Shadow's End

SIX

Even though Bel had experienced the gryphon’s flight once already, they hurtled through the air much faster than she had believed possible. Her heart soared as, within minutes, they left London behind.

They would find Ferion. She knew it. They would find him before he could do too much financial damage. If Graydon would consent to carrying both of them back to Grosvenor Square, they might even be able to return before daybreak, or at the very least by noon.

With any luck, Calondir might not have even returned from the masque. Or perhaps he might linger over an assignation and not return until later that day. Either way, for the first time that evening, she was filled with hope.

Briefly, Graydon slowed his speed. Even as she began to question it, he surged forward again with an adjustment in direction, until she realized that he had started to follow the path of a shadowed road below.

Soon they came to a cluster of buildings. As the gryphon decreased his altitude and wheeled, Bel studied the area.

While most of the buildings were dark, the biggest one was clearly a posting house and inn. Even though the hour was late, lamplight still shone in the windows.

Would you like to stop and inquire, or do you want to travel onward? Graydon asked.

After a moment, she replied, I think we should travel onward. This place is too close to London. I don’t believe Ferion would have stopped so soon.

Very well. Once again, the gryphon surged upward. As he picked up speed, she thought she would never tire of the experience. The cold, fitful wind sliced away her tiredness and discouragement, until her mind felt keen and blade sharp.

She asked, How long will it take us to reach Wembley, do you think?

I doubt it can be more than an hour’s flight, he told her. Locating a country estate without specific directions will take longer.

Perhaps, if we can find the astonishingly terrible inn, we’ll be able to get directions from there, she said dryly.

I hope so, he replied.

Curious, she asked him, How do you suggest we search?

He paused. I don’t suppose Ferion left you a note?

She shook her head before remembering he couldn’t see it. No, he didn’t, so we don’t know when he actually left.

In that case, I don’t think we need to stop until we reach Wembley. Once we’re there, we can work backward along the road. With any luck, we might run into Ferion himself, but if we’re too late to catch him, at the very least, we can hope to get directions to Malphas’s estate. It’s owned by a Djinn. Any visitors Malphas has will be much more distinctive than the average traveler. Someone will know of the place.

That makes sense, she said. His logical thinking gave her a sense of deep relief. He was a mature predator. He knew the strategies for how to hunt better than she did.

How are you? he asked. His deep mental voice had gentled again. Not too cold, I hope?

Her relief metamorphosed into a warmer emotion. Not only had he volunteered to help her, but his concern for her well-being was genuine.

He was a good man, a kind man, and he had gone significantly out of his way for her without ever hinting at payment or recompense.

Dragos doesn’t deserve him, she thought. She trailed her fingers lightly over the sleek, strong line of the gryphon’s neck. If he were in his human form, it would be unthinkable to let herself be so familiar, but letting herself touch him while he was in his Wyr form was immensely comforting.

I’m fine, she told him. Thank you for asking.

His mental voice turned gruff. Just wanted to make sure. Let me know if you need to stop. I can build a fire so you can warm up.

His offer brought to mind an image of sitting together by a campfire, Graydon’s rough, suntanned features highlighted by bright, leaping flames. The firelight would reflect in his dark gray, attentive gaze, and the surrounding forest would be blanketed by the dark blue of night.

They could talk together. They could just talk, about anything and everything.

Oh gods, she wanted that so much.

More disturbed than she could say, she yanked her mind away from the image. Her normally well-ordered emotions careened all over the place. She didn’t know this person she was becoming, with the riotous impulses and wayward desires.

Forcing her reply to sound steady and calm, she assured him, I don’t need that right now, thank you, but I’ll let you know if I do.

She had any number of good people in her life. Alanna and Lianne loved her, and she loved them. She had a rich life, filled with many pleasures and pastimes. She had people who cared about her. Calondir might be Lord of the Elven demesne, but she was its Lady.

She believed in the Elven demesne. She worked and cared for it, just as she nourished the Wood and the extensive gardens that surrounded their public home just outside of Charleston. Calondir might rule by law, but she was the one that people came to for advice, problem solving, or comfort.

She was almost never alone, so why did Graydon’s concern and attention touch such a deeply lonely spot inside? The distant ache in her chest grew closer and sharper the longer she spent time with him.

Troubled, she closed her eyes and turned her focus inward. He didn’t speak again. They traveled the rest of the way to Wembley in silence.

