Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

That, to a large extent, they had created together, a landscape filled with too many secrets, too-brief laughter, warmth, sensuality, and a quiet, enormous determination.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the concerned, wary glances that the others gave them. She didn’t care what they saw when they looked at her, but she couldn’t help wondering what they saw when they looked at Graydon.

Did they only notice the big, kindly, somewhat rough man dressed in plain workman clothes? Did any of them recognize his large heart and true nobility?

She whispered to him, “Please tell me the people in your life value you as much as you deserve.”

A look of vulnerability flashed across his face. Gently, he captured her hand again and pressed her knuckles against his lips.

Behind his shoulder, Constantine came into her focus. He was watching them, looking worried, fascinated and surprisingly wistful.

“Graydon and Beluviel,” Khalil said in such a strong voice, they turned to him. “No one will ask you any more questions you cannot answer. Do not acknowledge what I say next—just listen. We believe that Malphas has control over the Elven High Lord. And we believe that you must remain silent about that, because he has threatened to hurt Ferion in some way, or perhaps he has threatened to harm either or both of you.”

“Graydon wouldn’t let the threat to him stop him from taking action, if he thought it was needed,” Rune said.

“Acknowledged,” said the Djinn with an imperious tilt of his head. “Still, a threat in some form is present. Grace has determined you both have a single connection to a Djinn. I believe it stems from a bargain with Malphas. Otherwise, you would not need to be so circumspect in what you say—or don’t say. While some of this conjecture may be wrong, enough of it is true to guarantee one thing. Now my father will have no choice but to take the strongest measures possible.”

Graydon blew out a breath. There it is, he said softly to her. There’s our war. The genie is out of the bottle now, and there’s nothing we can do to stuff it back in.

You were leading to this all along, she said. That’s why you investigated so carefully, why you built such a comprehensive case, and it’s why you wanted to have a group meeting. You hoped the others would put things together and come to the right conclusions.

More or less, he said. Ducking his head, he gave her a sidelong, wry glance. Frankly, I didn’t have things that well planned. For example, Con really did push his way into this—and he was the one who had all the right pieces. If I hadn’t been so focused on keeping this separate from the Wyr demesne, I would have seen that and included him sooner.

How could he be so adorable and dangerous at the same time?

Leaning forward, she put her arms around his neck. He leaned into her embrace and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight.

She hid her face in his neck. He put his face in her hair. For one more magical moment they stayed alone, in their intimate landscape.

Then his arms loosened. When he pulled back, she had no choice but to let him go, although she resented every inch of physical space that grew between them as he sat back on his heels.

He asked, “I think we’re ready to call Soren now, don’t you?”

She nodded and stood along with him. “We need to move quickly. The longer I’m gone, the more unpredictable everything feels.”

As she turned to the group, she found everyone staring at them in varying degrees of surprise.

They might have separated physically, but Graydon took a protective stance at her shoulder, turned partially to face her. All she had to do was shift her weight to her left foot, and she could lean against his broad chest. Knowing that comforted her immeasurably.

Graydon asked the group, “Who has a connection with Soren?”

Carling, Grace and Khalil all said at the same time, “I do.”

“Please, do allow me,” Khalil said. Despite Bel’s concern over what came next, the Djinn’s satisfied expression caught her attention. He was clearly looking forward to holding his father accountable.

In a quiet yet strong voice that reverberated with Power, Khalil said, “Soren.”

Silence fell, as everyone stilled, bracing themselves for the Djinn’s arrival. For a few moments, nothing happened.

Carling raised one eyebrow. She murmured, “He must still be miffed at you for getting together with Grace.”

“He can bite me,” Khalil said between his teeth.

The modern slang, combined with the particular viciousness with which he had said it, spoke volumes about his own feelings toward his father.

A surprised sound, something between a snort and a cough, escaped Melly.

Grace had turned tense. “You haven’t talked to your father since he tried to imprison you,” she muttered. “Just wait. He’ll be curious enough to come.”

The young Oracle was right.