“Which fief?” he demanded, before Helmat could continue his questioning.
“Nightshade.” The boy answered without hesitation; his jaw tightened before he released the word, but he made no attempt to hide his origins.
“For how long?”
Severn shrugged. “Probably born there.”
“And you crossed the Ablayne when?”
He shrugged again. “A month ago. Maybe a bit less, maybe a bit more.”
“Are you being hunted?”
This earned Elluvian—who had taken the reins of the interview without asking permission—the first of Severn’s almost disapproving expressions; his brows folded in toward each other and his forehead creased. Youth wiped those creases clear as the expression faded.
“I will take that as a no.”
“Why would the fieflord hunt me?”
“You might be a thief. You might have absconded with something of value to him.”
“Have you seen Castle Nightshade?”
Elluvian laughed. The hint of that amusement remained in the corners of his eyes and mouth. Helmat’s glare intensified, as if there could only be so much amusement or good humor in his office, and Elluvian had just grabbed all of it. “Yes, I have. It was a ridiculous question, but you will discover that there are often ridiculous questions that nonetheless must be asked. Especially when events become somewhat political.
“Do you understand what the Wolves do?”
Severn shrugged; the shrug was fluid. It was not, however, a dismissal, an attempt to hide ignorance, or a gesture of annoyance. Elluvian waited, and the youth finally said, “No.”
“But you’ve heard stories?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what, among those stories, struck you as accurate.”
This caused more discomfort, but Severn’s discomfort was contained. “You’re the Emperor’s Wolves. You hunt the people who run.”
“People who run?”
Severn’s impatience was a glimmer in the eye, but he mastered it. “Most criminals aren’t going to stand around, waiting to be arrested. They run. I imagine they run a lot—but most aren’t very good at it.”
Helmat’s glare was gone, but his stare was intent.
Elluvian chuckled. “No, they aren’t. You, in your two hours, were far better than most. The majority are apprehended by the Hawks or the Swords. The rest, by us. That is all you’ve heard?”
“No.”
“And the rest?”
“The Wolves are the Emperor’s assassins. He sends them to kill.” He met, and held, Elluvian’s gaze. There was defiance in him, but it was difficult to pinpoint—not a problem with most mortals of his age. Elluvian glanced at Helmat.
Helmat said, “They are sent to kill, yes. It is not, however, assassination. The crimes committed have been investigated, and the weight of evidence is considered great enough that the Emperor’s jurors, and the Emperor himself, acknowledge a severe breach of Imperial Law.” He paused to allow Severn to speak, but Severn was not a talker. He waited, Helmat having—at last—grasped the whole of his attention.
“Do the Wolves always kill?”
“No. In all but a handful of cases, they apprehend the criminal, who then graces our prisons until some suitable punishment for the crime itself is decided.”
“Do you want me to kill?” He straightened as he asked the question; the nervous watchfulness fell away, as if he himself were a dagger that had, at last, been drawn from its sheath. “Is that the job you’re offering?”
The answer was no. Helmat, however, did not give it. “Is that the job you want?”
“No. If that’s the job on offer, I’m sorry for wasting your time.” The boy bowed.
Elluvian laughed, then. Helmat smiled—if that grim turn of half his mouth could be called a smile. “You’ve killed, boy.”
Severn did not deny it. “In the fiefs.”
“Yes. You don’t want to do it again.”
“No.”
“Who gave the orders?”
“Orders?”
“Who did you kill for?”
“No one. It was my choice, beginning to end.”
“Ah. Why did you make that choice?”
“To save a life,” he replied.
“Your own?”
He considered that for longer than strictly necessary. “It wasn’t self-defense,” he finally said.
Helmat was not a kind man; one did not become the Lord of Wolves through a surplus of kindness. Nor was he a stranger to death—causing it, commanding it. But he was possessed, in the end, of a particular perception, an instinct that occasionally moved him; it was an instinct that had evaded Elluvian for the entire duration of his service to the Emperor. Elluvian recognized it in him now.
“I understand that you have no wish to speak about it. To expose it. Understand, however, that if you are to work as a Wolf—as one of my Wolves—that information is necessary. The door is behind you. You need only walk out. If you are lost, someone will tell you how to reach the exit; you may rejoin the masses of mortals in Elantra having wasted only a few hours of your time.
“I do not offer you peace. Nor do I offer safety. But what I said, I believe. We are not assassins. We are Imperial Executioners. I could—and will, should you be accepted—list those executions, the reasons for them, and the evidence upon which the Emperor made his decision. Regardless, you will come to understand just how little peace or safety becoming a Wolf offers. These executions are not to be spoken of to any but the Wolves.
“You are cautious. You are constantly aware of En—Elluvian, if we’re being formal. Trust those instincts. En is the most dangerous man in our ranks. And he is necessary; some of the Imperial Executions we carry out involve the Barrani. The Barrani generally take care of their own criminals; they don’t want them judged by the Emperor. The Barrani we hunt are therefore those that are considered too dangerous for the Barrani to deal with.” He waited to allow that to sink in.
“I don’t want to kill,” Severn said again, squaring his shoulders. He did not, however, turn toward the closed doors.
“No. And sadly, Severn, it is that preference that indicates that you might possibly—possibly—be what we want or require of the Wolves who operate in shadow. It is not trivial, the act of execution. It is not commonplace. Most of the men and women you will meet in your travels have not killed, and will never kill anything other than livestock. You are not a soldier, and will not be a soldier should you join the Wolves.