When the rhythm of the gryphon’s flight changed, she opened her eyes. They flew over a large town. One or two lights flickered, but most of the buildings were shadowed and dark. As Graydon banked and turned, she saw the signature wheel of a mill by a glimmer of water.

They had reached Wembley.

After flying in a circle, the gryphon arrowed back along the road.

The first cluster of buildings they came to on the outskirts of the town was as dark as the rest of the town. It was unsurprising, given the lateness of the hour.

Bel noted the distinctive layout of a roadside inn, complete with substantially sized stables in the back. In a few short hours, the inn staff would be bustling to prepare breakfast.

The gryphon drifted down to land in the front courtyard. Once he had touched ground, Bel slid from his back, and he shapeshifted. Somewhere close by, a dog barked then fell silent. The rain hadn’t fallen this far west, and the night sparkled with a hard frost.

“I don’t suppose you can scent whether or not Ferion might have stopped here?” She kept her voice very low.

“Not here, sorry. Mostly all I can smell are horses and manure.” Graydon placed a large hand at her back. He kept his voice as quiet as hers. “Shall I inquire inside?”

She smiled up into his shadowed face. “Thank you for offering, but no, I can ask. We’re far enough outside the city, word of my presence won’t travel back to Calondir. If by chance he discovers something, it will be from some other source.”

He nodded and let her precede him to the front doors. Halfway there, she paused. If she roused the innkeeper or his staff, she might wake any number of their guests as well.

She whispered, “Let’s check the stables first. Perhaps there’s a stable boy or groom who sleeps with the horses. It might be quicker to question them than field complaints from people staying in the inn.”

He nodded. “Good thinking.”

They made their way around the inn, to the back. She stood to one side as Graydon opened the barn door.

Warmth, along with the smell of horses and hay, wafted against her cold cheeks. A horse nickered sleepily. Something rustled, and a dog’s low, menacing growl sounded from the shadows.

A male voice, breaking with youth and nerves, said, “Whoever you are, you better stay back. My dog bites.”

Bel laid a hand on Graydon’s arm. She replied soothingly, “We mean you no harm. All we want to do is ask you a few questions. I’m sorry we woke you, and I’m willing to pay for your time.”

There was more rustling, along with tiny sounds of flint hitting tinder, and then the warm glow of the lamp illuminated the interior of the stable. A boy, lanky and awkward, and a dog of indeterminate breed peered at them warily.

When the boy looked at Bel, his gaze widened. “Don’t that beat all,” he breathed. “I ain’t never spoke to no Elven lady before. Or maybe you’re Fae? I seen Fae and Elves on the road from time to time.”

“I am Elven,” she told him, smiling slightly at his enthusiasm. “May we step inside and close the door? Otherwise your horses might get a chill.”

“Yes, my lady, if it pleases you.” The boy glanced at Graydon, who also smiled at him reassuringly. It seemed to help him relax, although his dog remained stiff-legged and bristled warningly.

Bel and Graydon stepped inside. As Graydon quietly pulled the door shut and latched it, she said to the boy, “I’m looking for my son, and I wondered if you might have seen him. He would have traveled through this area sometime late yesterday. He’s actually my stepson, so he doesn’t quite look like me. He has pale blond hair.”

The boy shook his head. His nervousness had not decreased, but the more Bel talked, the more his fear clearly ebbed. “No, my lady. There ain’t been no Elves travel on this road for some time. I would’ve heard if there was. Meaning no offense, but we don’t see many of you often.”

“I see,” she murmured. Disappointment weighed on her shoulders, and her sharp, clear thinking from earlier in the flight clouded over.

Rubbing her forehead, she struggled to focus. She had no business feeling so disappointed. They had barely begun to search. This was simply the first place they had stopped to ask questions

Graydon flattened a large hand on her back, his touch silently bracing her.

He asked the boy, “When they do pass by, do people of the Elder Races stop at your inn? Perhaps you’ve heard of an estate nearby that’s owned by one?”

The boy straightened, his tired gaze growing more alert. “You’re talking about what used to be Stanton Manor,” he said. “That’s about a half mile on the other side of the mill, up the big hill. I hear they’re an odd sort up there.”

“How do you mean?” she asked quickly.

