The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,159

have no access to most of what remains of Tessa’s life. I have the memories that she so artfully wove in disparate, hard-to-follow strands through the Tha’alaan—but those were later, and they remain if one knows how to look carefully.

“But having seen some of Tessa’s life, some of her thought, I cannot believe that what she wanted—even when she began to fear—was your death. She would have believed that she caused it, just as you believe you were responsible for hers.”

“But she did die.”

“And you did not. Do you think your death will somehow cancel out hers?”

He didn’t reply, but the answer was obvious. “Random,” he said, returning the drifting conversation to Severn’s question, “gave me sketches. This was one—but this was clearest, to me. I knew where it would take place, but not when.”

“She didn’t explain.”

“No, but she couldn’t. She understood that this is what she saw, this is what she must capture. I thought perhaps the truth had come to light. I thought,” he added, after a brief pause, “that the woman in this sketch—you—must be the new castelord. Adellos explained that the new castelord would know; there was no way for him to completely excise the memory from the Tha’alaan. He did try.”

Ybelline’s eyes widened.

“I tried as well. But I am not of your kin; I spoke to the water. The water understood what I desired. I could have, at that point, commanded the water. But she asked me if I was willing to destroy the whole of the Tha’alaan in order to achieve my goal—and I was not. I will never be willing to pay that price.

“But it means I will live with an eternity of Tha’alani rulers who know my hidden name, my True Name.”

“And we would live,” she said, “with the knowledge that you might disturb or harm the Tha’alaan, if what you have just said is true.”

“Yes.”

Ybelline released his hand. “I am not the Emperor. I am not—yet—castelord, as you have pointed out. It is not I, in the end, who must judge you, if judgment is what you require.”

Severn said, “We were tasked with finding the Barrani responsible for the murders. We’ve completed our mission; that man is dead. He was brought to justice before I was born.”

“And the witnesses?”

Severn said nothing. He wasn’t certain how those men would be handled now. The Emperor’s Law was the Emperor’s Law.

That didn’t seem to concern An’Sennarin—and perhaps it would, in time. He was, by Barrani reckoning, Severn’s age, although he had lived in Severn’s estimation at least four times as long.

“Did An’Tellarus see this sketch?”

“Yes.”

“And the others?”

An’Sennarin looked away from Ybelline for perhaps the first time in minutes. He smiled; it was almost rueful. “Yes.”

“May I see what she saw?”

“It will not have the same meaning for you as it does for us; you have never been to the West March.”

“I haven’t,” Severn replied. The future was foreign territory.

“Let me consider your request. An’Tellarus has not forbidden it, but she is unpredictable, and I do not wish to anger her.” He turned back to Ybelline. Met, and held, her gaze.

Ybelline rose. “Tell Adellos that I will speak with him soon.”

An’Sennarin nodded. He then held out his hands—both of his hands—palm out before her, turning his body so that Severn couldn’t see his expression. The expression, however, wasn’t necessary. The color of his eyes had become, in that gesture, irrelevant.

Ybelline looked at his hands, hers almost stiff by her sides.

But Severn knew what she would do. Both Ybelline and he were caught in some fashion by Tessa’s early life, Tessa’s early hope. What Tessa wanted was what they wanted. Perhaps that would pass. Perhaps it would not.

Ybelline bent and placed both of her hands across An’Sennarin’s. She hesitated briefly, and then the line of her shoulders sank as she leaned forward and placed her antennae gently against An’Sennarin’s forehead.

Severn waited, head bowed.

Only when he heard the sound of weeping did he lift his chin. He could see Ybelline’s face; it was wet with tears, but her tears were silent. An’Sennarin’s, unseen, were not. Severn’s hands became fists, reflexive fists. He understood. He could not feel fear of the Tha’alaan, of the Tha’alani, because Ybelline had offered it the first time; there was a warmth, a sense of belonging, a sense of acceptance that he had found almost nowhere else.

An’Sennarin would never have valued Tessa so highly if he had not, in some fashion, wanted that.

* * *

Elluvian was waiting. Severn had no difficulty finding either