Shadow's End

NINE

What do you mean, you’ve placed ‘a lien on his soul’?” Graydon repeated.

Blood pounded through his veins as his body demanded a fight. He held onto his self-control by a thread.

He couldn’t hope to win in a fight against Malphas, not alone. At best, he could hold his own. He could even probably drive the Djinn away, but Bel and Ferion were much more vulnerable. If it came to outright battle, they might become casualties, and that possibility was unacceptable.

So he did the only thing he could. He held himself in check. By the glitter in Malphas’s diamond eyes, he could tell that the Djinn knew he held the upper hand.

Malphas smiled. “The Djinn make connections to those people with whom they strike bargains.”

Bel rose to her feet, her posture tense and defensive, and her beautiful features drawn. All her tentative happiness from earlier had vanished. “You’re not talking about social connections. You mean something more literal.”

“Yes, I mean real, psychic connections. Normally what a Djinn creates is nothing more than a sensitivity, or an awareness, so that the Djinn can hear if that person summons them. Or they might need to check to make sure a bargain is being fulfilled.” Malphas watched as Ferion thrust to his feet. His expression was almost sensual with satisfaction. “I’ve learned how to manipulate connections into something stronger and deeper.”

Bel gripped Graydon’s arm. She said telepathically, There’s something buried deep in Ferion. It’s smudged and dark like a shadow. I saw it a few moments ago when I scanned him to try to see why he had stopped breathing.

Do you think you can remove it? he asked.

She shook her head. It’s completely foreign to me. I’m not even sure what it is, or how much damage it might do to him if I tried anything.

Ferion said, “He can force me to do things. I can’t control myself.”

“Precisely.” Malphas crossed over the room to sit in the armchair again. “In order to pay his debt, Ferion has sold himself to me.”

Bel rounded on the Djinn with such a feral expression on her face, she could have been a match for any Wyr. “Remove it.”

“Not on your life.” Malphas’s voice had turned soft and deadly. “For a very long time now, I’ve wanted to have a lien on the soul of a highly placed individual in a powerful demesne. Having one on the heir of the High Elven Lord is a dream come true.”

“None of the demesnes will tolerate this kind of assault,” Graydon snarled. “When word gets out, it won’t matter if you’re abiding by Djinn law. Dragos won’t tolerate it.”

“Now we come to the heart of the matter.” Malphas laced his fingers together and crossed his legs. “Here are the cards that I hold—I own one beloved son and Elven heir, and a certain knowledge of an affair between two people that would never be sanctioned if it became public.”

Here it comes, Graydon thought. He met Bel’s gaze again. He could see in her darkening expression the knowledge of a gulf widening between them.

The Djinn continued, “Here are the cards that you hold—you know what can happen if somebody gambles with me and gets in over his head, and what I can do to them in retaliation. Also, let’s face it, if you drum up enough outrage over Ferion, you could very well gather a hunting party of sufficient strength to kill me. Does this accurately sum up the situation?”

“You can remove any uncertainty in that,” Graydon bit out. “We will hunt you down and destroy you.”

The Djinn heaved a sigh. “Oh, very well, I’ll grant you that. But could you locate and destroy me before I kill Ferion?”

Bel’s face went chalk white. She whispered, “No.”

“That’s correct.” Malphas’s reply was filled with false gentleness. “No, you couldn’t. So then the real question becomes, how much is Ferion’s life worth to you? What will you pay in order to keep him safe? Because I will tell you right now, owning the lien on one eternal Elven soul—and the heir to the South Carolina demesne at that—means a very great deal to me.”

“He can’t hold me hostage if I’m not alive,” Ferion whispered. He stared at Bel, clenched and unpredictable, his gaze burning in the dark sockets of his white face.

A quiet sound came out of Bel, as if her own soul were being wrenched out of her.

“You will not commit suicide,” Malphas told him. “Neither by direct action, nor passively by searching for a way to be killed in battle.”

Graydon turned his entire focus on the Djinn. He growled, “What do you want?”

The Djinn had been leading them to this very place, because as soon as he heard Graydon’s question, he nodded.

“I propose a bargain,” he said. “A life for a life. I will not force Ferion to do anything against his will, and much as I am tempted to, I will say nothing about your touching scene in the woods. In return, you will leave me and my business interests alone. You’ll say nothing to anyone about what has occurred, nor will you do anything about what you’ve learned here.” Malice crept back into his handsome features. “And you and Beluviel will never tryst again.”

