The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,57

There was no honey in the words, no mockery of kindness.

“An’Tellarus.”

CHAPTER TEN

Elluvian continued in silence. If the encounter had been noticed—and no doubt it had—no one spoke of it, no one dared to ask. Not even Severn, whose daggers were once again in their almost invisible sheaths. All words spoken in the High Halls were heard. It was expected. One could attempt to limit the audience, but such attempts were also noted.

Privacy, if one desired it, was not obtained in the galleries. Some privacy might be obtained within the chambers occupied by those lords who had the right to inhabit them, but that privacy was in the hands of the host.

“That was well done,” Elluvian said softly.

Severn said nothing, his expression remote, his focus on the inhabitants of the hall. He did not seem to value the praise—but he understood it as praise. It was not a common reaction for a young Wolf. There was no anger in him, no visceral denial, no need to declare that he didn’t want approval. Would disapproval meet the same fate?

The silence was weighted with Elluvian’s expectations, and sensitive to them, Severn broke it. “If she wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”

“Yes. But had you not responded so swiftly, you would be dead regardless. It would have been regrettable, but unavoidable.”

“I doubt she would have regretted it.”

“Our regret is not your regret,” Elluvian replied, agreeing. “And her tests were ever thus: one passed them if one survived.” All of this could be said, could be heard, without ill effect in the Halls. “We will meet with Lord Corvallan while I consider what to do with An’Tellarus’s invitation.”

There was a texture to Severn’s silence that implied no consideration was needed. In spite of himself and the situation, Elluvian was almost amused.

* * *

Corvallan was of the line Mellarionne, a younger cousin of the current ruler. His wife, for he was married, was of the line Casarre. Tradition demanded that the wife become Mellarionne in name; in the absence of offspring, loyalties were flexible.

Corvallan himself was a Lord of the High Court, but, as Elluvian, a lesser lord. There was room within the Mellarionne hierarchy for the ambitious to rise, to make a name for themselves, but ambition was a double-edged blade. Corvallan was known, but he had not distinguished himself in a way that would be threatening to the current An’Mellarionne. It was not because of his slow and steady rise through the ranks of the line that Elluvian knew him.

Nor did he expect Corvallan to welcome his company. He had, however, agreed to a meeting, the single condition being that it occur within his suite of rooms.

They therefore left the public gallery, with its fall of light, its statues, its paintings, its perfect, gleaming floors. Severn said nothing as the ceilings descended to a mere body’s height above their heads. He had once again resumed the position of servant, and his bearing suggested subdued pride at the privilege.

“The Halls are large,” Elluvian said. “The personal quarters are placed in order of import. The more powerful you are, the more difficult it is to reach your personal rooms. There will be guards here, as there were at the entrance; they will be aligned far more specifically.”

“The guards at the entrance serve the High Lord?”

“Yes.” Nominally.

“There’s no livery.”

“No. At times, there is no armor, either. Armor, like the clothing you currently wear, is decorative. It is an encumbrance. An’Tellarus did not wear armor. Nor did her guard. We found armor of use during the wars; it could be enchanted, it could be created to provide protection against the breath of the Dragon Flights.”

“Cloth couldn’t?”

“Not as effectively. I am not a smith, and I do not pretend to understand the arts of the artisans. Here, it is an echo of that history. We have sworn our oaths of fealty to the Dragon Emperor—personally. Protection from his wrath is, in theory, unnecessary.”

“And the swords?”

“Swords have a different function. Not all of our kind are adept at the use of arts arcane. Those who are are infinitely more dangerous than those who are not. But you understand this.”

“Power rules.”

“Yes. But power is oft determined by survival. The weapons on the walls to either side have pride of place; they were used by those who did survive the wars.”

“The Dragon wars?”

“Yes.” Elluvian smiled. “The wars always refer to our battles with Dragonkind. We were not, however, a peaceful people in their absence. Think of our wars as territorial disputes such