The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,56

clear when to stretch that etiquette and when to follow it as if his life—or both of their lives—depended on it. I will not, of course, introduce you. Even if your presence is explicitly noted, I will offer a name in your stead. At court, a demand for an introduction is complicated. It would be a slight to me—and may be desired for that reason; a man does not single out and fete his servants.

If the High Lord asked?

Clever. I would, of course, offer that introduction. I do not believe I have annoyed the High Lord enough that he would publicly humiliate me, but I am not at court much, and I am not part of his interior circle; there are always political alliances, and the ground shifts constantly. It is part of the reason many of my kin seek to be at court at all.

Elluvian had implied that his position was therefore irrelevant, inferior; that while he bore the title Lord of the High Court, he was akin to a distant country cousin. It was in name only. This might give the impression that the woman who now addressed him, and who commanded the trappings of obedience and respect, was likewise irrelevant.

She did not bid him rise. A rustle of fabric, a slight shift in the shadow she cast, told Elluvian that she had turned.

“And you are?” she asked.

Severn was silent for one long beat, as if evaluating the insult done to his master. “I am Severn Handred, Lord.”

“Handred?” The single word was far sharper; the velvet that sheathed claws suddenly torn, frayed. Severn did not answer vocally. “Is that a common mortal name?”

“It is.”

“I see. And you have come to the High Halls as Elluvian’s companion?”

“I have.”

“Do you serve him?”

Again, silence.

Still, she did not bid Elluvian rise. He understood this game; it was one of the earliest of the games he had been taught in his distant youth—a youth he had barely survived.

“Let me give you advice, child,” she then said, the warmth once again fronting her words. Her eyes, however, would be a deep, fathomless blue. “It is neither wise nor safe to serve Elluvian in this court. You are young, even for one of your kind. Games are played here that started before—long before—your birth, and they will continue long after your death, should that death be decades hence and you in your dotage. You will not understand all of the subtle currents that inform these games.

“You will not understand Elluvian. Bringing you to court was ill-advised on his part, but should you desire it, I will escort you out and guarantee your safety.”

It was not a request.

Elluvian cursed Helmat, silently, in all of the languages he knew.

“You are young and healthy,” An’Tellarus continued. “This is not your world. Elluvian should never have brought you here.”

The shadows across the ground shifted suddenly; Elluvian closed his eyes. He opened them again when he heard the clang of steel against steel; he lifted his face—although he did not rise—to see Severn, of the line Handred, arms raised, steel daggers glinting in either hand, crossed to prevent the fall of a sword.

Those arms strained, briefly; the boy shifted to the side and the sword fell toward the bright marble flooring without drawing blood. He had moved, was moving, the daggers ready, his knees bent. He had not said a word, but he looked, for a moment, at home.

“Enough.”

Beside An’Tellarus was a Barrani man, dressed not as guard but servant; it was his sword that weighed against Severn’s daggers. His eyes were a steady blue; no rage drove the attack. An’Tellarus did not gainsay Elluvian’s visceral command; nor did she give him permission to rise. It was a challenge; it must be a challenge.

If he could kill her, if he could strike out at her, if he could treat her entirely as an enemy, it would never have been issued.

“I see,” she said pleasantly, eyes still upon Severn, “that you have some rudimentary skill. It will not be enough.”

Severn nodded.

She lifted a hand; her servant’s sword was sheathed almost before she had lowered it again. He had not spoken a word, nor did Elluvian expect it. But the fact remained, silent and heavy, between the four people present: Elluvian had broken discipline first. Elluvian had given an order.

“You are here to speak with Corvallan. I should not keep you. But I have availed myself of the Tellarus rooms. You will come to attend me before you leave the High Halls.”