Renewed rage and denial exploded in Graydon’s body. He started forward. This time it was Bel who grabbed at his arm.

He growled, “Like hell we won’t.”

Malphas lifted one shoulder. “I understand we live in a small world. You’ll see each other at masques and meetings. You might converse at soirees, or share a dance, and if you really must, you can always gaze soulfully into each other’s eyes. But you will never be together again. Not as lovers. Not as a partnership. Those are my terms.”

Ferion snapped, “This is between you and me. As you so eloquently pointed out, I’m the one who created this mess—and I’m responsible for the debt. Leave them out of this!”

“Oh, no,” Malphas replied. Without appearing to move he was suddenly standing on his feet. While he faced the three of them, his unblinking, shining diamond eyes remained fixed on Graydon. “You took it upon yourself to meddle in my affairs. Now Malfeasance has been shut down. The building has been razed to the ground.”

“When did this happen?” Graydon fisted his hands.

“An hour before dawn.”

The need to rend the other male into pieces caused his fingers to lengthen into talons. “While Beluviel and I were looking for Ferion.”

“You might not have destroyed the building yourself, but you were involved.” The Djinn hissed, “I know it!”

Suddenly Bel screamed, “You monster, there were children in that hellhole!”

Malphas’s face began to look like the mask it was. Power blazed through the handsome features, and he forgot to move his mouth when he spoke. “What the flesh peddlers did with that part of the business was of no concern of mine. I care nothing for matters of the flesh. All that matters is the game.”

At that, Graydon realized Malphas was as much of an addict as Ferion. He turned the realization over in his mind, as if assessing a new weapon.

Somehow, he might find a way to make use of the realization, except at the moment he was having trouble concentrating.

Just the thought of never being able to touch Beluviel again, kiss her lips, stroke her hair was making him more than a little mad. Easing his arm out of her hold, he stalked toward the Djinn.

“You’re a pariah,” he snarled. “You don’t keep your word.”

He had no idea what showed on his expression. Whatever it was, Malphas retreated in the face of it. “I know how to keep a pact when my life is at stake.”

Suddenly Bel stood beside Graydon. She said between her teeth, “I don’t believe you. You won’t really give up your leverage on Ferion.”

Malphas’s physical form dissipated. His disembodied voice resonated in the room. “Do you really have a choice? Think about it. Besides, Ferion is only Calondir’s heir. Likely, he will never become the Elven High Lord himself. He’ll continue to live a half life, with no real power or purpose. While I’m happy to have gotten my claws into him, there’s no guarantee my time and trouble will amount to anything.”

Instinct more than anything caused Graydon to whirl. Malphas had reformed and stood behind Ferion, one hand on the Elf’s shoulder. Ferion stared at them fixedly, a muscle leaping in his rigid jaw.

“Make your choice,” Malphas said. “Throw the dice.”

Graydon stared at the Djinn’s hand on Ferion’s shoulder. Then he looked at Bel.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Graydon didn’t think she was even aware of it. There was so much love and anguish in her expression when she looked at Ferion, something inside Graydon broke.

Maybe it was the hope they had created when they talked of meeting every month. The small house with a large, private yard had sounded so perfect to him, and it was never going to happen.

Ferion was the child of her heart. She had spent so many years loving, protecting and nurturing him, hoping for the best in his future and feeling pain at his struggles.

I will keep looking for a way to get out of this, Graydon told her telepathically. No matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to do. I will not stop until we’re all freed.

Graydon, no, Bel said. There must be something we haven’t thought of, something we can still negotiate.

Can you think of any angle to use? he asked. Because my God, I’m more than ready to hear it.

Her face clenched. She remained silent.

Aloud, he said, “We’ll take your deal, Djinn—except for one codicil.”

Malphas arched one golden eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Sometimes in life you had to draw a hard line and say this will not happen, no matter what the cost, not as long as I am alive to stop it.

He said between his teeth, “If you ever again even passively support child prostitution in any form, holding a lien on Ferion’s life won’t protect you. Nobody will be able to protect you. I won’t stop hunting you until you are nothing more than a bad memory scattered on the wind.”

The room throbbed as his Power boiled over. In the silence, he heard Bel’s distressed breathing, but even though he had just laid her son’s life on the line, she never uttered a word of protest.

