The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,17

we are not in a state of emergency.”

“Rosen did not choose to inform us of the reasons for the request.” No, of course she hadn’t. “Has a Shadow Wolf returned from a hunt?”

“No.”

Garadin’s eyes became a lighter color of green; had he been Barrani, he would have been as relaxed as Barrani allowed themselves to become. Sadly, green was not a calm color in the Tha’alani race. “We—the Tha’alanari—have encountered some...turbulence.”

Elluvian made a mental note.

While the Tha’alani could all, in theory, perform the duties demanded of the Tha’alanari, in practice very, very few were asked to do so. The race itself shared experience and emotion openly. Most of its citizens had no idea whatsoever how not to do so. What they felt—fear, anger, anxiety—they transmitted to their kindred far and wide.

Those who served the Emperor had proved that they could withhold their personal experience from their kin. They could shut themselves out of the Tha’alaan, the group mind in which all racial experience was held. But no Tha’alani could hold themselves above or outside of the Tha’alaan forever; it was to their people that they looked for understanding, prior experience, compassion.

“It is not an emergency,” Elluvian repeated. “Not for us.”

Garadin exhaled. “I am asked to inform you that Timorri will not be serving the Tha’alanari for the foreseeable future. We do not have a replacement for him at present, and our consequent ability to meet Imperial demands—”

“We understand.” Elluvian did not break the connection; he waited. Garadin did not break it either.

After another pause, Garadin said, “Why do you require one of the Tha’alanari?” It was not his question; as far as Garadin was concerned, they were done. But the fact that he asked the question seemed significant.

“We have a possible new recruit.”

“An interview cannot possibly be time-sensitive. While we understand the necessity of such an interview for your particular branch of the Halls of Law, it is highly unlikely that we will have an agent available for your use within the next week. Possibly longer.”

“It is not my request,” Elluvian said softly, “nor even Rosen’s. It is Lord Marlin’s.”

“And this prospective Wolf is that impressive?” This question was clearly Garadin’s.

“Not to my eye; I considered him a possible candidate, but I do not quite see what Lord Marlin apparently did in the initial interview. To my eye he is a focused, but oddly desperate, young human. Lord Marlin is still conducting that interview; he asked me to remove myself from the office, but the boy has yet to emerge.”

Garadin’s brows rose. If the Tha’alanari were capable of withholding information from the mass of their kin, they were not particularly careful with expressions. The forehead stalks began a weaving, staccato dance that implied heavily that Garadin was arguing with someone.

“I have been asked to allow someone else to speak with you,” Garadin finally said, voice stiff with disapproval or concern.

“Will they join you, or should I mirror them directly?”

“They will join me,” Garadin replied, in a tone that strongly suggested he would far prefer to be left entirely out of it—or as entirely as a telepath could be. “I hear that Rosen managed to offend Draalzyn.”

“Which, you must admit, is not difficult.”

“It is not difficult for Rosen to offend anyone.”

Elluvian chuckled.

“I heard that.” Rosen’s voice drifted into the back of the office. She had always had exceptional hearing, and her injuries had not changed that.

“I am not the person who voiced that opinion,” Elluvian said.

“You’re not discouraging it, either.”

“It is materially true.”

He could hear her snort; so could Garadin. Only one of them found it amusing. Time passed. Garadin maintained the connection. Severn remained closeted with Helmat. Rosen took a mirror transmission of her own, and then another.

Eventually, the mirror’s view widened to encompass two people. A young woman had joined Garadin. Her hair was the color of pale honey, but her eyes were not green; they were gold. She was not afraid, nor was she worried or angry. “My apologies for forcing you to wait,” she said, executing a bow that implied that she was his social inferior. It was a human bow. “I was not in a location to which the mirror network has easy access.”

“This,” Garadin said, “is Elluvian of Danarre. He serves the Imperial Wolves.”

Some hazel clouded the gold of the woman’s eyes. She could not, however, be surprised; she had known, before rushing to Garadin’s side from wherever it was she had been, who he was.

“And this,” Garadin continued, even more stiffly, “is Ybelline. She