“Sometimes his lordship hires a whole houseful of staff for a week or two, only to send them home afterwards, and the house goes dark and silent for weeks or months on end. And sometimes, when nobody is supposed to be home, I heard that lights shine in the house.” The boy’s gaze had turned large and solemn. “Once the constable went up to check, and nobody was there. He said the dust in the place was an inch thick, and it weren’t disturbed none. He swears the house is haunted.”

“Fancy that, a haunted house.” Graydon cocked an eyebrow at her. He asked the boy, “If someone came from London, could they travel by another route to reach that house, or must they pass this spot?”

After mulling it over, the boy said, “They could take Old Ferryman’s Road. You wouldn’t have to go through town if you took that route. It goes directly past the mill.”

“Thank you,” Graydon told him. “You’ve been very helpful. I have one last question for you. Could you sneak into the kitchen for some bread and cheese? Perhaps there might be some cold chicken or a roast left over from supper. Anything would do, and it doesn’t have to be fancy.”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy. “I could wake the missus, and she could cook you a hot meal, if you want. She might grumble a bit, though.”

“There’s no need to wake your mistress,” Bel told him. “We came to the stables so we could avoid disrupting people unnecessarily.”

The boy bobbed his head. He promised, “I’ll be right back.”

Leaving the lantern, he slipped out, and the dog slunk past Graydon, close on his heels.

Bell scrubbed her face with both hands. “I feel uneasy about stopping. Ferion might have taken the other route and gone straight to the manor. He could be there right now.”

“That’s true,” Graydon said. “But you know, if he has arrived, he’s most likely asleep. He’s had a long day of travel, and it is after three in the morning.” He paused, studying her. “You’ve clearly begun to struggle, and I don’t like how pale you’ve become. When was the last time you’ve rested or eaten anything?”

She peered at him over the tips of her fingers, thinking back. “I suppose it must have been breakfast. I didn’t bother to eat any lunch, since I knew there would be so much food at the masque. Then I got preoccupied with other things.”

As she spoke, she realized this was the first time she had laid eyes on his human form since they had gone their separate ways, and she was struck by the change in his appearance.

No longer dressed in evening clothes, he wore sturdy clothes in huntsman’s colors. A long winter coat brushed the tops of his dark boots. He carried a hunting knife in the belt at his waist, and a sword strapped to his wide back.

The brown and green of his clothes highlighted the tawny, sun-kissed sheen of his hair and added depth to his dark gray eyes.

No wonder the dog couldn’t stop growling, she thought. Unlike earlier, when he had been dressed in formal evening attire, now he looked comfortable, dangerous. If it weren’t for the kindness in his expression, she could very easily be frightened by this man too.

He gave her a small smile. “It’s been a long day and evening. It would be a mistake to show up at the manor in the middle of the night, feeling exhausted and out of focus. Neither Ferion nor Malphas are going to welcome our arrival. In fact, the exchange will probably get heated and unpleasant. As hard as it might be, we’ll take the time to eat, and if you think you might be able to sleep, I suggest we find a place that’s comfortable enough that you might be able to nap for an hour or so, or at the very least relax, until dawn.”

What he said made so much sense, and the prosaic, calm way in which he said it was even more compelling.

Dropping her hands, she grimaced. “You’re thinking about this much more clearly than I am. And you’re right, of course. Even if we take an hour or two, we’ve still arrived so much faster than I would have if I’d traveled here without you.”

“Shall I wake the innkeeper after all?” he asked. “Would you rest more comfortably in a bed?”

Searching his expression, she hesitated. It had been a long night for doing things she shouldn’t have done. She shouldn’t ask this of him either, but she wanted it so badly. Maybe she even needed it. It was too hard for her to tell, when the ache in her chest had become so sharp, so sweet.

She met his gaze. “I would feel better in the woods. If you would build me that campfire, I’d rather doze outside. Would you mind?”

All hint of a smile left his expression. If anything, his gaze grew deeper, more intent. “Never. I would love that too.”

The stable door creaked open just wide enough to let the boy and the dog slip inside. Hauling the door closed again, he turned to hand Graydon a parcel of food wrapped in a large handkerchief.

Graydon didn’t bother to check the contents. He could smell bread, cheese and chicken. Accepting the parcel, he gave the boy a nod in thanks.

When Bel opened a small, black leather purse and pulled out a few coins, the boy’s eyes widened and began to shine.

“Thank you for everything.” She handed him the money.

“Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady.” Falling silent, he stared at the coins in his palm.

One corner of Graydon’s mouth lifted. He murmured to her, “I believe that’s our cue to leave.”