Ferion said with quiet force, “I support that codicil.”

Malphas made a quick, slicing gesture. “Of course. I’ll make certain of it.”

Bel said softly, “You do realize that if anything happens to Ferion, my first thought will be of you. If he dies, all your leverage fades away. That card you think you hold over me and Graydon, and what happened between us—it means nothing. So it would be prudent of you to make sure nothing happens to my son.”

Means nothing.

The two words beat against Graydon’s temples.

What did she mean by that? Everything she said held a ring of truth. Did their time together mean nothing? Or did she mean keeping it secret meant nothing?

Don’t react, he thought. Don’t show this predator any hint of blood.

Malphas lowered his head while he assessed Bel with a calculating gaze. “Understood.”

“Now, get your hand off him.” Bel’s voice was sharp enough to slice steel.

Smiling, Malphas lifted his hand away. “From your hostility, I take it there’ll be no invitation for me to join you for the holidays. No? Oh well, one does endure. In any case, I’m needed elsewhere. I have a new gaming hell to establish. Do shut the door on your way out.” He leaned forward to say in Ferion’s ear, “I’ll check in with you frequently.”

Ferion’s gaze cut sideways, his expression filled with such loathing that if Malphas had been a physical creature, Graydon felt sure he would not have survived the next few moments.

The Djinn’s form blew into a whirlwind that dissipated almost at once. Graydon cast out his awareness, seeking for any hint that the Djinn lingered in stealth, but Malphas was truly gone.

He felt as if he had just wallowed in manure. As he rubbed his face hard, Ferion bolted out of the house. Bel’s gaze shot to his in a brief, surprised flash. She strode after her son.

Graydon didn’t follow them. He could already hear the sounds of retching outside and knew Ferion hadn’t gone far. No doubt, they needed a few moments in private. In any case, he knew he needed a moment.

He couldn’t stand to be in the confines of the dust-filled room any longer. In fact, he would be doing the world a favor if he destroyed the room altogether.

Striding over to the armchair, with one vicious kick he booted it toward the fireplace. It shot across the room, crashing into the flames and knocking logs and embers everywhere.

Following the glowing constellation scattered across the floor, he kicked embers toward the heavy velvet curtains shrouding the front windows. Then he upended the sofa on the rest of the coals.

Malphas would still prey on foolish gamblers, but he wouldn’t be taking anybody’s life in this place again.

When Graydon was through, he walked into the hall to sit on the bottom stairs of the wide marble staircase, elbows on knees and head in his hands while he waited to make sure the fire spread.

It wasn’t enough destruction to suit him. He wanted to rip apart the countryside, set fire to the world. What a wretched, fucked-up day.

After a few moments, quick, light footsteps approached. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Bel. He would recognize her footsteps anywhere, now.

She sat down on the stairs beside him. “The curtains in the receiving room are going up in flames. You set fire to the house?”

He rubbed at his dry eyes. “Not burning the house wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“If this were any other day that would make me laugh.” She sighed. “I suppose you’ve thought of the surrounding countryside.”

“I surveyed the area as we flew in. There may be dust all over the furniture, but sometime in the past growing season, the grounds were well tended. The immediate area is clear of trees and shrubs. Whoever originally built the place set the stables well away from the house.” He looked over his hands at her. “Where’s Ferion?”

“He’s gone to tend to his horse.” In the strong morning light that streamed in through the open front doors, she looked almost as bad as Ferion had, her skin a chalky white, and dark shadows like bruises ringed her large, lovely eyes. “He says that he can feel the lien. It’s like a shackle on him.”

He told her, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I could throttle him right now.”

She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees as he did. She had taken a moment to braid her hair, rather haphazardly, and the long dark silken rope slid forward over her shoulder.

“I’m so angry, I can barely speak to him in a civil tone,” she replied. “It’s incomprehensible to me how he could create such an overwhelming trap, not only for him but for us as well. Can’t he see how his actions have affected others—how they’ve affected me, and now you?” Her eyes filled with sudden liquid. “Does he think so little of his life?”

He needed to touch her so badly it clenched in his stomach like sickness. Malphas mentioned dancing. The Djinn had allowed for them to touch, and that might have been the cruelest part of the bargain.

