the memories to the Tha’alaan. He’s right in that. There will be another Tessa, another Jerrin, another Tobi. If you find ways to hamper them—and you will—they’ll find ways to sneak out of the house. But the memories he took he can’t return.”
“What better way to assure that those memories remain hidden than to kill them?”
Severn nodded. “That’s probably why they were killed.” To the older man, he added, “Those deaths weren’t accidental, were they?”
“No.”
“And you knew they’d been murdered.”
“I did not know it at the time of their deaths. Had she not died, I believe Tessa would have been capable of bearing the mantle of castelord. There were memories that she kept hidden by threading them through the Tha’alaan in strands so fine they were impossible to entirely disentangle. Jerrin and Tobi were not her equals.”
“Why did you not hide the early memories?”
“They had living parents, living family. They had friends. They were dead—some token had to be left so that the burden of their loss could be shared. And Tessa was, as I said, adept at hiding.”
“Did you know that their deaths weren’t accidental when they died?”
“No.”
Ybelline’s brow rippled.
“Do you know the identity of their killer or killers?”
Silence.
“They weren’t Tha’alani.”
“No.”
Severn exhaled. “You said that justice has already been done.”
The old man—and it seemed to Severn that he had gained decades as he occupied this chair—nodded.
“You didn’t kill the witnesses that were to be questioned by the Halls of Law.”
“No.”
“You know who did.”
“I did not command them,” was the almost testy reply. “I did not order those deaths, if that is what you have understood.”
“But you knew of them.”
“Grief can cause madness,” Adellos said. He spoke to Ybelline—or to himself; his gaze had moved off Severn’s face. “It is not the madness of fear, but it can cause as much damage, in the end. Especially ours.”
“Then I will start my reign,” Ybelline replied, “in madness.”
Adellos once again closed his eyes. “Child,” he said softly, “I did my best not to hamper you.”
“Hamper is far too kind a word for what you’ve done.”
“Yes. Perhaps the desire to be kind to those we love is also a type of madness; kindness does not change reality.”
Severn said, “We will go to the High Halls.”
Adellos’s eyes were already too green to darken further in color. “I ask you, castelord, to refuse.”
“Then clearly Severn’s suggestion is correct.”
Severn had not meant to include Ybelline in that nebulous we. “It’s not safe for you—for any of your kin—in the High Halls.”
“And it has been safe for you?” she countered.
“I’m human. I’m beneath notice; I enter the High Halls at Elluvian’s side.”
“And only then?”
Severn nodded.
“Then Elluvian will have to accompany us.”
“Do not do this,” Adellos whispered.
“I cannot be castelord in ignorance,” was her soft reply. “If you will not give me the information I seek, I will investigate using other avenues that are open to me.”
Severn said nothing. The Wolflord wasn’t going to be pleased. “I have one request,” he said.
“And that?”
“I don’t wish the incident that occurred here—”
“The attempted murder.”
“The attempted murder,” he continued, “if you prefer. I don’t want it reported.”
“And if it were your decision,” Ybelline replied, “or his, it would not be.”
“Ybelline—”
“It’s not about your life or death,” she said, relenting. “It’s about us. Us as a people. It’s already dangerous to separate the Tha’alanari from the Tha’alaan at large—but all who serve understand why we must. If this is the end result of separating the leader from their people entirely, it is far too high a price to pay.”
“You will not say so,” Adellos said, “when you understand the entirety of what occurred.”
“You assume that my understanding, or my judgment, would be the same as yours. We are not the same person. Our knowledge of experiences does not immediately render our prior experiences irrelevant. You should know this. It is what you have taught us all.”
“Leave this, Ybelline.”
Severn knew, without touching her or being touched by her, what her answer would be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Severn was not particularly surprised to return to an office that sounded like a human version of a thunderstorm. Rosen waved him over to her desk. The mirror on it wasn’t reflective; it was a glowing, almost pulsing, gray.
“Why are they shouting?”
“Helmat’s shouting. Elluvian doesn’t, generally.”
“That was definitely Elluvian.”
Rosen winced. “I didn’t understand half of what he said. I’m taking it from your expression you did. You know what it’s about?”
“No.”
“But you have your suspicions.”
“The Tha’alani and the Barrani High Halls.”
“Those two phrases should never be used in conjunction.” She