the barest hint of sorcery. “This is not the room upon which your doors normally open.”
“Of course not,” was her dismissive reply.
Elluvian exhaled slowly.
“Will you join me?” she asked—of Severn.
Severn looked to Elluvian for permission. It was the first time he had looked away from the woman who had, moments earlier, attempted to injure him. Elluvian labored under no misapprehension. If An’Tellarus wanted the boy dead, he would be dead. He would be dead at the hands of Barrani, and the laws of exemption would not apply to the crime.
He had not been entirely truthful with Corvallan, but Cassandre at least expected that. What was true, however, was that An’Tellarus could, with some impunity, murder a mortal Wolf without the consequences likely to apply to lesser lords, lesser Barrani.
Or perhaps she did not believe that Elluvian would demand a full Imperial intervention. Perhaps she did not believe that he was willing to shoulder the consequences of that demand. He himself was not completely certain.
She had always understood his lack of certainty. She had always, in spite of his best efforts, seen through him. Even now, in the game she played, she had not put one foot wrong. Were it Corvallan she entertained, she would never have dared to either harm his guards or offer him the hospitality of what would not pass muster as a hovel to the Barrani.
“You have my word, young man, that tests of survival are over for the day. If you accept my offer of hospitality, you will be completely safe within the confines of this room, or any other room that exists at my personal disposal. I will treat you as an honored guest from this point on.”
“This is not the Barrani version of honor,” Elluvian added. “This room would be considered a dire insult by any of our kin.”
An’Tellarus was not looking at Elluvian at all. Severn was; Elluvian’s face remained impassive, short of any expression but deep irritation. He realized the cub was waiting for his response and considered spiting An’Tellarus. He shook himself mentally—the desire, if acted upon, would have consequences, and the problem with those consequences was reflected in An’Tellarus; they would be unpredictable in both timing and activity, or lack of activity.
It had been a long time since he had had to struggle to do the intelligent thing; the desire to lash out was so strong. He attempted to consider the situation dispassionately, coldly. Cold anger was better than hot. At length, he nodded to Severn, granting the permission it was his to withhold.
An’Tellarus marked it, of course.
She did not comment. Instead, she stepped aside and allowed Severn to enter the room. Severn did not ask Elluvian in any way if her word, her promise, had weight or meaning. His own did, but he could not have survived to be this age had he assumed that all oaths offered by others carried as much significance.
But his daggers were no longer in his hands. He asked no questions, or none that could be heard; An’Tellarus had always provoked confusion among her own kin, her mode of thought was so peculiar. Had she not also been deadly when crossed, she might have perished long ago; she had never been someone who conformed to the Barrani norm.
And yet, she had always been someone who demanded that others do so.
Of course, her voice came, at a remove of centuries. You cannot break rules if you do not completely understand them. They are mechanisms, akin to arcane arts; one shift of word, one shift of thought, can spell disaster. Mastery—of oneself, at the very least—is vitally important.
The memory surprised him, returning as it did without conscious effort on his part. Yes, he thought, there had been a time when she had been willing to instruct him. That time had long passed; he was yet another of her failures.
Did he resent Severn, then? Did he resent the way the boy now entered a room Elluvian had never seen, more comfortable here than he had been in any other part of the High Halls? An’Tellarus had tried, twice, to injure him. Caution was the correct response; caution and distance. He could not now tell if Severn understood this—but he must, he must.
* * *
“That was unnecessary,” Elluvian said, his voice low.
“Necessity is bred by context,” An’Tellarus replied. She did not turn toward Elluvian, but spoke to him; her eyes were on Severn’s back.
“And this room?”
“Not all contexts are understood. Nor can they be. I have taught you