Slowly, Graydon reached out. When she placed her hand in his, his fingers tightened around hers.

He said, very low, “I can understand wanting and needing something so badly you’re ready to gamble your life away for a chance to have it.”

Her gaze slid sideways at him, and he caught a glimpse of the anguish he had seen in her expression earlier. “This is my fault. I should never have taken your offer of help. I should never have paid his debt the second time, or the third. If I’d only—”

A different kind of pain cut through him. Taking her hand, he held it to his chest, committing the feel and the weight of it to memory, the sensation of her slender fingers curling around his, the softness of her skin. Then he released her, and stood.

“That’s where you and I differ. I could never wish away making love to you.” Despite himself, a note of bitterness entered his voice. “No matter what else happened, or what the cost.”

“Gray,” she said softly, “that wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” If he looked at her, he would kiss her. He closed his eyes. “Can you sense the connections Malphas attached to us?”

She hesitated. “Not really. I felt his Power shimmer when we agreed to the bargain, but now . . . I can’t feel anything. It’s not anything like what I felt in Ferion.”

He knew better than to entertain any foolish hope that Malphas wouldn’t be able to sense if he and Bel made love. The Djinn would not have demanded terms he couldn’t enforce.

He strode to the doorway of the receiving room. The fire had taken hold with a vengeance. It was small satisfaction. When the blaze grew large enough the smoke would attract people from the nearby town, but they had several minutes before that happened.

Outside, the country air was clean and sharp like a knife. He went around the back to find Ferion emerging from the stable, leading a saddled roan. As he approached the Elven male, he noted how terrible Ferion looked, his normally youthful-looking face lined as if with age.

Graydon wanted nothing more than to unleash his rage on the other man, but the thought of what he had said to Bel remained with him. Need for her ran through his veins, turning part of him into a traitor with ugly thoughts, urging him to do anything it took, just so that he could be with her again.

The predator in him had taken note: nowhere in the Djinn’s bargain had it said Graydon couldn’t kill Ferion and be done with Malphas once and for all.

That same predator took note of Ferion’s inattention and relative fragility, the vein pounding at the side of his neck, the way his hands shook as he handled the reins.

Graydon would do almost anything to be with Bel again, except take from her what she loved the most.

Turning and crossing his arms, he faced the house. Silently, Ferion led the horse over to him and stood by his side.

After a moment, Ferion said, “I’m appalled at my own actions and offer you my most heartfelt apologies. I make no excuses for what I’ve done.”

“That would be wise of you.” Graydon used the most neutral tone he could manage. At the moment, his control was fragile at best. If the Elf had started down that path, he didn’t know what he would have done. He said, “If this hasn’t made you hit bottom so you realize you’ve got to change, I don’t know what will.”

“It did.” Ferion’s voice was so quiet, even Graydon almost didn’t hear him. “It happened when Malphas confronted me. When I truly realized I had no other way to pay my debt. Nobody else could take my fate from me, and he—fixed the lien inside of me. I—I didn’t realize such a low point could exist.”

As he listened, unwilling sympathy took hold of him, dissipating his rage.

Ferion whispered, “Always before, this voice inside my head compelled me on and on. I convinced myself that when I won, I could pay any debt I accumulated. I could even pay back my mother everything she had spent on my behalf. Once I won that big, I could quit whenever I wished.” His raw gaze cut sideways to Graydon. “I knew that voice was crazy. I just couldn’t seem to stop listening to it.”

Graydon rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the knot of tension that had taken residence between his shoulder blades. He acknowledged, “I reckon I have a version of that voice in my head too.”

Only his voice had urged him to make plans to fly down to South Carolina once a month. It whispered to him that somehow the arrangement would have made it acceptable for him to mate with her, that he would survive each interminable month, as long he knew he would get to see her again.

Even as part of him had known better—that eventually something about the arrangement would have crumbled—it hadn’t stopped him from trying because he would have done almost anything to be with her again, including mating in silence and giving her a kind of devotion she had not asked for, and likely wouldn’t have welcomed had she known.

“Whatever happened between you and my mother,” Ferion said, “I’m doubly sorry about that.”

“We’re not going to talk about that,” Graydon said between his teeth.

Off to one side of the house, Beluviel came into view. She walked toward them.

