The Emperor's Wolves (Wolves of Elantra #1) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,73

were now as visceral as if the events had occurred yesterday. He’d made no attempt to forget. He’d made no excuses, had no way of justifying his actions to himself, of lessening the brutality of the choice he had made.

Do not judge the entirety of a life by its ending.

He didn’t want to forget. Jade and Steffi had been of no use to anyone when they had been plucked from the streets of the fiefs. If he didn’t remember them, no one would. No one but Elianne.

He shied away from that thought, inhaling sharply enough that Scoros turned to look at him with obvious concern. He didn’t ask Severn any questions, which saved Severn the effort of lying.

* * *

Ybelline was waiting for them in the open doors of a large, almost rectangular building. Compared to the houses they had passed on the way, this building looked almost normal. It would have been at home in any of the better streets of Elantra.

Ybelline, however, would not. Although she didn’t wear the robes that most of the Tha’alani citizens had made themselves visible in, she would always be possessed of the antennae that marked her race.

She offered Severn a very Elantran bow, but made the short burst of motion look graceful and natural. Her eyes were hazel, a blend of brown and subtle green. It was the Tha’alani equivalent of Barrani blue. Oddly, in the Tha’alani, green was the dangerous shade.

Severn returned the bow with less grace but more power. Her eyes had shaded toward gold by the time he rose.

“I did not expect to see you again so soon—and certainly not here. This is not normally where I receive guests. Helmat conveyed your request for permission to visit our quarter.”

He’d requested permission to speak with Ybelline, not the quarter—but in most cases, the quarter would be implied. Given the nature of his unspoken questions, he very much doubted the rest of the Tha’alani would become aware of his reasons for visiting.

Her eyes were now completely gold. “Your request for permission caused some difficulty on our end.”

“Ybelline,” Scoros said, in a tone that could best be described as long-suffering. “You were exhausted when you returned, and the Tha’alanari are very, very short-staffed at the moment.”

Her eyes lost some of their light. Severn was sad to see it dim. “I will not leave you standing at the door,” she said, ignoring Scoros’s spoken words, which had no doubt been uttered for Severn’s benefit. “Do you drink?”

He shook his head. He had never fully understood the lure of spirits, perhaps because they were expensive and unpleasant to taste. Had they been a delight to taste, the expense would have prevented it, regardless. He had nothing against necessary theft—if offered a choice between starvation and theft, theft was, and had always been, his choice.

But drink? No.

“I feel that perhaps I will require one. Come,” she said again, extending a hand. The hand froze in midair, and then returned more woodenly to her side. “Apologies,” she said. “I forget that our modes of polite interaction are not yours.”

“It would be impossible for your manners to offend me,” he said, smiling. “I grew up as an orphan in the streets of the fief of Nightshade.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know. You speak so formally when you speak, it’s easy to forget.”

“Not for me,” was his grave reply. He now offered her his hand, in the same way she had offered hers before she’d returned it to her side, and after a pause, she took it, eyes once again gold. He wanted, for that moment, for her eyes to remain that color forever.

* * *

They entered normal doors and walked through normal halls. Although the ceilings weren’t tall, this hall wouldn’t have been out of place in the Halls of Law. Doors, however, didn’t exist as demarcations for rooms; arches did. Beyond those arches, he could see desks of wood, with trays stacked to hold papers. Offices, he thought.

“You are wondering why this building looks as it does.”

Severn nodded.

“It is a reminder for those who are Tha’alanari that the work they do here is Imperial work; it is not life. It is not our life.”

He nodded again.

Scoros continued to walk by his side, which meant Ybelline led; the halls weren’t wide enough to comfortably fit three adults walking abreast. But the older man’s brows were a knit of creases, many deeper than they had been when he had greeted Severn at the gates that kept the citizens of