The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,140
couldn’t hear her, but she was, somehow, briefly present. He struggled to cough up the fluid that deprived him of air and failed—of course he failed.
Light dimmed and guttered.
* * *
He woke.
Green eyes were the first thing he saw. The rest of the face followed, and to his surprise, the face was not Ybelline’s. Nor was it the castelord’s. It was Scoros’s, pale as death, his brows rising, his eyes shifting almost immediately from emerald green to amber.
“Severn.” His hands were on Severn’s shoulders. “Severn, are you there?”
As if the hands that were shaking him—unintentionally, in Severn’s admittedly groggy opinion—were lying to their owner.
His first attempt to form words failed, as did his second. His third, however, succeeded. “I’m here.” The voice was weaker than he’d intended.
Scoros closed his eyes. “Ybelline will see you now,” he said.
“Why are you here?”
“She asked me to stay. She was afraid to leave you alone.”
“Are we in the—”
“You are in Ybelline’s home.”
“Why?”
“It was closer,” Scoros replied, running a hand across his brow. He’d been sweating. Relief, however, had broken some essential wall, and his expression dissolved into the type of pain that leaves sorrow in its wake when it has finally become almost bearable.
Severn sat up, the movement sudden enough it made him dizzy. He didn’t touch the Tha’alani man, but didn’t attempt to evade his touch, either. The absent castelord would cause no further harm while Scoros was present; he was certain of that.
“Where is Ybelline?”
“She is here. Garadin is here as well.” He exhaled. “As is Timorri, who should be well away—well—from any of these events. He has not fully recovered from the incident, and it is unlikely that he is stable enough to be of useful aid.”
“The castelord?”
Scoros’s eyes darkened to green. “He is with Ybelline. I would join them, but keeping watch over you was the only thing she asked of me. You are lucky, Private. Even had one of us arrived in time, we could not do what she did.”
“What did she do?”
“She saved your life. She’s the only one who could.” Seeing Severn’s expression, Scoros said, “I am getting far, far ahead of myself. Ybelline is coming.” He stiffened. “Ybelline is coming with the castelord. You are safe,” he added, the three words spoken in a rush. “He cannot harm you here, and he will not make a second attempt. He should never have made the first one.”
“Why?”
“We are not murderers,” was the simple response. “We have spent our lives scarred by the fears that drive your kind to murder, and that is not what we are. Not what we should be.” Scoros was afraid.
But Severn had seen his almost golden eyes when he had realized that Severn would survive. He was not, would not be, afraid of Scoros.
There were no doors in this room; there was a hanging curtain composed largely of beads that tinkled pleasantly when they were pushed to the side. Draped by these beads—strands of which fell across her shoulders—was Ybelline. She wore a robe of emerald green, and something across her forehead that might have been a slender tiara, had it been made of metal.
She approached the bed without haste. Her eyes, as Scoros’s had been, were momentarily gold. As Scoros’s had, they darkened. Behind Ybelline came Adellos Coran’alani, and behind him, Garadin, he of the enlarged, angry face so familiar to the Wolves’ Records. There was no sign of Timorri.
Severn had drawn himself into a seated position to calm Scoros; he was grateful that he’d maintained it. He rose steadily, forcing his knees to bear his weight. He offered Ybelline a bow. He didn’t offer her his open hands; he didn’t think she would take them.
Only when she was certain that he could stand did she nod, allowing him to once again sit. There was a single chair in this room, which Scoros now vacated; there was a round, high window, something that looked like a dresser with every single corner rounded down, a vase with flowers. Nothing else.
Scoros nodded; he and Garadin then left the room. “We will be outside,” he said, “if we are necessary.”
It took Severn a moment to realize that the words had been spoken for his benefit—but of course they had. None of the Tha’alani required actual speech. The beads tinkled as they departed. Only when the motions of that permeable curtain had faded did Adellos take the chair Scoros had vacated. Ybelline stood, her hands behind her back, her eyes green.