He held the door open, and she slipped out into the cold, crisp air. In silence, they walked away from the inn.

She had no idea where they were going. Matching her stride to his, she veered when he veered, following his lead in a daze.

All she knew was that they were going to someplace entirely new, entirely strange. It was the sweetest place with the sharpest pain, and she did not quite know how she could bear it, yet she didn’t know how she could survive without it.

When he handed her the food and shapeshifted, she leapt onto his back, and they flew over the town and past the mill. Graydon followed the river and didn’t land again until he had reached a tangled clump of woods, some distance upstream from any property.

As she dismounted, she took in the place. A thick blanket of winter leaves covered the ground, while the dark outline of the trees overhead was spiky from bare branches. Evergreens dotted the area, giving the scene a sharp pine scent, while the quiet, rejuvenating sounds of the nearby river played at the edge of her hearing.

It was a clean, undomesticated place. The difference between it and all the other places they had visited in that long night couldn’t have been more dramatic.

Some unrecognized burden fell from her, and without realizing it, she breathed, “Oh, this.”

She barely sounded coherent, but he seemed to know exactly what she had meant.

“Yes,” he said, very low. “This.”

Together, they gathered wood. She had countless years of experience to draw upon, and he did too. They didn’t even need to speak as they coordinated everything they did with quick, neat economy.

As she cleared leaves from an area, he collected stones to make a fire ring. She walked down to the river to wash her face and hands, relishing the biting cold water. When she returned, he had a fire started and had even found a fallen log to use as a seat.

“Thank you,” she said fervently.

His smile lit up his rough face. “My pleasure.”

Rolling her tired shoulders, she slipped out of her sword harness, set it aside and sat. Echoing her movement, he joined her on the log. The fire quickly took hold, and flames began to leap, throwing off bright, intense heat.

She heaved a sigh. “Cities are hard.”

He had begun to unwrap the food. The glance he gave her was brief and heartfelt. “Don’t I know it.”

“How can you stand to live right in the middle of one?” she asked, curious.

“I guess it’s necessary,” he said. He lifted one wide shoulder in a self-deprecating shrug. “New York isn’t nearly as big or as intensely urban as London, and after a time, one gets used to it. There are so many challenges to face every day, which helps, and between all the sentinels, we make sure that we get plenty of time to roam. I’ve felt more cooped up since I’ve been in London than I do at home.”

The handkerchief held a large chunk of bread, several uneven slices of cheese, and part of a roasted chicken. He offered her the food, and she took the bread, breaking it into two pieces, one much larger than the other.

Keeping the smaller piece, she gave him the large one, while he set the food cloth on the ground between them and handed her a slice of cheese.

She took a bite of the bread and cheese. The crust of the bread was golden brown and crunchy, while the softer inside was yeasty rich, and the cheese had a sharp, creamy tang. It was delicious.

She said around her mouthful, “I don’t think that was the horrible inn.”

His deep, quiet chuckle vibrated the log. “I don’t either.”

The fire heated her face and hands, while the cold evening air brushed the nape of her neck. The warmth of Graydon’s steady male presence enveloped her, and the combination was more delicious than the food.

After a few moments, she grew so warm, she shrugged out of her cloak and draped it on the log beside her. Whenever either one of them moved, his arm or thigh would brush against hers, and the simple, visceral pleasure of his nearness washed over her all over again.

I’m happy, she realized with surprise. In spite of everything going on, at this point in time I’m actually happy. It’s not that I was unhappy before—but before, I lived with an absence of this intense new feeling.

And none of it would last past sunrise. This deeply peaceful, nourishing experience was as fleeting as any other, and that was the sharpest, sweetest pain of all.

After he took the last mouthful of his bread and cheese, he began to pull the roast chicken off the bone and offer her the choicest tidbits.

She accepted a few bites then declined any more, content to watch him finish the meal, which he did with relish. He had been right. Eating had steadied her.

His head bent, he kept his gaze on his task. The firelight picked up bright glints in his hair. His hair had a tendency to an unruly wave, and he kept it short and no-nonsense, no doubt, she thought, in some effort to tame it.

When he finished the chicken, he tossed the bones onto the fire, shook out the handkerchief and wiped his hands on the cloth.

She had gotten so used to the silence that when he spoke, she startled. He asked, “Do you mind if I ask you a question about something that is really none of my business?”

She should say no.

