Shadow's End

by Thea Harrison

  And Malphas had finally, finally been killed. She could not help but feel a fierce relief at that particular change.

  In the end, she didn’t find Ferion. He found her.

  A hand closed gently on her wrist. She turned in surprise to discover her son standing behind her. He had dressed soberly as well, and had pulled his long blond hair back into a tight braid.

  It lent his handsome features a severity that suited him these days. As a nod to tradition, he had brought a domino, but instead of wearing it, he had tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket.

  Linwe touched her shoulder. “I’ll just go . . . Over there somewhere. Text me if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  As Linwe disappeared into the crowd, she turned back to Ferion. She couldn’t stop herself from putting her hand on his arm and scanning him surreptitiously.

  The subtle, corrupt smear of darkness that had been embedded in his soul was completely gone. Finally, her son was free. The Elven High Lord was unfettered, to be whoever he needed to be. Whatever may come of it, only time could tell that tale.

  “Mother,” he said.

  She threw her arms around him, hugging him with everything she had. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too.” His lips widening into a smile, he returned her hug. Too quickly, the smile died and he turned sober. “I’m not staying. I only came because I promised you I would.”

  Yet another thing that had changed—this time, he had kept his word. Her heart lightened with gladness. “Thank you for coming.”

  He told her in a low voice, “I also came because I wanted to try one last time to change your mind, if I could. Don’t stay here. Come home with me, where you belong.”

  She shook her head and told him softly, “You know I’m not going to do that.”

  “You don’t have to leave Graydon. Bring him with you. We’ll— I’ll deal with it.” He gestured with one hand. “The Wyr are not our enemies any longer. They’ve helped us too many times to maintain hostilities. We’ll make a place for him. Mom, please.”

  Unable to help herself, she straightened his lapel, letting her fingers linger as she smoothed the cloth over his hard, lean chest.

  “It means so much to me that you said that,” she replied. “But you know Graydon could never fit in down there. They are making a place for me here. Not only that, but this is where I want to be.” She met his gaze. “I don’t belong in South Carolina any longer. Besides, you’re not losing me—you could never lose me. We’ll come to visit, as often as we can.”

  His face tightened. “That’s not the same, and you know it. And what do you mean, you don’t belong in South Carolina? Father was the one who cracked the whip, but for so long, you’ve been the heart and soul of our demesne.”

  “If that’s true, then it’s past time for someone else to fill that role.” She touched his face. “My heart is here now. Sidhiel and others will be there to help advise you, and I’ll only be a phone call away if you ever need to talk. Think of it, Ferion. You really are free now. The future is yours to take—so take it. Be the wonderful man I know you are, and the kind of leader I know you can be.”

  He blew out a breath, looking frustrated. “You can be so stubborn sometimes.”

  For some reason that made her laugh, hard. “It’s a good thing I am, don’t you think?”

  The normally straight line of his shoulder slumped. “This change has really happened, hasn’t it? You’re not coming home again.”

  “No, son.” Her expression softened at the look of loss that came over his face. “I love you with all of my heart. I’m not coming back, and it will be okay. Let’s find a time to talk tomorrow. Give me a call after you get home?”

  “Okay, yes.” He nodded. “I have several things I need to attend to, but I can call just before supper. How’s that?”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  Phone calls would be a good bridge. They might talk daily for a while. Then, gradually, as they both adjusted to the change and found their footing in their new lives, those phone calls would start coming twice a week. Then, maybe every other week.

  That was as it should be, although she couldn’t imagine yet how they were going to coordinate the holidays. Still, one step at a time.

  He pulled her into his arms. Bending his head, he whispered in her ear, “Father might have cracked the whip, but you have always been my heart and soul too, you know.”

  Her heart swelled. Surprised tears sprang to her eyes.

  He released her. Even as she opened her mouth to reply, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  He had barely stepped from her side when Linwe reappeared. The young woman didn’t say anything, but her warm expression and companionship provided support as Bel regained her composure.

  Soon other people approached, diplomats and representatives from other Elder Races, and she grew so involved in conversation, she didn’t have time to dwell on Ferion’s departure.

  About an hour later, the music stopped.

  At one end of the banquet hall, the doors opened, and people moved off the dance floor, making way as the procession of the gods started.

  In a masque of any size, seven handpicked actors, dressed as the seven gods of the Elder Races, would walk through the crowd. In smaller gatherings, family members or friends would portray the gods. Legend said that a god attended every masque in secret, but Bel had never known there to be any actual truth to it.

  For an elaborate affair like the Tower masque, each of the seven gods was sumptuously costumed. However, unlike previous times, this year, the orchestra did not resume to play a processional.

  This year, the gods entered the banquet hall in silence.

  A mutter passed over the crowd, then subsided.

  Leading the procession was Taliesen, god of the Dance. Part male and part female, Taliesen was first among the Primal Powers because dance is change, and the universe is constantly in motion.

  The current Taliesen was portrayed by a slender woman. Following her came Inanna, the goddess of Love; Nadir, the goddess of the Depths or the Oracle; Will, the god of the Gift; Camael, the goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law.

