Shadow's End (9 page)

Graydon shouldered his way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with those who greeted him. When he had approached close enough to come to Dragos's attention, the dragon gave him a nod.

He said to Dragos,
A matter of some personal urgency has arisen.

One of Dragos's inky eyebrows rose.
You have a personal urgent matter? Here, in London?

I'm afraid I can't say anything more,
Graydon said.
But I need to leave for a day or two.

I don't like secrets, unless they're mine,
Dragos said, giving him a piercing look.

I understand,
Graydon replied.
Unfortunately this one is not mine to tell.

Over the crowd, Dragos's gold eyes narrowed on him.
This has nothing to do with me, or the Wyr demesne?

Absolutely nothing,
he said.

After several moments, the dragon said,
If I don't hear from you in two days' time, I'll come looking for you.

Graydon gave him a lopsided smile.
You'll hear from me.

Dragos nodded. Without any further word on the matter, he turned his attention back to the people conversing around him, releasing Graydon from his sentinel duties.

Pivoting, Graydon left the crowd behind in swift, long strides. The further he got away from the party, the faster he walked, until the wild, untamed creature living inside pressed him into a run.

As he ran, he shapeshifted and left the earth behind.

After a brief stop at his hotel, where he changed out of his evening attire and donned sturdy traveling clothes and weapons, he winged toward Grosvenor Square.

He loved being a sentinel. He loved the responsibility and the challenge, the sense of justice and satisfaction he got from a job well done. The predator in him gained huge satisfaction from hunting down criminals, and the possessive side of him loved claiming the Wyr demesne in New York as his own.

He shared that fierce pride with the other sentinels. They were more than family; they were a nation. He had a place that he had fought for, that he bled for, and that he worked hard to keep.

He shouldn't be feeling this riotous upsurge of emotion. He shouldn't be so eager to get back to the woman who defined
unobtainable
.

The concepts of family, justice and nation ran deep in him, but the gryphon lived in a place deeper still.

It reached for the sky with the same passion as it flew toward Grosvenor Square, toward the impossible, the unobtainable, and it did so because the need to return to her was like the need to fly, like an arrow in the heart.

It did so, because it couldn't do otherwise.

He plummeted down to earth in the park where he and Bel had parted. As he landed beside the large oak tree, he thought he was alone with nothing but the deep green of the rich grass for company.

Then the shadow underneath the oak moved. Whipping around, he held his impulse to violence in check because
part of him was still convinced the moving shadow
was
the tree. They carried the same signature energy, the same scent.

The shadow became a tall female Elven warrior. A thrill ran over his muscles as he recognized Bel.

The pure, inviolate maiden from the masque had vanished, along with her simple, feminine gown. The starlight overhead was dimmer than the light that shone in her large, dark eyes.

She had braided her long hair and dressed in leather, sturdy and more suitable for quick travel than Elven armor, and she had strapped a sword to her back. Over it all, she wore a cloak. Instead of the plain black cloak from earlier, this one was more subtle as it took on the colors of the night around her.

This was the Lady of the Wood. She knew the wild spaces of the world. She had given birth to many of the oldest of them. People of the Elder Races from all over the world revered her, and not least among them were the Wyr.

Most times, it was easy to set aside ancient memories and knowledge, to make way for the prosaic living of the day to day. Looking at her now, the gryphon knew fully who she was. He remembered, and, proud though he could sometimes be, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to kneel.

He didn't, but he did bow his head deeply.
My lady.

She touched the long, pure line of his beak.
Beautiful gryphon. Thank you for carrying me on this journey.

I will carry you anywhere you need to go,
the gryphon told her. He crouched. She leaped onto his back, and the place at his shoulders that had begun to feel empty in her absence felt complete again.

He launched into the night air and climbed until they had left civilization behind.

Only then did he wheel in a great arc and fly west.

SIX

E
ven though Bel had experienced the gryphon's flight once already, they hurtled through the air much faster than she had believed possible. Her heart soared as, within minutes, they left London behind.

They would find Ferion. She knew it. They would find him before he could do too much financial damage. If Graydon would consent to carrying both of them back to Grosvenor Square, they might even be able to return before daybreak, or at the very least by noon.

With any luck, Calondir might not have even returned from the masque. Or perhaps he might linger over an assignation and not return until later that day. Either way, for the first time that evening, she was filled with hope.

Briefly, Graydon slowed his speed. Even as she began to question it, he surged forward again with an adjustment in direction, until she realized that he had started to follow the path of a shadowed road below.

Soon they came to a cluster of buildings. As the gryphon decreased his altitude and wheeled, Bel studied the area.

