Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

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.