Shadow's End (5 page)

Malfeasance,
he repeated. His own mood turned grim.
You mean the gaming hell.

She jerked her head in a nod.
Yes.
Switching to verbal speech, she said, “There's one of my attendants. Lianne?”

While she had kept her voice quiet, the cloaked Elven woman several yards away turned toward them and approached with quick, light steps. “Yes, my lady.”

Giving his arm a quick squeeze, Bel slipped from his
side and stepped forward to meet the other woman. They went silent, looking into each other's eyes.

Troubled, Graydon glanced around to make sure no one paid them any undue attention. When he was satisfied, he turned his attention back to the women while he considered what little Bel had revealed thus far.

London was littered with social clubs and houses of chance, but Malfeasance was not just any gaming hell. It was located in the most notorious part of London and, Graydon had heard, was run by a pariah Djinn named Malphas.

While the Djinn could take physical shape if they chose, at their essence, they were Powerful creatures of air and fire. Social by nature, they had an elaborate community structure and traded in favors as their form of commerce.

Because of that, keeping their word meant a great deal to the Djinn, except their pariahs were an entirely different kind of creature. As social outcasts, they were not to be trusted to keep their word, yet they were still extremely Powerful, which made them very dangerous.

Why did Bel feel the need to go there, of all places? Did she know that Malfeasance was run by a pariah Djinn?

The Elder Races weren't like human society, with its unfair and unrealistic restrictions on women. It would have been perfectly acceptable for Bel to walk into Malfeasance on her own, if she chose.

However, if she did so, as Lady of the South Carolina Elven demesne, she would draw all manner of attention to herself. If she was intent upon a mission of some privacy, she could potentially do more harm than good.

The two women appeared to be arguing. With a sharp downward slice of one hand, Bel brought the conversation to a close. “That's quite enough, Lianne,” she said aloud. “You and Alana must do as you're told. I'll return as soon as I possibly can.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Lianne said. The younger Elven woman's frustration was evident in the glowering glance she gave Graydon. Lianne shrugged out of her cloak. “At least take this so you can try to be less conspicuous.”

Bel attempted to refuse it. “You need the protection. It's too cold for you.”

“Please, don't worry about me. I'll find another cloak.”

Stepping forward, Graydon took the cloak from Lianne's grasp. As both women turned to him, he told Bel, “She's right. You need the anonymity the cloak will bring you. Let her help you by allowing her to look after herself.”

Bel's mouth tightened, while Lianne's resentful frown turned into an expression of grudging approval.

After a moment, Bel gave a short nod. As Graydon held the cloak for her, she turned her back to him so he could settle it onto her shoulders.

She said to the other woman, “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can hopefully come back. Make sure Alanna knows what to do, should Calondir inquire as to my whereabouts. If my absence is discovered before I can return, tell people I felt unwell and had to leave.”

Although Graydon could see acquiescence was difficult for Lianne, the younger woman nodded and turned to hurry away down the path.

Then he forgot about the other woman as Bel turned to face him.

Moving with care, he reached for the hood, pulled it over her head and ran his gaze down her slim figure. She asked, “What do you think? Will it do?”

The cloak was well made and warm. It was also a plain and discreet black, and it covered her face and form completely. With her face tilted up to his, he could make out her shadowed eyes, a hint of angled cheekbone, and the tilt to her nose, but someone standing a short distance to either side of him wouldn't be able to see anything.

But the cloak did absolutely nothing to disguise either her physical scent or her elegant, distinctive Power.

He told her in perfect honesty, “It might hide your identity from a casual observer, but it won't hide anything from someone who knows you, or who is sensitive to Power. And it won't do a thing to stop a Wyr who might catch your scent.”

There was a slight pause, as she absorbed his words.
“Well,” she said heavily, “it will have to do.” From within the depth of the hood, she seemed to search his gaze. “Will you still accompany me?”

“Of course,” he said. “I wouldn't leave you now for the world.”

As he offered his arm to her again, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Together, they strode for the nearest exit.

She switched back to telepathy.
Perhaps once we're out of the Gardens, we'll be able to hire a hansom. I don't want to use any of our carriages.

A medusa with an Orc guard approached. He waited until they had walked past the Demonkind pair before he replied,
If you think you can stomach a ride through the air, I can shapeshift and carry you. It would be more discreet than renting a hansom. It would also get us to Malfeasance much faster, but I'm told flying isn't to everybody's taste.

The opening of her hood turned toward him, and her hand tightened. She replied,
I think that would be absolutely marvelous. Thank you.

A glow of warmth spread through him.
I could shapeshift now and attempt to cloak it, but there are so many creatures present that have either a great deal of Power, or sensitivity to it. I would rather not risk exposing you.

No, you're quite right to be careful.
Her hood shifted as she turned to look ahead. Almost as if speaking to herself, she continued,
I would love to fly. I've always wondered what it would be like to have that sense of freedom.

A wistful note in her voice tugged at something deep inside him. He replied,
I couldn't conceive of living without it. I can't imagine being forever grounded.

No, I don't suppose you can.

They were almost at the gate.

He really didn't want to say what he was about to say. In fact, he had to fight himself to say anything at all.

Quietly, he told her,
If you could trust me enough with the reason why you need to go to Malfeasance, I could make
the trip on your behalf. It would save you the risk of possible exposure. No one need ever know.

Calondir, he meant. Calondir need never know.

Because, while Bel had not explicitly said so in his hearing, it had become abundantly clear to Graydon that she didn't want Calondir to know anything of what was happening.

Having once acknowledged that truth, he dug further inside himself, trying to ascertain how he felt about keeping a secret from Bel's husband.

