The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,170
existed in the West March of her childhood.
She wondered, looking at this detritus, what would become of it. She very much desired that a wielder be found; if one was, Alsanis might at last be freed from his role as jailer, and might once again turn his thought and attention to the rest of his people.
Others desired the weapon, and for different purposes, just as she had desired to wield one of The Three. She did not desire the weapon that waited, nascent, in the West March. Having failed to prove herself worthy of Kariannos, she no longer dreamed of wielding a weapon of note. Something in her approach, something in her desire, made her incompatible with the ancient masterworks.
What she could not change, she accepted. This acceptance was almost in its entirety the reason she had lived for as long as she had.
She was not the only person to search for someone who might be able to do what she was now certain she could not. Nor was she the only ruler of a line who had hoped that her own offspring might prove worthy where she had not. She was therefore not the only ruler to be disappointed, time and again.
But she had not done what Verranian had done, and she was certain—almost certain—that she saw his hand in this. These books. This table. These children’s toys. And...that boy, with his lovely High Barrani, his exceptional—for a mortal boy—manners, and his gaze, clear-eyed, observant.
It would not have occurred to her—ever—to expand her search in such a fashion. A mortal child of no significance in the fiefs that kept Ravellon at bay? No. She could not imagine lowering herself to such mean surroundings, for she was certain that Verranian had chosen to occupy this small, cramped space, with its inherent decay.
She had begun her search for Verranian. Or rather, she had prodded someone beholden to her to begin searching for his own reasons. Elluvian. He was an odd disappointment; someone who had both failed and survived failure; someone to whom the Dragon Emperor condescended in a favorable way.
He had wasted most of his life; he had barely survived that waste. She did not therefore expect that he would recover. But it was in Elluvian’s wake that Severn had come.
She was not, of course, convinced that the boy was the answer to her long search; she was merely convinced that he was a possibility. Even a distant possibility was better than none.
She had seen the sketches that An’Sennarin had taken from the Oracular Halls. Oracles were notoriously unreliable, but An’Tellarus had understood what she had seen. She doubted Severn did.
But she did not doubt that Elluvian would.
Elluvian was late.
* * *
Elluvian was occupied. The private’s audience with the Emperor had not, by all accounts, been the disaster one might have expected, given his lack of familiarity with Imperial hierarchy.
Helmat, however, was feeling somewhat pessimistic. He approved of the private, but he had approved of Darrell as well, and Darrell was dead. Mellianne, far more truculent, was not—but Darrell’s death shadowed her; she might never be free of the resentment and suspicion left in its wake.
Severn was not Darrell; that much had been obvious almost immediately. It was not, therefore, any similarity between the two young men that transformed cautious optimism into pessimism. They had age in common, and came from similar economic backgrounds, although the particulars were different.
“Enter,” he said when the expected knock on his closed door reached his ears.
Elluvian entered the office. “Well?”
“I see from your cheerful demeanor you’ve spent some time at the High Halls. You do not seem to be worse for wear this time.”
“It is seldom that people attempt to kill me outright.”
“Your version of seldom does not match mine.”
Elluvian shrugged, and Helmat’s gaze narrowed. “Your concerns have nothing to do with the High Halls and its various inhabitants.” He might have used the word rodents instead, given his tone and expression.
Helmat chuckled. “No. The High Halls, except as a sanctuary, is only of concern to me when I lose Wolves to them.”
“Then what? I have had a very trying afternoon, and I am unwilling to play games.”
“You are never, in my experience, unwilling to play games.”
“I am unwilling to play yours.”
“Very well. You are aware that our newest recruit has thrown himself into the classes required of the Wolves.”
Elluvian’s frown made clear to Helmat that he had been aware of no such thing. “That would make him almost singular.”