  Last of all came Azrael, god of Death.

  Stillness filled the hall as Death walked past. All the Wyr, including every sentinel, bowed to the elegant figure in black.

  Every Wyr, except Dragos. He didn’t bow. Bel didn’t think he had it in him to bow to anyone. But he did stand rigidly at attention.

  The crowd followed the Wyr’s lead, bowing to Death and paying homage to the sentinel and the Djinn who had fallen. Bel’s gaze filled with moisture, and she bit her lips. As Death came abreast, she bowed as well. The silence remained, deep and profound, until the last of the gods exited the banquet hall at the other end.

  The musicians lifted their instruments, music filled the hall once again, and the moment of remembrance was over.

  Long after midnight, after everyone had unmasked and the crowd thinned, Graydon came to find her. He looked as tired as she felt. At some point, he had loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first few shirt buttons at his neck.

  All of the sentinels, along with Dragos, Pia and Liam, had worn black that evening. While she knew, like Linwe dying the pink out of her hair, that none of them had worn black as a fashion statement, still, the simple formality of Graydon’s suit looked good on him.

  The black emphasized the long length of his body, along with the power in the breadth of those wide, muscled shoulders. It also highlighted his colors—the healthy burnish of his deep tan, his tawny hair, and the rich depth in his dark gray eyes.

  Even though, she did admit to herself, the cut of the suit managed to achieve adequate.

  A rush of love for him washed over her. When he came up to her, she opened her ar
ms, and he walked into them, wrapping her in a big hug, while his presence surrounded her with that nourishing, friendly blaze.

  She could never get enough of it, never get tired of his companionship. The fact that she was also overcome with desire and deeply, desperately in love with him sealed her fate, and she was content to never leave it.

  Nestling against his chest, she lifted her face for his kiss.

  He stroked her shoulders. “We’re gathering up at the penthouse. It’s kinda tradition after the masque, and we’d like for you—I’d like for you to come, if you would.”

  Instantly, she put her own tiredness aside. This was her first invitation to an inner circle gathering. She was frankly surprised that it had come so soon. It was too important for her not to go.

  And even if none of that had been true, Graydon wanted her there, and that was all the impetus she needed.

  “Of course,” she said. As he laced his fingers through hers, and they walked in the direction of the elevators, she asked, “Who will be there?”

  “It’s just going to be the sentinels. Rune and Carling, and Pia, Liam and Dragos.” He paused, giving her a sidelong look. “Fair warning. More than a couple of us might get falling down drunk, including me.”

  So it would be a very small, select group.

  She squeezed his fingers. “Do you need me to stay sober, so that I can get us back to the apartment?”

  He shook his head. “I never get so drunk I can’t get home.”

  She told him, “Then I may very well join you, because it’s been a hell of a week.”

  A spark of surprised approval entered his gaze. He said, “It sure has.”

  Not only was this her first invitation to an inner circle gathering, but it would also be the first occasion she spent any time with the sentinels, or the Cuelebres as a family.

  Back in January, before the crisis in the Elven demesne had erupted, she had shared a brief visit and a connection with Pia, but she hadn’t spent any time with the other woman since then.

  Bel may have been invited, but not necessarily accepted. Not yet. While she had faced countless social challenges before in her long life, this one mattered in a critical way that most of the others had not.

  She couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t afraid. She wanted this to go well so badly, not just for herself, but for Graydon too.

  While she couldn’t do anything about the fear, what she could do was face the challenge head-on. As she turned to face the elevator doors, she straightened her spine.

  When the doors opened with a quiet swoosh, she stepped into the penthouse, Graydon at her side.

  TWENTY

  Even though nothing showed but calm composure on Bel’s beautiful face, in the elevator Graydon had caught a hint of nervousness in her scent.

  It highlighted how remarkably good she was at managing the stresses of her own internal reality because as they stepped into the penthouse, her entire attention focused on everyone around her.

  It also showed him, up close and personal, that she had a hell of a game face too. He had always known it. He had seen flashes of it in the past, but it was one thing to know and quite another to see that game face in action. He already respected her, but over the next hour, that respect deepened exponentially.

  Everyone else was already present. The males had removed suits and ties. Aryal had set aside her formal cut leather jacket. Most of the adults were already drinking, and most of the drinks were the hard stuff. Carling nursed a bottle of bloodwine.

  Pia refrained from alcohol. Liam drank Coke, and even though there had been plenty of sumptuous refreshments at the masque, the boy was already eating again. He kept his head down, avoiding other people’s gazes.

  Like the adults, he had been subdued ever since Constantine’s death. Graydon noted the subtle way that Pia kept her attention on him. He had no doubt that she would make sure Liam got what he needed emotionally.

  At first, there were small signs of stiffness around Bel, the telltale behaviors of people who had known each other for a long time as they accepted a near stranger into their midst. Within a half an hour, those had melted away entirely.