All he could remember was the scene beside the dance floor, with Calondir dancing and laughing with a costumed woman while just a short distance away, Bel stood tight with suppressed misery.

And, he realized, he was perfectly fine with keeping any number of secrets from Calondir.

Any number of secrets at all.

There were implications in that thought, serious ones that he needed to consider, but all his focus remained on her. He would have time enough to think things over when he was alone again.

She had paused for so long, he thought she might not answer him.

Then she said softly,
Thank you so much for your generous offer, but it isn't a matter of whether or not I can trust you. This is about someone else, and whether or not he would listen to anything you had to say.

The swiftness of Graydon's internal reaction was as wild and vicious as any Wyr could turn. Who did she need to see so badly, and why did it matter so that she had to hide it from everybody?

Shocked at himself, he drew in a deep breath and forced his reply to remain mild, without a hint of snarl.
Are you sure? I can be persuasive when I put my mind to it.

I'm sure,
she told him.
I'm probably the only person he will listen to, so I have to confront him in person. You see, my son has developed a serious problem.

As fast as he had reacted, his strange, unruly emotions
morphed into surprise. Whatever starburst of nonsense had just exploded in his brain, he hadn't considered anything like this.

Malfeasance did not just offer games of chance, which was part of its notoriety. Other vices could be purchased, including sex and drugs. If one had enough money, or so Graydon had heard, one could purchase anything one wanted, no matter how unsavory.

He could not imagine that Ferion would need to resort to a place like Malfeasance for sex. The handsome, charming Elven heir could have his pick of any number of sexual partners for free, yet there was no accounting for taste.

Another possibility occurred to him. He asked,
Don't tell me he's developed an opium addiction?

No,
she replied grimly.
Games of chance are his vice. No matter how many times he has promised that he will quit, he cannot seem to control himself.

They had reached the gate. As they passed through to the London street outside, the frigid air caused by the Daoine Sidhe's magical influence warmed. The snowfall stopped, to be replaced by a steady, cold drizzle.

Falling silent, they picked their way through the crowds of people and carriages around the entryway.

Hoping to disguise Bel's presence, Graydon put his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side. If anyone were paying attention, perhaps his Wyr scent and signature presence would confuse them enough they would not be able to identify her.

Bel neither objected nor questioned his move. Once away from the thick of the crowd, he picked up the pace until they were striding swiftly away.

Only then did he speak aloud. “An addiction to gambling can be every bit as serious as any other kind of addiction,” he said. “How long has he been having the problem?”

“It began several years ago.” Although she kept her tone low, Bel spoke aloud as well. She paused. “That's not exactly true. I'm not quite sure how long ago it might have started. It was several years ago when I first noticed how often he gambled, but he always seemed to be in control of it.”

“People who have a problem with drinking spirits often disguise how much they drink,” he said.

Under his arm, her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “And gaming is a pastime so many people indulge in, I didn't really think anything of it, until he came to me the first time with a debt he couldn't pay. He said he made a mistake and lost his head. He swore it would never happen again, so I paid the debt for him.”

As he listened, he watched for a quiet side street or private park where he might be able to shapeshift hidden from casual sight. While the weather was inclement, it was still winter solstice, the night that masques were celebrated all throughout the Elder Races.

Not everyone was lucky enough to get an invitation to King Oberon's event, and the streets were busier than they might otherwise have been. Drunken, cheerful groups passed them more than once, and a solitary, cheap, gaudy mask lay abandoned on the cobblestones.

When she fell silent, he said, “I think I can see where this is going. Even though Ferion promised, he didn't really stop. Did he?”

He felt rather than saw her shake her head within the depths of the hood. “I thought he had. I truly didn't think any more of it. Mistakes happen, and in some ways, Ferion has had a more challenging life than most.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She sighed. “He is his father's heir and expected to remain close and available, knowledgeable on demesne affairs but not too involved. Calondir guards his authority jealously, and he won't let Ferion assume too much responsibility.”

He frowned. “That sounds frustrating.”

“It is, and we are so long lived as a race, he won't ever inherit unless an accident takes his father's life. Every time he has tried to develop a sense of purpose for himself, it has become skewed and stunted by this very narrow role he's supposed to fulfill.”

Graydon had never witnessed the complications of family life up close. Children were rare in the Elder Races. While he loved them, as an unmated sentinel, he didn't get much
occasion to spend time with any. The situation Bel described had truly never occurred to him.

Shaking his head, he muttered, “I had no idea.”

“Ferion lives in a particularly difficult cage. At times, he doesn't handle it well. He has bouts of drinking and melancholia too.” She drew in a sharp breath. “It's too easy to confide in you. I know you've already promised you would be discreet, but please don't say anything.”

“I won't,” he said, tightening his arm in reassurance. “I wouldn't.”

“Thank you,” she told him. “So, yes, I thought everything was taken care of, but sometime later, he accumulated another debt he couldn't pay. That time, we argued about it. He promised it wouldn't happen again. Even though I had doubts, I paid the bill. Again.”

“Let me guess,” he said quietly. “Calondir doesn't know any of this.”

She went silent again for a long moment. Through his arm still across her shoulders, he could feel the tension gripping her slender body.

“No,” she responded at last. “Calondir doesn't know, and he can't know.” When he didn't reply, she said stiffly, “There are reasons.”

Why couldn't Calondir know? He wanted to ask, but it was evident she was already having difficulty with telling her story, and it wasn't his place to pry. He also didn't want to cause her any discomfort so that she shut down and possibly turned him away.

“I believe you,” he told her. His truthsense was highly developed, and he could hear the truth in every word she spoke.