She should politely, gently erect proper social barriers between them.

She should do a lot of things, but some renegade part of her was growing greedy for any excuse to relate to him, any opportunity to extend and deepen the sense of companionship.

“Please do,” she said. A tiny, tattered remnant of caution caused her to add, “I may not be able to answer, but you may certainly ask.”

With that, he looked up, spearing her with his gaze. “Why are you with Calondir? It’s quite clear that you and he do not live in accord.”

The heat and intensity in his eyes was searing. She could only hold his gaze for a few moments. Jerking her head away, she stared blindly at the fire. She felt shaken to her bones.

She told him, with difficulty, “That’s a long, very old story.”

“I have time,” he said quietly.

She swallowed hard. “We don’t live as husband and wife, and we haven’t since—well, since too many years to count. We’re business partners. Our business is running the Elven demesne, and we do that very well.”

“You were with him, then you lived apart for some years,” he said. “When you got back together, he had his son, Ferion. That’s really all I know.”

“Yes, that’s right,” she murmured. Ancient memories played through her mind. “Originally, we did live together as husband and wife. In the beginning, I thought I loved him. He could be so charming and charismatic when he wanted to be, but I think he married me to acquire a prize. At any rate, for me it was a disastrous mistake. After a brief time, I left him. I had no intention of ever speaking to him again. Then he came to me one day with Ferion.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Ferion’s mother had died giving birth to him, and he was so tiny, so completely innocent and new, I could almost hold his entire little body in one hand.”

“I didn’t realize he was so young,” Graydon said. His gaze never strayed from her face.

She didn’t mind his scrutiny. It was as warm as a physical caress. “He was only a few days old. Calondir put him in my arms and said, ‘My son needs a mother. If you want him, you may have him to raise as your own. But if you do, you must return to me. I will not let any son of mine live away from me.’”

He let out a long sigh.

It sounded so heartfelt, she gave him a sidelong, wry smile. “Well, you can imagine how I felt. I had wanted a child for so long, and you know how rare that blessing is for us. As soon as I held that sweet baby boy, I couldn’t let him go. He became my whole world, and I adored him completely.”

She had twisted her fingers together in her lap. One large hand came down over both of hers. Graydon said softly, “That happened a long time ago, Bel.”

“Yes, it did.” She turned her hands over to cup his. He had thick, long fingers and a broad callused palm. His skin was warm. “A very long time ago. Meanwhile other things happened, and tensions grew in various factions among us. None of it is relevant today, except that creating the Elven demesne outside of Charleston was actually my idea.”

“I didn’t know that, either,” he murmured.

She shrugged. “The thing was, I had been gone from that particular group—the kernel of what became our demesne—long enough that people looked to Calondir for leadership, not to me. So, we created a charter and set sail, and established our demesne outside of Charleston. It was all very forward thinking and exciting, in its own way.”

His mouth took on a sour slant. “Calondir became Lord, and you became consort.”

She nodded. “Ferion grew up, and I planted the seeds for my Wood and nourished it into growing, and it’s been my home ever since. Usually, Calondir and I don’t get in each other’s way, except when it comes to Ferion. Often I go weeks without seeing him, as either one of us might be either in the Wood or in residence in the Charleston home.”

His fingers tightened. “It’s a business arrangement.”

“Yes. Except for Ferion, it is.” She sighed. Calondir was actually not that bad as Elven High Lord. He just made a rotten husband and father.

“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked. “Have you never wished for anything else—for something more?”

She lifted her eyes to meet Graydon’s dark, steady gaze and whispered, “For the most part, our personal arrangement has never really mattered, before now.”

He turned toward her, leaning forward. She shifted as well, her face turned up to his.

Her gaze dropped to his rough-cut, sensitive mouth, and her body pulsed as she remembered the warm caress of his lips on her forehead.

What would it be like to have those lips cover hers? While everything she had told him was true, no Elven male would dream of trying to touch or kiss the consort.

For the most part, that arrangement had never really mattered before now either. She could hardly remember what it was like to kiss a man, let alone imagine what it might be like to kiss someone with Graydon’s combination of gentleness and virility.

The sense of connection she felt to him was becoming almost unbearable, as deep and wild as the wood that sheltered them.

Of course, she had to go and do something to destroy the moment.

Before she fully realized what was coming out of her mouth, she said, “Now, it’s my turn to ask you a question. How can you stand to work for Dragos?”