  Bel and Pia spent some time together, tucked into a corner of the large living room, Bel’s dark head bent close to Pia’s pale blond one. Graydon’s gaze slipped over to them several times. He saw he wasn’t the only to watch the tête-à-tête. All the sentinels did, Dragos most of all. At the end of their talk, the two women hugged.

  There was so much obvious affection between them, it felt good. It felt right, like Bel had somehow managed to slip into a place that filled a hole in their lives, one that Graydon hadn’t even been aware that the group had.

  Sometime later, somehow, the dam between them all—the one keeping them from talking about Constantine—broke. Graydon didn’t catch how it happened. He hadn’t felt like drinking hard liquor that night after all, so he had walked into the kitchen for a new six-pack of lager.

  When he came back to the large living room, he heard Aryal telling Bel, “He was a total asshole manwhore. He chewed through women the way some people go through Tic Tacs.”

  “Oh, my.” Bel coughed. “That’s an image that won’t leave my head in a hurry.”

  As she spoke, she met Graydon’s gaze. There was so much compassion in her eyes, he was not surprised that it had touched even Aryal’s tempestuous, spiky heart.

  Bayne tossed his whiskey back. He said suddenly, “Do you remember that time one of his dates doused his clothes with lighter fluid, set a match to them and threw them out his balcony window?”

  “I got a phone call that day,” Rune said. “Traffic control from downstairs told me, ‘Did you know it’s raining men’s briefs, and they’re on fire?’”

  A laugh shook out of Grym. It faded into something close to tears. The gargoyle pinched his nose and expelled a hard sigh. “Nicest asshole you’d ever want to meet. If you weren’t a woman.”

  “Best, most loyal friend,” Graydon said. His throat closed, and he couldn’t say anymore. Quietly, Bel made her way across the room to put her arm around him. He kissed her forehead, and she leaned against him.

  Rune said, “Hell of a fighter. Hell of an investigator too.” He tossed a whiskey back.

  Alexander offered in a quiet voice, “I didn’t get the chance to know him as long or as well as the rest of you, but he had become my brother.”

  They shared stories about Constantine into the early hours of the morning. No doubt, it wouldn’t be the last time they needed to reminisce, but it felt good—good in a way that made the pain of loss more bearable.

  Thank you, he said in Bel’s head.

  She looked up at him. For what, my love?

  I didn’t catch how you started it, he told her. But I know you did. We needed to talk about him.

  The Wyr demesne has never lost a sentinel before, she said softly. It’s going to take you all a while to heal, but have faith. You will.

  If anyone knew how to survive loss, it was Bel. He wrapped his arms around her, soaking in the comfort of her feminine presence.

  Dragos remained silent throughout the reminiscing. He sprawled in one oversized armchair, drinking brandy steadily while his gold gaze watched everyone. It was impossible to tell what he felt or thought. He kept his face impassive.

  Pia had kicked off her heels and curled against his side. Absently, he rubbed one hand back and forth along the curve of her hip.

  Nearby, Liam sprawled on the floor, playing a game on a mini tablet. Even though it was almost five in the morning, nobody had suggested that he go to bed. He needed to process the grief as much, if not more, than any of the rest of them.

  Eventually, Rune and Carling said good night. They left in a flurry of hugs and good-byes. Rune touched Dragos on the shoulder, and the two men had a brief telepathic exchange. Dragos gave the other man a nod, a
nd the couple left.

  Graydon watched, glad that the two men had reconciled enough so that Dragos could accept Rune and Carling as being part of their extended family.

  After they had gone, perhaps inevitably, the subject of how to fill Constantine’s sentinel position came up. Quentin said to Dragos, “I suppose you’ve been too busy to give much thought to picking another sentinel.”

  Hesitantly, Bel said in Graydon’s head, This might be an ignorant question, but do you think he would consider inviting Rune back?

  He shook his head. Not a chance, he told her. They’re recovering their friendship, but Dragos would never allow Carling to get that close to the seat of power in the Wyr demesne. In some ways, Dragos and Carling are too much alike. They’re both schemers.

  I guess I should be glad he’s been so accepting of me, relatively speaking, Bel said slowly, her expression pensive. I’ve been so preoccupied by working to accept him that I hadn’t considered that before.

  He hugged her tight. Yes, you’re Elven, and yes, you were a major force in the Elven demesne. But trust me, you are an entirely different reality from Carling.

  As they shared their private exchange, the others watched Dragos consider Quentin’s question. He said, “Yes, I’ve thought about it.”

  Graydon met Aryal’s frustrated gaze. When Dragos wanted to be inscrutable, sometimes getting any information out of him was like trying to pull giant, dragon-sized teeth.

  Aryal said, “You’re not going to hold another round of Sentinel Games, are you? Not only was it a hellish expense, but that week was exhausting.”

  “No,” Dragos replied. “Doing it once was a show of our strength. Holding public games again, especially so soon after the first time and in the wake of Constantine’s death, sends another message entirely. I’m thinking of a private event, with a short list of handpicked contestants.”

  From his position on the floor, Liam said, “It’s my spot.”

  Since it was the first time the boy had spoken that night, it took a few moments for everyone to absorb exactly what he had said.