The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,172
is not Helmat Marlin, either.”
“No—but closer. I will not give him to the Imperium.”
Elluvian shook his head. “You will give him the choice.”
“Indeed.”
EPILOGUE
For the third time, Severn Handred stood outside of the closed gates that led to—and protected—the Tha’alani quarter. He had made no request to visit; he understood that his part in the events—past and present—in which the Tha’alani were embroiled was done.
His understanding, however, had clearly been imperfect; he’d received an invitation to visit from the Tha’alani castelord. He expected that this time, there would be no attempted murder.
The invitation, delivered by Rosen, had caused minor upset in the office—but not nearly the level of upset his first visit to the High Halls had caused. Rosen looked at him with something close to pity—sympathy was too high a target. She had never asked for permission to visit the Tha’alani quarter, and she had never looked at the post-mission information retrieval with anything other than dread.
Dread and acceptance.
“Helmat isn’t worried,” Rosen had added.
Neither was Severn. The invitation was from Adellos Coran’alani. It was written; it was not a message that had been passed from mirror to mirror as if it were official legal documentation. Severn unsealed the invitation—something Rosen had clearly been waiting for—and found that it contained a letter.
It was a letter he had some difficulty reading.
“You can’t read it?”
“Not well, no. I think it’s the Tha’alani native tongue.”
“I didn’t realize they even had one.”
“I don’t think it’s much used—they talk to each other in the Tha’alaan, and they speak to us in Barrani or Elantran.”
Rosen frowned as Severn passed the letter—a mass of almost unidentified squiggles—to her. “I can’t read it at all. You’re certain it’s an invitation?”
“I was told, by the person who delivered the message, that it was. As the Tha’alanari is not aware of your present schedule, you are to feel free to arrive when you have time to do so; the Tha’alani castelord has no right of command, and would not dream of attempting to give you an order.”
“Did the messenger say what was wanted?”
“No. I believe the letter is supposed to give more details.”
A letter in a language Severn couldn’t read. He returned it to its sealed tube. Elluvian might be able to decipher it, but Severn considered that unwise.
* * *
The Tha’alani guards that protected the quarter were waiting for him. When he approached, two guards came out of the gatehouse to join the four on the street.
All six of the guards bowed as he approached.
The gate to the Tha’alani quarter rolled open. Standing in the street just behind the gate, were two people: Ybelline and Adellos. They held hands.
Severn had chosen to wear the clothing in which he’d approached the Emperor; it had seemed a respectful choice. It now felt almost stuffy, far too formal; neither of the Tha’alani wore precise, perfectly tailored, perfectly fit clothing. They wore robes of green.
He wondered at that, given the significance of green in Tha’alani eyes, but couldn’t ask. Instead, he offered the two, castelord and heir, the same bow he had been offered by their guards. He then rose and offered his hand—first to Adellos and then to Ybelline—palm up, rather than the sideways of the handshakes with which he was most familiar.
The two exchanged a glance, but they took his hand in turn. Ybelline’s hand tightened as she reached out for his forehead with her antennae; he felt the briefest of contacts, a wordless hint of gratitude, before that connection was severed.
They chose to speak out loud as they walked through the streets. This time, the streets remained crowded—or rather, became so as they walked through them. Their walk through these streets wasn’t about the destination—but given the direction they were now taking, the destination didn’t appear to be the building occupied by the Tha’alanari.
The skies were overcast, but the predominant impression the walk gave him was one of sunshine, of warmth.
“You will visit?” Adellos asked.
Severn blinked.
The older man chuckled. “You are not much given to being social, are you? You are certainly not, what is the word? Garrulous.”
“I don’t know that word.”
“Talkative.” It was Ybelline who offered a definition Severn could understand.
“Not very,” Severn admitted.
“Were you ever?”
“Not that I remember. Mostly I listened.”
Her smile—for she was smiling—deepened. “Perhaps your companions simply desired to be heard.”
He nodded, tensing slightly; she didn’t ask further questions. But she wouldn’t, would she? She knew. And what she knew, the castelord knew. The Tha’alanari knew.
The children in the streets didn’t. Their minders probably didn’t either. Had