While most of the buildings were dark, the biggest one
was clearly a posting house and inn. Even though the hour was late, lamplight still shone in the windows.

Would you like to stop and inquire, or do you want to travel onward?
Graydon asked.

After a moment, she replied,
I think we should travel onward. This place is too close to London. I don't believe Ferion would have stopped so soon.

Very well.
Once again, the gryphon surged upward. As he picked up speed, she thought she would never tire of the experience. The cold, fitful wind sliced away her tiredness and discouragement, until her mind felt keen and blade sharp.

She asked,
How long will it take us to reach Wembley, do you think?

I doubt it can be more than an hour's flight,
he told her.
Locating a country estate without specific directions will take longer.

Perhaps, if we can find the astonishingly terrible inn, we'll be able to get directions from there,
she said dryly.

I hope so,
he replied.

Curious, she asked him,
How do you suggest we search?

He paused.
I don't suppose Ferion left you a note?

She shook her head before remembering he couldn't see it.
No, he didn't, so we don't know when he actually left.

In that case, I don't think we need to stop until we reach Wembley. Once we're there, we can work backward along the road. With any luck, we might run into Ferion himself, but if we're too late to catch him, at the very least, we can hope to get directions to Malphas's estate. It's owned by a Djinn. Any visitors Malphas has will be much more distinctive than the average traveler. Someone will know of the place.

That makes sense,
she said. His logical thinking gave her a sense of deep relief. He was a mature predator. He knew the strategies for how to hunt better than she did.

How are you?
he asked. His deep mental voice had gentled again.
Not too cold, I hope?

Her relief metamorphosed into a warmer emotion. Not only had he volunteered to help her, but his concern for her well-being was genuine.

He was a good man, a kind man, and he had gone significantly out of his way for her without ever hinting at payment or recompense.

Dragos doesn't deserve him, she thought. She trailed her fingers lightly over the sleek, strong line of the gryphon's neck. If he were in his human form, it would be unthinkable to let herself be so familiar, but letting herself touch him while he was in his Wyr form was immensely comforting.

I'm fine,
she told him.
Thank you for asking.

His mental voice turned gruff.
Just wanted to make sure. Let me know if you need to stop. I can build a fire so you can warm up.

His offer brought to mind an image of sitting together by a campfire, Graydon's rough, suntanned features highlighted by bright, leaping flames. The firelight would reflect in his dark gray, attentive gaze, and the surrounding forest would be blanketed by the dark blue of night.

They could talk together. They could just talk, about anything and everything.

Oh gods, she wanted that so much.

More disturbed than she could say, she yanked her mind away from the image. Her normally well-ordered emotions careened all over the place. She didn't know this person she was becoming, with the riotous impulses and wayward desires.

Forcing her reply to sound steady and calm, she assured him,
I don't need that right now, thank you, but I'll let you know if I do.

She had any number of good people in her life. Alanna and Lianne loved her, and she loved them. She had a rich life, filled with many pleasures and pastimes. She had people who cared about her. Calondir might be Lord of the Elven demesne, but she was its Lady.

She believed in the Elven demesne. She worked and cared for it, just as she nourished the Wood and the extensive gardens that surrounded their public home just outside of Charleston. Calondir might rule by law, but she was the one that people came to for advice, problem solving, or comfort.

She was almost never alone, so why did Graydon's
concern and attention touch such a deeply lonely spot inside? The distant ache in her chest grew closer and sharper the longer she spent time with him.

Troubled, she closed her eyes and turned her focus inward. He didn't speak again. They traveled the rest of the way to Wembley in silence.

When the rhythm of the gryphon's flight changed, she opened her eyes. They flew over a large town. One or two lights flickered, but most of the buildings were shadowed and dark. As Graydon banked and turned, she saw the signature wheel of a mill by a glimmer of water.

They had reached Wembley.

After flying in a circle, the gryphon arrowed back along the road.

The first cluster of buildings they came to on the outskirts of the town was as dark as the rest of the town. It was unsurprising, given the lateness of the hour.

Bel noted the distinctive layout of a roadside inn, complete with substantially sized stables in the back. In a few short hours, the inn staff would be bustling to prepare breakfast.

The gryphon drifted down to land in the front courtyard. Once he had touched ground, Bel slid from his back, and he shapeshifted. Somewhere close by, a dog barked then fell silent. The rain hadn't fallen this far west, and the night sparkled with a hard frost.

“I don't suppose you can scent whether or not Ferion might have stopped here?” She kept her voice very low.

“Not here, sorry. Mostly all I can smell are horses and manure.” Graydon placed a large hand at her back. He kept his voice as quiet as hers. “Shall I inquire inside?”

