each death that this particular man participated in.”
The silence grew depths as both Corvallan and Cassandre focused on Elluvian.
“The Emperor now desires information.”
“Who was the man?” Cassandre’s question was casual.
“I do not know. As you are well aware, the Imperial Tha’alani are not required where Barrani are concerned. I did not see the man in question. I spoke with the Tha’alanari, but their description in simple words leaves much to be desired.
“One of the Tha’alani who serves the Halls of Law, however, has drawn the likeness. I have seen that—as, I imagine, have most of the relevant officers in the Halls of Law.”
“And you have brought this with you, then?” Cassandre asked, voice far steadier than her hands. She set the drink down gently, her former reverence shattered. “You believe that we may somehow identify this criminal for you?”
“Ah, no. I have some desire to speak with the man myself. I do not wish his body to be deposited near the Halls of Law like the inconvenient detritus it will no doubt become.”
“You wish, or the Emperor wishes?” Cassandre asked. It was the first time she failed to contain the edge in her voice.
“The Emperor wishes,” was Elluvian’s neutral reply.
“You are still the Emperor’s Dog,” Corvallan snapped. He turned to Severn then. “And you must be one of his dogs as well—hunting dogs, but dogs subordinate to their master.”
Severn inclined his chin. His expression was placid, as if Corvallan’s words were the expected words, the only possible words, in this situation.
Elluvian did not understand his temporary partner. Had he believed the boy capable of great subterfuge, he might have been impressed at his self-control—but it seemed to Elluvian that no self-control had been necessary. He had just been called an animal, and no twitch of facial muscle implied that this had unnerved or angered him.
No, definitely not Darrell, not Mellianne. Not Rosen, he thought. Not Helmat. Not Jaren. For perhaps the first time, he truly wondered who or what this young man was. And yet, if he asked, the reply he was certain to receive was Severn Handred. He did not ask; this was not the time for it—and in the end, it was a question whose answer must be teased out by observation and experience. The words themselves would convey nothing.
“Do you believe that Elluvian will keep you safe, boy?” Corvallan continued. Cassandre’s eyes narrowed as she turned in her husband’s direction; her husband failed to notice. The failure was not, in Elluvian’s opinion, deliberate.
Corvallan was canny; he was a survivor. But this momentary lack of control made clear to Elluvian why he was not, would never be, a master of men; he did not have the necessary mastery of himself.
“I am not his offspring,” Severn replied. “Nor am I his dependent.”
“You cannot believe you are his equal—you cannot believe you are the equal of even the lowest of my servants.”
“No,” Severn said, nodding gravely. “But I am, regardless, not his responsibility. If I cannot keep myself safe, I have no useful purpose.”
“You would not be the first mortal to die in his service.”
“It is not Elluvian, in the end, that I serve; it is not to Elluvian that I have sworn my oaths.”
“Boy—”
“You speak excellent Barrani,” Cassandre said, before her husband could continue. Her voice continued gentle, but her eyes were now darker than the eyes of Corvallan. Elluvian’s had not changed. Severn had spoken little, but it was now clear that he had understood all that had been said. How had he described his knowledge of the Barrani tongue? Some.
Severn’s gaze shifted to her. Not for the first time did Elluvian regret the consistent color of human eyes. Eyes were called the windows of the soul for a reason, and this particular branch of mortality denied the phrase utterly simply by existing.
“Thank you,” Severn said, bowing once again to Cassandre. The bow, Elluvian saw, was an indication that he had no desire to be questioned, or perhaps that he would not answer questions, no matter how gracefully they were phrased.
Cassandre perceived this as well; her eyes lightened in color, although they remained an almost martial blue. “Young man,” she said, in the indulgent tone with which one might speak to a beloved pet, “were you of my kin, I would do everything in my power to obtain your service.”
This time, he reddened slightly, although his expression didn’t otherwise change. Elluvian thought that would be the entirety of his response.
“Even were I,” Severn replied, in the excellent Barrani