Ferion whispered, “I saw how you looked at each other. I also know she hasn’t chosen to be with anybody in a very long time, so while we might not talk of it, I wanted you to know—I’m so sorry for that too. More than anyone else I know, she deserves to be happy.”

As soon as Bel had come into sight, Graydon’s attention fixed on her. Hungrily, he soaked in every aspect of her appearance.

She looked composed and calm, her dark gaze focused. As he took in her settled demeanor, he recognized the distance that had been growing between them was now complete.

He told her telepathically, You realize Ferion can no longer be trusted. Malphas might not be able to resist compelling him to do small, sneaky things. Whatever he thinks he might be able to get away with, he’ll do.

The full, generous curve of her lips tightened. She replied, I know. I’ll have to keep watch.

If there is anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to send for me.

Giving him a steady look, she shook her head and told him in a gentle voice, You are good-hearted and generous to the very end. I will not send for you, Graydon. It would hurt too much to see you.

A violent pain flared. How sensible she sounded, how emotionally honest and yet dismissive at the same time.

In one corner of his mind he knew he wasn’t being fair, but the uncivilized beast he fought to hold in check wasn’t interested in fairness. It wanted to snatch at her and rage against the world.

But she was not Wyr. She couldn’t know how his beast rebelled at the thought of being sensible. Of leaving her.

He made himself breathe evenly and loosen the fists he had pressed against his sides. “So, we hold our ground.”

“And Malphas wins,” said Ferion bitterly.

Bel gave her son a look of rebuke. “Holding one’s ground is not passivity. It takes its own kind of strength. Sometimes the hardest part of a battle is holding one’s ground. At most Malphas has gained a standoff. He has not won anything yet.”

“Nor will he,” said Graydon. “Although this may turn into a very long war. Have patience.” He looked up. Dark smoke was beginning to billow out of the manor’s windows and chimneys. “We should leave. I can take you both back to London.”

“I can’t abandon the horse,” Ferion said.

That small, selfless statement helped Graydon feel a little more kindly disposed toward the other male.

“It’s a hired horse, yes?” When Ferion nodded, he said, “Tie the reins to the hitching post beside the stable doors. It’s far enough from the house, it’ll be safe from the fire, and you can be certain that Wembley’s constable will be up here momentarily, along with many other people. They’ll make sure it gets returned to the stable where it belongs.”

Ferion did so. Within moments, both he and Bel settled astride on the gryphon’s back.

The return flight to London was mostly made in silence, each one of them wrapped up in thought. When Graydon landed in Grosvenor Square, it had just turned midmorning. The sun had begun to take the chill out of the frigid air.

Tradesmen crowded the streets, conducting business, although many who had attended masques the night before would still be abed. Graydon maintained his cloak. He sensed Bel’s cloaking spell as she did the same.

She and Ferion slipped from his back. Together, they both moved to face the gryphon. He would not even get the chance to say good-bye to her in private. Pride made the gryphon hold his head high.

“Thank you for everything,” Ferion said. “I will never forget what you’ve done for my mother and me.”

“Make something good come out of this,” Graydon told him. “Stay away from gaming tables.”

A harsh breath escaped the other male. “The thought of gambling again makes me feel ill.”

Well. At least there was that.

Bel stepped forward, looking up at him. Her expression caused his chest to ache. Telepathically, she said, I will miss you with all my heart.

The pain in her mental voice was so apparent, every imagined rebuff or slight he had felt over the last several hours vanished in an instant.

Slowly, the gryphon lowered his head until he rested his beak against her chest. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with her scent one last time. She stroked his head.

This isn’t over, he told her. Don’t ever forget it.

Nodding, she stood back and wiped at her eyes. He felt the physical separation like a knife cut along his skin. Ferion put his arm around her shoulders. Graydon watched as they walked to their house.

Once she had disappeared from sight, he launched again and stayed aloft for hours, hurtling through the air as fast as he could in a crazed flight going nowhere.

Malphas couldn’t kill Ferion without also freeing them to hunt him down, but that did not defang the Djinn, not while he held the lien on Ferion’s soul. If they broke the bargain, Malphas could control or torture Ferion with impunity.

That meant Graydon couldn’t hunt for Malphas, or say anything to anyone based on what he had learned that morning.

But, like setting fire to the house, there was nothing in the bargain to keep Graydon from watching and waiting for other leverage that may come his way.

And nothing whatsoever in the bargain that could keep him from using it.