Lord's Fall (Elder Races #5)(82)

After everything that had happened, the rest followed so fast it was disconcerting.

Dragos came to find her. “Gaeleval’s dead,” he told her. She merely nodded. She couldn’t stop staring at the sea of catatonic people. He put his hands on her shoulders and tilted his head until he caught her attention. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. It was not quite a lie. “Did you find the prayer beads?”

He hesitated, then said, “There weren’t any prayer beads, Pia.”

She said dully, “I suppose that means the God Machine has turned into something else. I wonder where it has gone now.”

Dragos took in a deep breath, then shook his head sharply. “We can talk about that later. Pia, listen to me. If I don’t remove the beguilement soon, Gaeleval’s entire army is going to die. When I do remove it, many of them will still die. The rest of this is going to be horrible and tedious. You are bruised all over, and you have to eat something. Now will you go home?”

“No,” she said. She braced her aching back. “But I will eat something and go back to Lirithriel to help get in supplies of, well, everything. Medical supplies, food, clothing, shelter. Dragos, the survivors need to be sent back through the passageway as quickly as possible. It’s too cold here. As many as you think might die when you take off the beguilement, we’re going to lose more when the sun goes down.”

He clenched his jaw, and she could see he hadn’t had a chance to think that far ahead. “You’re right,” he said.

They parted with a quick, hard kiss.

Even though Carling kept deeply swaddled with her cloak, Rune was anxious to get her safely to shelter, either inside a building or under the cover of night. He flew Carling, Eva and Pia back through the passageway. They discovered that the time slippage between the Elven Other land and Lirithriel Wood had remained constant. Daytime in the Other land meant nighttime in South Carolina.

As soon as they cleared the passageway and the gryphon landed in the clearing, Carling drew back her hood and summoned Soren, the Demonkind Councillor and head of the Elder tribunal. Moments later, a cyclone whirled into the clearing and solidified into the tall figure of a white-haired Djinn with a roughly hewn face and starred eyes.

They told Soren quickly what had happened. He called in more Djinn to help. After they arrived, he blew away to inform the rest of the Elder tribunal. With dizzying swiftness, tribunal Peacekeepers began to arrive, along with doctors, other medical personnel, and all manner of supplies.

Pia had lost track a while ago of where her pack had gone. As soon as the first boxes of bottled water and emergency food supplies came in, she crammed an energy bar into her mouth, drank some water and threw herself into work. Eva never complained and never left her side, but worked alongside her, as did Rune and Carling. After a frantic explosion of activity, three large triage tents were set up and ready by the time the first of the injured Elves trickled through the passageway.

Pia was thrilled and relieved, and also incredibly saddened, when she saw that Beluviel was one of the first ones to come through. Graydon carried her close to his chest, his face drawn and jaw tight. The Elven woman, no longer the consort, was semiconscious and wrapped tightly in a cloak.

The trickle quickly became a deluge, and then word came back through the passageway along with the sick and injured. When the Lord of the Wyr had removed the last of the beguilement from the enthralled Elven army, over a third of the Numenlaurians had died. Everyone in the clearing fell into a stricken silence.

It was too much to take in. There were too many people coming over. There was too much to do. There was always some task right in front of her, until suddenly the next thing that stood in front of her was Dragos himself.

“Oh, hi,” she said hoarsely. She had gone numb a long while back.

He looked at her grimly, his mouth set. Then he pulled her into his arms and said, “Enough.”

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against his chest. She knew better than to argue with that tone of voice.

She was already half asleep when he picked her up in his arms, so she might have dreamed the next bit when Dragos called Soren over to him. Dragos said to the Djinn Councillor, “You have wanted to get me in your debt for some time. Now is your chance. Take us back to Cuelebre Tower, and I’ll owe you a small favor.”

Soren smiled, and his starred eyes turned calculating. “What a very precise bargain you offer.”

“My jet is fueled and sitting on the tarmac at the Charleston airport,” Dragos told him. “You are a convenience, not a necessity. Small, Soren.”

Soren’s smile widened. “You knew I couldn’t resist.”

“I was fairly certain,” said Dragos.

Then a cyclone swept them up, and for the first time in too damn long, they went to bed together in their own bed. Pia was too tired to wash, and they were both filthy, and none of it mattered, because they were together, and they were home.

Dragos helped her strip out of her clothes and held the covers back for her as she crawled between the sheets. A few moments later he joined her. He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her head on his chest.

“The Freaky Deaky,” she mumbled.

He lifted his head off the pillow to look at her. “The Freaky Deaky?”

“The Woo-Woo.” She couldn’t keep both eyes open at the same time, so she gave up and kept them closed. “You know, the Oracle’s prophecy. It’s all over now, right?”