each; they were not the same people.
Severn had not, since early childhood, sworn oaths of convenience. He understood, facing the Dragon Emperor, that the oath he swore now—or in the future, when such official ceremonies might take place—could not be an oath of convenience; it was an oath. It was the measure of his value as a person in his own eyes.
He had sworn to protect Elianne.
Could he swear to serve the Emperor if the new oath came into conflict with the old? And if he could not, could he offer the Emperor assurances that his duties as a Wolf came before all other duties?
It depended, he realized, on the Emperor himself. His first oath, the driving force of his early life, had been offered when he was ten years of age. Ten had seemed profoundly and terrifyingly adult to him at the time. He had not made the vow having judged that Elianne would be worthy of a life of service, had he? She’d been a child of five—a child almost certain not to see six, had she been left to her own devices.
Did he regret that vow now?
No. Nor would he break it. But Elianne was at home in the Halls of Law; she had the protection of the Barrani Hawks, and the tolerant affection of the only Leontine officer. She had a roof over her head, a guarantee of enough food that she wouldn’t starve or freeze to death, and there were no Ferals in the streets of Elantra. Only in the fiefs, which they had both escaped.
He couldn’t spend the rest of his life tailing Elianne; he didn’t believe she required it. His mantle as her protector had been destroyed utterly when he had made the choice he had made. And that choice had somehow proved his fitness—his terrible fitness—to be what the Emperor demanded of his Wolves.
But his desire to be a Wolf was implacably linked to the earliest and most important of his oaths. He accepted that. If he could not be what he had been to Elianne—
He closed his eyes. He had never wasted much time on regret, because regret—or guilt—couldn’t change the past. It served no purpose.
Severn made his choice. “The Tha’alani knew the True Name of one of the Barrani Lords.”
“You are certain.” Although the words could be interpreted as a question, the Emperor’s tone made them a statement.
“I am certain.”
“And the Tha’alani used the name of this Barrani to assassinate the Barrani Lord responsible for the murders?”
“No. The Tha’alani—the Tha’alanari—provided information that allowed the Barrani whose name they knew to take the seat of his line. The man in question—he was known as Ollarin—wanted to stop the murder of the Tha’alani at any cost; he was willing to risk his own life in the doing. If he could successfully claim the seat of Sennarin, the deaths would stop.”
“And the Barrani in question did not consider simply killing Ollarin to end the threat the Tha’alani pose? If Ollarin were dead, the Tha’alani knowledge of his name would die with him.”
“Apparently not.”
The Emperor raised a brow.
“It is what I would have done in his position,” Severn said quietly.
“Then we must be grateful that you are an Imperial Wolf and not a Barrani Lord. What do you desire of me? What did you come here to ask?”
“I ask that you mark this case as closed. And that you bury it so deeply even the Imperial Service will not think to touch it in the future.”
The Emperor’s eyes were orange, but the color brightened until Severn could see flecks of gold. “You know much of the Tha’alani.”
“I know only what the future castelord considered wise to impart. But that is enough for me to make this request. I understand the harm we already do to her and her people. I would do everything within my power—and the boundaries of the oath I will swear in the future—to lessen that harm.”
“Would you remove the Tha’alani from the Imperial Service, if that was within your power?”
“Yes.”
The Emperor’s eyes widened at the flat, unadorned word. But his eyes, Severn saw, had continued to shade toward gold. “You understand why that will never happen.”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” The Emperor then rose from the throne he had occupied for the entirety of this audience. “When you speak of future oaths, you speak of the oaths you will swear to me.”
“The oath,” Severn said quietly. “And yes.”
“What do you believe constitutes that oath?”
This was not a question Severn had come prepared to