The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,37

clinging to the interior walls of the well itself to avoid them wasn’t a safe option. Had it been day, he would have remained by the well for a few hours, mingling with the crowd. There was no way the fieflord intended to set him free.

There was no way Elianne would be safe from him. Not now.

Severn sprinted. He was vibrating with anxiety, aware of every movement—every rat, every cockroach, every wind-blown piece of garbage. He could track the progress of Ferals by their distant howls; they weren’t hunting yet. They might be, soon. Running when Ferals were close was very, very bad.

Home was fifteen minutes from the well at a brisk walk. Severn returned two hours later. He knew that losing possible tails wasn’t the end of it. What the fieflord wanted, he always eventually obtained—but only if they stayed in Nightshade. They couldn’t cross the Ablayne without being noticed. But they could cross the Nightshade borders, possibly escape that way.

Elianne was awake when he entered the rooms they shared. Jade was snoring; Steffi was sleeping. In sleep, Jade’s face matched her singing voice, and Steffi had always looked placid and pretty.

“Where were you?” she demanded.

He shrugged. He hadn’t prepared an excuse for his absence; should have thought of that before he left. As her brows drew together in Elianne’s version of a glare, he said, “Out.” When her hands fell, as they sometimes did, to her hips, he grinned. Tweaked her nose. “I wanted to inspect the borders. No, not that one. But Barren or Liatt.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again. “We might need to move.”

“We can’t cross the borders.”

“We can.”

“They’re not safe—”

“They’re not worse than Nightshade—and there are no people in the border zones.”

“How do you know this?”

“I told you—I inspected.”

“What if you—”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been in the border zones.” And this, at least, was true. She was angry, but worry ebbed as he spoke, and without worry to drive it, the anger would leave as well. “Look—sleep. You’re on water duty tomorrow. And food.”

“And you?”

He shrugged himself out of his coat. “I’m beat. I’m sleeping. You can stay awake frowning all night if you want, but water still has to be fetched.”

* * *

Elianne would die.

Elianne would die.

No, no, that’s not what the fieflord said. Jade would die. Steffi would die. The fieflord was hunting for the killers, but even the fieflord—who could find anyone in the fief if his anger was great enough—could not find the murderers in time. Severn did not believe he could do what the fieflord couldn’t. And even if he could, what of it? He could send word to the fieflord—if he survived his discovery.

And if these faceless, nameless enemies came now?

Severn would die. Steffi and Jade would—eventually—die. And what would become of Elianne, then? She had survived the loss of her mother because she’d had Severn. What would she have?

Marks, twisted and rewritten, across her body, and murderers as masters.

Power. Nightshade said she’d have power. And if he believed that, he’d be hunting Elianne. He’d be here tonight. Imagine it, Nightshade said, his voice ever-present, undeniable. Severn could see almost nothing else. Had it not been night, had Elianne not been awake, he might have risked Ferals instead. Their howls weren’t as chilling, as terrifying, as sickening, as the vision Nightshade’s words had conjured. He was caught in their grip; he thought they would never leave him.

He needed to believe that he could save them.

He could not believe it.

“Severn?”

“Sleeping, remember?”

“I can’t sleep.”

He didn’t ask why. He sighed—loudly, obviously—and lifted an arm. Elianne crept across the floor, turned her back toward his chest, caught his arm and wrapped it around her neck and shoulders. “Nightmare?” he asked, throat almost too thick to speak.

She nodded; her chin briefly pressed into the crook of his arm.

He held her. She snored. It had always been like this, even when her mother had been alive. The rhythm of her breathing was like thread; it bound all of the various years and days together into one continuous whole. She felt safe. She was safe. She hated to be treated as a child; it was impossible, in moments like this, to think of her in any other way. He had kept her safe.

He would keep her safe. He would always keep her safe. She was the heart of his family, to Severn; she was the heart of his life, the center of it. What he wanted for her was safety and whatever happiness could be scraped from