Mellianne was not yet ready, and even were she, she disliked Jaren. She disliked Elluvian as well, but he expected that; affection of any kind was barely part of her functionality at this point. She was, however, good at what she did, and it did not seem to change her markedly. If she hated or despised people as deeply as she sometimes professed, she could nonetheless do something about the worst of them. That was the lever that could be pushed: she was no longer helpless.
But her contempt for the helpless was a counterpressure that he had not fully been able to dislodge. Power, and the desire for power, were the province of the living. Even the beasts sought power and supremacy. The balance between feeling powerful and feeling powerless was a gray area. The path from powerless to powerful defined a mortal. Elluvian did not understand the inner workings of most such journeys.
His experience, much of it bitter, had taught him that it was the journey itself that created an Imperial Wolf. Those who stepped on the wrong path, traveled the wrong byway, ended up as a head on the desk of the Lord of Wolves. He had not lied; he found the presence of the head there distasteful. It was, in its entirety, an accusation of failure.
Jaren was older now; younger than Helmat, but older than Mellianne and Rosen. Rosen’s injuries, Rosen’s lack of suitability, were a fact of life. But she had been an excellent Wolf. The life expectancy of the Wolves was short. Her injuries had probably extended hers into the foreseeable future. She would be bound to a desk. Jaren would train her to take on the tasks of organization and reporting, and Jaren would probably return to the hunt.
This, too, was not to Elluvian’s liking. Jaren had once been his hawk. Helmat had been his merlin. Rosen had been his eagle. Hunting birds, all.
And perhaps because that was his personal metaphor, it was natural that they should fly, and natural that one or two, tasting the freedom of the sky and the imperative of that hunt, not return. Perhaps that was why the Emperor had called them Wolves and not birds of prey.
Elluvian could not understand why the name Hawks had been given to the division that was largely investigative; that would not have been his choice of name. Swords, though, he considered apt. It was, however, the tabard of the Hawks he now searched for as he walked through the streets of Elantra.
Ah, he thought. There.
CHAPTER TWO
An’Teela was a legend in the Barrani High Court. As with all such legends, gossip and myth had conspired to obscure fact. Elluvian could not transcribe every word he had heard about her unless he had a mortal month or more and an endless supply of both ink and paper. What he believed of what he had heard would be shorter.
He could, however, attest to the truth of one of the more scandalous rumors: An’Teela walked the streets of the mortal city wearing the tabard of the Imperial Hawk. By her side, likewise attired, strode a man Elluvian had little cause to recognize; Tain of Korrin was not a Lord of the High Court.
* * *
He had been drawn to investigate An’Teela because he did not understand the game she now played. There had been little bad blood between Elluvian and An’Teela, but not none; it was impossible to be a member of the High Court without giving offense, however subtle, to someone. An’Teela could be extremely subtle. It was not, however, required.
He saw that she did not wield Kariannos in the city streets. She did not, in fact, carry a sword at all. The Barrani who served the Halls of Law had been given the wooden clubs that characterized the Hawks, and she carried that, along with the tabard. It was not a risk that Elluvian had expected her to take. He understood that Kariannos was not a weapon meant for keeping peace. It had one purpose.
In Barrani terms, she was newly come to the Hawks. In mortal terms, she was not. If her intrusion into the Halls of Law had caused political difficulty—and no doubt it had, for An’Teela—she was nonetheless here, and content, or so it appeared, to abide by the mortal hierarchy that the Eternal Emperor had created.
A game, he thought. Or perhaps she was simply bored. Boredom would carry the day for a time—perhaps a decade. Elluvian himself might have considered it novel to be a Hawk for a small time. He found it vexing to be a Wolf, but he had been part of the Halls of Law for far longer than boredom would otherwise justify.
Boredom, however, remained a problem, and to alleviate it, he often spied on An’Teela. The information—should any useful information arise—would be of value, and he might trade it for information he required in turn.
He had been unprepared for the sight of An’Teela with a mortal child.
The girl was younger than Mellianne had been when he had first caught sight of her and younger than Mellianne was now, but in some fashion, there was a spark of similarity between the two. He might have approached that child in a handful of years, might have offered her what he had offered Mellianne.
But the girl was clearly under An’Teela’s figurative wing, which Elluvian found fascinating in and of itself. While she remained ensconced there, Elluvian would not approach her. He would not dare.
Records in the Halls of Law existed for each Hawk, Sword, and Wolf. Access to the Records of the Wolves was restricted to the Wolves, specifically three of the Wolves. The Emperor, of course, had access to everything should he desire it; to Elluvian’s knowledge, that was never.
Access to the Hawks and the Swords consisted of access to the reports they had personally lodged, and the reports that referenced them. There were no logs for the child that accompanied An’Teela; no references to her in the Records reports that An’Teela had either made or had been referenced in. The sergeant in charge of the branch of Hawks she served, however, was notoriously slow at such logging. He would have a word with the Emperor about this dereliction of duty.
Though there was one thing of wonder about the child. An’Teela was taking interest in a mortal.
* * *
“Why are you interested in the Barrani Hawks? Worried that you won’t be special?” Helmat had asked, a half grin robbing the words of obvious challenge.
“No. It is a child’s desire to be special, and I have—unlike many of my kin—survived childhood and escaped it.”
“There are many men and women who would find that observation offensive.”
“There are many who find the weather offensive.”
Helmat uttered three words, and the mirror display—technically Elluvian’s mirror—showed the Wolflord the whole of Elluvian’s current research. His posture and tone changed. “That is not under the Wolves’ jurisdiction.”
“No. It wouldn’t be. The Wolves wouldn’t understand the significance.”
“En.”
Elluvian turned from the mirror toward the titular Lord of Wolves. Helmat stood his ground; no one else would have dared. “I was against the hiring of Barrani Hawks.”