Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(43)

Everything sounded just as it should, completely normal.

Shoving back the bedcovers, she pulled on her robe and went out on the balcony. The cool night air brushed the last cobwebs of sleep from her mind.

Something had awakened her. She cast her awareness out, searching for a hint of the malevolent presence that had preyed on her son so long ago. She never stopped watching or listening for Malphas.

She couldn’t find any evidence of the Djinn, but someone or something had walked in her young, vulnerable Wood. Someone who was not Elven, or human. She was quite familiar with the noisy psychic footprint of humans.

The tiny, rudimentary spirit of her new Wood was convinced that nothing was untoward. The only creatures that had passed through it were wild ones, both small and very large . . .

Hmm. A very large, wild creature might bear some investigating.

The Wood didn’t speak to her in a language that anyone else would recognize. None of the Woods that she had nurtured to maturity had.

Rather, it shared impressions with her and on occasion images, and a boundless sense of vitality. Over time it would deepen in spirit and awareness.

It gave shelter and sustenance to the creatures that lived in it, and watched the play of nature within its borders—mating, birth, the scavenging for food, the hunt of prey, eventual death.

Eventually, it would grow to recognize the natural rhythm of life in the wild, and become sensitive to occurrences that did not fit the pattern. It would welcome friends, acquire the ability to shield its borders from most intruders, and actively work to expel what it recognized as enemies.

Most of that lay in the future. For now, this Wood was young and inexperienced, and at times, she had to admit, somewhat silly. There was no telling what it considered a very large wild creature, except it would never have reacted in such a way to a herd of wild deer.

No, this, whatever it was, was something unusual. Something strange and . . . not alarming, not quite that.

Something exciting?

Any number of Wyr could be very large. If they were in their Wyr form, the Wood might consider them wild.

Dragos was indeed very large.

So was Graydon.

It was impossible to quell the irrational hope that surged as soon as the thought occurred to her. She could not imagine Graydon would come. Ever since Wembley, they had seen each other only in public. Even after the battle with Gaeleval, he had carried her away from the scene, straight to a team of healers and then he had disappeared.

Gazing at him at political functions, watching his shuttered expression from a distance, nodding and smiling as though there were nothing at all between them, no history of intimacy, no empty ache deep inside of her . . .

Malphas had seen how to get revenge on them with a particular kind of cruelty.

With a discipline born of long practice, she set the thought aside.

Since she was considering the possibility of the Wyr, she could think of no reason for Dragos to have come south either. While he had invaded the Elven demesne before, he must be busy in New York with the business meetings and preparations that surrounded the masque.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she stepped back indoors to dress in trousers, boots, a loose, comfortable shirt and a quilted jacket. Hesitating over the thought of carrying weapons, the thought of the Wood’s youth and inexperience caused her to slip into her sword harness, just in case.

She considered waking Linwe, or taking one of the night guards with her, but after studying the Wood’s alert, calm interest, she decided not to. She could always raise an alarm later, if necessary. For now, she trusted her ability in cloaking her presence.

Her rooms were located at one end of the building. A private stairway led from the balcony to the river’s edge below. The guards on duty were much younger than she. None of them noticed as she strolled from the clearing.

What do you have to show me? she asked the Wood, only not quite in so many words. Her question was more of a nudge and a sense of inquiry.

The Wood tugged her along narrow paths, toward the coast. Other races might have had difficulty following the nearly invisible paths, but they were her design. She knew them like she knew the back of her hand.

As she hiked, a sense of peace and freedom came over her, two things she no longer felt when she resided at the Elven home.

Soon, she realized the Wood was taking her further than she had expected. Her old Wood had covered miles. This new one would be no smaller by the time it finished growing.

She began to run. Her Elven nature gave her tremendous stamina. If necessary, she could run for days, although if the Wood continued to urge her in the current direction, she would run out of land.

She ran out of land.

When she neared the shoreline, a sense of freshness brushed against her cheek, damp with the breeze that blew off the ocean. Breathing deep, she scented the water, refreshing and brisk, and carrying a hint of brine.

The path curved, taking her out of a sparse line of new saplings that would soon, with her encouragement, take on the aspect of a large, old-growth forest.

The path followed the top of a long bluff. Favored by the Elven guards, it provided a good vantage place to look out over the shoreline and water.

At the highest point on the bluff, she paused to scrutinize the view. Moonlight cascaded over the scene, gilding the water and the edge of shadowed clouds with ivory and silver.

Below, at the edge of the beach, a half-hidden figure of a very large man reclined against a large boulder.