, alcoves were adorned with plants. None of those plants now grew within the confines of the city itself, although they could be found within the environs in which the High Seat was placed. Gardeners tended those, of course.
The only gardener here was An’Tellarus. Elluvian frowned. As Severn moved toward the couches and the table between them, Elluvian looked at the chairs themselves. They appeared to be rooted in the wood of the floor, vines that had entangled themselves to create a place where people might be seated in comfort.
Chairs such as these were never found in the High Halls.
He examined the chairs more carefully.
“Elluvian, is that necessary?”
The examination itself was his response. The chairs were not illusory; they were as they appeared. They were growing, had been grown, in this room. He sat heavily and gracelessly. The chair shifted beneath his weight, and as he closed his eyes, he heard the distant song of the Western reach.
He almost rose, then, to take Severn out of this room, out of this suite, and out of the High Halls. But Severn was unruffled, almost unconcerned. Any warning Elluvian cared to offer would be considered and, in Elluvian’s opinion, ignored.
She led Severn to the couch opposite Elluvian’s. As Elluvian had, he noticed the unusual construction, but his knowledge of the Barrani did not immediately place the creation of the chairs; he saw nothing political in them. At her nod, he seated himself.
When he did, his brows rose. Surprise, not alarm, and had Elluvian not been watching him so carefully, he would have missed it.
“What do you hear?” An’Tellarus asked, her voice soft.
“Music. It’s faint. When I speak, I lose the thread of it.”
“Do you recognize the song?”
Silence. Elluvian had spent enough time observing the young Wolf that he knew the answer was yes. That was disturbing, but not unexpected given their last visit.
“Where have you heard it before?” she asked, an indication that her observation was, given their time together, more acute. “It is almost an anthem of my people—but not those who call Elantra home.”
Silence as well. This silence was less pleasant to An’Tellarus, and therefore more pleasant to Elluvian.
The annoyance faded from An’Tellarus’s expression. “Very well. There is no harm in it for any of us.” She gestured as if pulling back an unseen curtain, and the surface of the table was no longer empty.
Severn’s gaze alighted on the objects she had gathered for his perusal. A faint smile changed the contours of his mouth: recognition. Familiarity.
An’Tellarus was still as the stone out of which the two statues had been carved. Severn did not notice. Instead, he reached out and picked up a child’s toy—a spinning top that would only be of value to the very young among the Barrani, and at that, only those who were raised outside of the confines of the High Court.
As Elluvian had been.
He said nothing; there was no harm in it, or none that would result in physical injury. But he knew what the toy was meant to test. And he knew that Severn did not see it as a test. Had not seen it as a test when he had first encountered it. Elluvian watched just as closely as An’Tellarus.
The very young could be frustrated by it; their attempts to get the top to spin absorbed the whole of their attention. In some fashion, it absorbed the attention of the adults as well; there were always adults present. The toy itself gave the first early indicators of magic affinity, of magic potential—if it could be properly used.
Severn’s smile grew lopsided as he removed himself from the couch, found a patch of gleaming