She smiled up into his shadowed face. “Thank you for offering, but no, I can ask. We're far enough outside the city, word of my presence won't travel back to Calondir. If by chance he discovers something, it will be from some other source.”

He nodded and let her precede him to the front doors. Halfway there, she paused. If she roused the innkeeper or his staff, she might wake any number of their guests as well.

She whispered, “Let's check the stables first. Perhaps there's a stable boy or groom who sleeps with the horses. It might be quicker to question them than field complaints from people staying in the inn.”

He nodded. “Good thinking.”

They made their way around the inn, to the back. She stood to one side as Graydon opened the barn door.

Warmth, along with the smell of horses and hay, wafted against her cold cheeks. A horse nickered sleepily. Something rustled, and a dog's low, menacing growl sounded from the shadows.

A male voice, breaking with youth and nerves, said, “Whoever you are, you better stay back. My dog bites.”

Bel laid a hand on Graydon's arm. She replied soothingly, “We mean you no harm. All we want to do is ask you a few questions. I'm sorry we woke you, and I'm willing to pay for your time.”

There was more rustling, along with tiny sounds of flint hitting tinder, and then the warm glow of the lamp illuminated the interior of the stable. A boy, lanky and awkward, and a dog of indeterminate breed peered at them warily.

When the boy looked at Bel, his gaze widened. “Don't that beat all,” he breathed. “I ain't never spoke to no Elven lady before. Or maybe you're Fae? I seen Fae and Elves on the road from time to time.”

“I am Elven,” she told him, smiling slightly at his enthusiasm. “May we step inside and close the door? Otherwise your horses might get a chill.”

“Yes, my lady, if it pleases you.” The boy glanced at Graydon, who also smiled at him reassuringly. It seemed to help him relax, although his dog remained stiff-legged and bristled warningly.

Bel and Graydon stepped inside. As Graydon quietly pulled the door shut and latched it, she said to the boy, “I'm looking for my son, and I wondered if you might have seen him. He would have traveled through this area sometime late yesterday. He's actually my stepson, so he doesn't quite look like me. He has pale blond hair.”

The boy shook his head. His nervousness had not decreased, but the more Bel talked, the more his fear clearly ebbed. “No, my lady. There ain't been no Elves travel on this road for some time. I would've heard if there was. Meaning no offense, but we don't see many of you often.”

“I see,” she murmured. Disappointment weighed on her shoulders, and her sharp, clear thinking from earlier in the flight clouded over.

Rubbing her forehead, she struggled to focus. She had no business feeling so disappointed. They had barely begun to search. This was simply the first place they had stopped to ask questions

Graydon flattened a large hand on her back, his touch silently bracing her.

He asked the boy, “When they do pass by, do people of the Elder Races stop at your inn? Perhaps you've heard of an estate nearby that's owned by one?”

The boy straightened, his tired gaze growing more alert. “You're talking about what used to be Stanton Manor,” he said. “That's about a half mile on the other side of the mill, up the big hill. I hear they're an odd sort up there.”

“How do you mean?” she asked quickly.

“Sometimes his lordship hires a whole houseful of staff for a week or two, only to send them home afterwards, and the house goes dark and silent for weeks or months on end. And sometimes, when nobody is supposed to be home, I heard that lights shine in the house.” The boy's gaze had turned large and solemn. “Once the constable went up to check, and nobody was there. He said the dust in the place was an inch thick, and it weren't disturbed none. He swears the house is haunted.”

“Fancy that, a haunted house.” Graydon cocked an eyebrow at her. He asked the boy, “If someone came from London, could they travel by another route to reach that house, or must they pass this spot?”

After mulling it over, the boy said, “They could take Old Ferryman's Road. You wouldn't have to go through town if you took that route. It goes directly past the mill.”

“Thank you,” Graydon told him. “You've been very helpful. I have one last question for you. Could you sneak into the kitchen for some bread and cheese? Perhaps there might be some cold chicken or a roast left over from supper. Anything would do, and it doesn't have to be fancy.”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy. “I could wake the missus, and she could cook you a hot meal, if you want. She might grumble a bit, though.”

“There's no need to wake your mistress,” Bel told him. “We came to the stables so we could avoid disrupting people unnecessarily.”

The boy bobbed his head. He promised, “I'll be right back.”

Leaving the lantern, he slipped out, and the dog slunk past Graydon, close on his heels.

Bell scrubbed her face with both hands. “I feel uneasy about stopping. Ferion might have taken the other route and gone straight to the manor. He could be there right now.”