The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,65

remember seeing it in hers—not when her gaze fell upon him. Her eyes were brown, a warm color that Barrani of any age did not possess. She approved of Severn, the approval visceral, instinctive, the shift of color the one thing she could not easily control.

Elluvian felt a pang of envy, of resentment, which would merely show blue, dark blue—a color that many considered to be solid and fixed in Barrani.

“You will think me a terrible hostess,” she said to Severn, ignoring Elluvian entirely—as if Elluvian, not Severn, was servant or attendant here.

“I have had little experience with Barrani hospitality,” Severn admitted. An’Tellarus lowered her knife; Severn lowered his daggers. Neither sheathed them.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I could hear your breathing.”

“You could not see me?”

He said nothing.

“Very well. I offer you a boon, young man. A sign of my genuine contrition.”

His face remained impassive.

“I had to be certain.” She turned, then, to Elluvian. “You have destroyed a collective century’s worth of work.” Her eyes were no longer brown. “The enchantments—”

“Enough, An’Tellarus. I anticipate a difficult near future, and the morning could hardly be called relaxing.”

“Surely at your age you do not require relaxation.”

“This,” Elluvian said, risking her wrath as he spoke to Severn, “is why I do not maintain quarters within the High Halls. Everything is a game to the High Court’s Lords.”

“You are Lord,” An’Tellarus said, her tone chillier.

“Indeed. But the games played by our people generally bore me.” His tone, however, was colder.

“Oh?”

“The outcome is never in doubt.”

“I see I have angered you,” she replied, smiling the sweetest of her smiles. “Come. I did not invite you here simply for the joy of provoking a reaction.”

“No, of course not. You will, however, gain whatever advantage you deem possible if the opportunity presents itself.” To Severn, he said, “We are done here for the day.”

The doors that had remained closed now rolled open, as if to deny the words. “You are still hotheaded, I perceive.” An’Tellarus used the Elantran word. “If you wish to leave, leave, but I would have a few words with the boy before you do.”

Severn, however, said nothing. He had not taken his eyes off her once, and did not sheathe his own weapons until the one in her hand faded—literally—from sight. Even then, the boy was wary; it had just been incontrovertibly proved that what he could not see could still kill him.

* * *

Elluvian had half turned from the opening doors to An’Tellarus when he stopped. What awaited him was not the finery and wealth of a powerful Barrani Lord—not a Lord of the High Halls. The room—a single room—was sparsely furnished, but it was not empty; shelves of differing heights and make covered the wall to his right. A plate that contained the remnants of food sat, chipped at the rim, on a table that had seen better days; he could see scratches in the wood that implied it was soft.

The room itself was empty; there were no servants here, or no Barrani servants. The very powerful did not consider them safe. Neither had Elluvian in his tenure in the High Halls. Power attracted those who desired it, as if power itself was a drug. No Barrani born desired only and solely to serve.

Regardless, the state of this room—there was visible dust and crumbs—would have humiliated even the most insignificant of servants. The ceilings were low and squared at the corners; one plant, half-dead through lack of either water or sunlight, huddled in the corner. At its base was a pile of books that looked as if they had fallen many times, and were like to continue this activity.

Corvallan had called Elluvian the Emperor’s Dog, which lacked subtlety. An’Tellarus’s room lacked subtlety, but the insult was deeper and far more personal. This dwelling could have housed mortals of no import; it was a human room.

Her insults, however, had never been subtle. While she had not descended to Corvallan’s words at any time in their long history, she had not quibbled to make clear, in exceptionally blunt words, her disappointment, her disapproval. He did not, therefore, think, after the first blush of anger, that she had done this for him.

This room was not a room he had ever seen before. He closed his eyes, summoning the control required to examine the contents magically.

“Spare yourself the effort,” An’Tellarus said, voice both amused and sharp as blade’s edge.

There was no magic here. The room was as it appeared. He felt, at the door,