The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,26

races, everywhere, could join and live within the confines of the Tha’alaan. She wondered what it would take to create a Tha’alaan in which other races could be at home. In which secrets weren’t necessary; in which belonging eased fear and anger.

For she understood, every time she attempted this, that so much of the damage done to humans—by themselves, by the world—was caused by the certainty of their isolation. They were alone. They felt alone. They could not, in despair, reach out for the comfort of their kin, because their kin could not hear or answer them as the Tha’alani could. They felt that they could not reach out to anyone. Eventually, the certainty that no one cared about them at all became inverted: if no one had ever cared for them, why should they care for anyone else?

The inversion took different forms. Sometimes, driven mad by the bitterness of isolation, the lack of external balances, they moved from why should I care to I’ll show them all.

She shuddered but examined her thoughts in the intimidating silence.

You don’t have that?

Ah, no, not silence.

I do. But...all children do. All people who feel powerless do. It’s not a constant, and as we mature, we feel less and less of it because we understand external contexts better. But it’s not the same. Of course, it’s not. We can hear the children. We can see what they feel. We can remember—by searching the Tha’alaan, if necessary—when we were that young. Every one of us. We don’t judge it because it’s part of life. But we open up those memories to those who are in the throes of the anger, and they see it. They see that it’s normal, but—I’m sorry. I can’t explain it. I’ve tried but—Can you explain how you breathe?

No. I can’t explain how you breathe, either, if that helps.

Are you afraid?

Yes. But this is a minor fear.

She was surprised. He sensed it immediately. He sensed everything immediately; they were entwined now. If she needed secrets, this was not the place to keep them. It was unusual, however; most of the people who were exposed to the Tha’alani were so busy attempting to fortify their defenses and hide their secrets that they didn’t look in the other direction. Drawing breath, she said, Let me show you my life. Let me show you my fears. Let me do this first.

You don’t have to.

I think, if I do, you’ll understand.

Some things, it’s not safe to know. People kill you if you know too much.

Almost bitterly, she said, We know. But if you’re Tha’alanari, they kill you because there’s a possibility that you can. You don’t have to do anything. Just exist. Why do you think the Tha’alanari quarter exists behind walls? That almost none of our kin choose to live beyond them? She had started, and could not now stop. Even with the walls, we’ve lost people. And we’ve lost children to kidnappers, and children to the ambitious who somehow think they can cage those children and use their power without alerting—

His hands tightened. Something happened today.

Yes. She swallowed. Garadin was probably right. I shouldn’t have come. But Helmat was right as well, I think. Let me tell you about me. She was glad, then, of the privacy that humans so prized; she was certain that the Tha’alanari would not have approved. But they weren’t here; they couldn’t hear or see what she could. They couldn’t offer advice, or the strength they felt she needed, couldn’t evaluate the choice she had made, and was making.

What she could have forced from Severn, she now offered him, instead.

* * *

Helmat saw Severn stiffen; the young man’s shoulders curved in, his head bent, as if he were attempting to protect himself from blows he couldn’t otherwise avoid. His hands, however, did not tighten around Ybelline’s. Ybelline’s did; her knuckles were white. The Wolflord moved, and moved again; Ybelline was crying.

Severn was not.

To Helmat’s surprise, Severn extracted his hands, although his eyes remained closed. He then shifted his position and his weight, and brought both of his arms around Ybelline, maintaining forehead contact; he pulled her in and held her as if she were a child.

* * *

She showed him the first murder she had experienced. The victim had been Tha’alani. She had been six years old, and the whole of the Tha’alaan had shuddered at the death, and the dying. Terror, pain, all of these were etched there permanently—it was as if she herself had died. She,