The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,30

of Nightshade.

Her own thoughts blended with his. The merge happened without effort on her part, without the strain of bracing herself for the contact. He had not approached her with suspicion or fear, because the power of consent was his own. And he had given it, was giving it, even now; she followed the thoughts that lay beneath the words he offered, the foundation for the experience that words alone could never fully capture.

Or maybe he would never offer the words aloud. Here, the sense of his responsibility, his love, his fear, existed without words. He had no need to communicate them to anyone but the child herself, and she didn’t require it. He did not share with others because it was none of their business. He did not want, had never wanted, to draw attention to the child, because almost all attention in the fiefs was dangerous.

He taught her the skills they both needed to survive. Taught her how to find shelter, and when shelter—a roof—was not available, how to climb, how to find places on roofs or balconies of questionable structural integrity, to wait out the night—because even in the warmer weather, the streets were not safe.

Here, at least, it wasn’t other people he feared. It was the roving packs of the creatures known as Ferals. To Ybelline’s mind, they resembled enormous dogs, but their color and shape were uniform. He feared what the Ferals would do to the child under his protection.

To Elianne.

There was, of course, fear for himself—but so much of it was the fear of what would happen to her if he died; death was the only way he would abandon her. The caution with which he lived this life was due in large part to that fear. He was aware of her fear. He was aware of her nightmares, her broken sleep, the confusion at the absence of her mother. That confusion would become grief over time, but it was not adult grief, and too often the immediate needs—food, shelter—were paramount for both of them.

They survived. There was a quiet, desperate pride in that. They survived. And in time, Elianne’s desire to protect not herself, but others—the behavior she had seen and known all her life—had emerged. Severn had had no desire to add to their small family; numbers made everything harder unless one had a stable base of operations, and they didn’t.

But into their lives had come children, regardless; Elianne found them. Elianne wanted to help them—just as she had been helped. He could not, had not, said no. Steffi. Jade.

* * *

A wall came down.

For someone of Ybelline’s training, that wall was porous; it was fragile, thin, easily broken. But she let it fall—or rise, the metaphor was not exact—and waited. On some level, Severn wanted to tell her. He wanted her to see, to understand.

She had not expected that.

She asked no questions. She waited. Time passed, but time was not her concern. This communion was not an emergency to anyone but Helmat, and Helmat could be kept waiting, which might mollify Garadin slightly.

She felt Severn’s arms stiffen; he relaxed slowly.

Sorry.

Wordless, she made it clear that no apologies were necessary. What he was willing to share, she accepted without judgment; what he was not willing to share, she would not demand. Here, today, she had that luxury. But she knew, before he began to speak again, that Steffi and Jade were at the heart of the question Helmat wanted resolved.

CHAPTER SIX

Steffi was seven. An image accompanied the words, but it was blurred, indistinct. Elianne decided she was seven, because she wanted Steffi to be younger. To me, they seemed to be the same age. We found her in the winter. We found her in the snow. She was ill. I...didn’t want to take her home. Elianne did. Loudly. Angrily. There was amusement there, but it was swamped by bitter regret. I thought Steffi would die. I didn’t want whatever was killing her to kill us.

And by us, Ybelline thought, he meant Elianne. She could see that dark-haired, dark-eyed child, her skin ruddy with cold. Steffi, however, was pale-skinned, pale-haired; she was slender the way children are, but the gauntness of starvation had not hollowed her cheeks, distended her stomach.

A year later, we found Jade. She was running from a man with a knife. At night. At night in the fiefs.

A child running from a man with a knife—at any time of day—was sensible, to Severn. A man hunting a child at night