Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(64)

Come on, Constantine, Graydon thought. Piece it together.

Aloud, he said, “The case I’ve presented to you stands on its own merits. Anything else is speculating outside the boundary of this investigation.”

“Did Malphas own that gaming hell?” Rune asked Graydon.

Could he answer that? Ownership of Malfeasance had to be a matter of historical fact, but acknowledging Rune’s question with a direct answer might be too leading. It could trigger the bargain, and he and Bel had already skated such a fine line tonight.

So far, he had essentially said just two things. The first was that he wanted to kill Malphas.

The second thing he had said was: here are the facts of an investigation. It was entirely based on other people. None of it touched on Ferion, or stemmed from what had happened in Wembley.

He glanced over at Bel. This time, she gave no hint of what she was thinking or feeling. She kept her gaze on her hands, folded in her lap. She held so still that to an outside observer, she might look like an exquisite Elven statue.

Graydon had seen her many times throughout the years in movement. Normally, her beautiful face, and every gesture and word, were alive with expression. Now, her very stillness was as loud as a shout, for anyone who knew how to hear it.

Carling studied Bel with a heavy-lidded glance. If there was anyone else present who might have the capacity to hear Bel’s silent language, it would be Carling.

Constantine looked from him to Bel, and back to him again. Malphas. You. Beluviel. London. Weston. Gambling addicts. Gaming hell. It’s all connected somehow, isn’t it? How is it connected? I’ve never heard of Beluviel having a gambling problem. If she gambles, that has sure been one hell of a well-kept secret. Calondir’s dead, so he doesn’t matter anymore. Ferion, though—once upon a time I remember he had a wild streak, before he settled down.

Graydon fought to keep his face stony, unrevealing.

Suddenly Constantine breathed, “God damn. Goddammit. It’s Ferion, isn’t it? Malphas has a soul lien on the Elven High Lord.”

And that, of course, broke the whole thing wide open.

? ? ?

Hearing one of the other sentinels utter the truth out loud sent a thrill of terror through Bel’s muscles. Inwardly panicking, she forced herself to remain immobile, while she ran through everything in her head.

Had they played it carefully enough? She couldn’t feel Malphas’s presence, but at the moment, she couldn’t feel anything beyond her own chaotic emotions.

When Carling squatted in front of her, she startled violently.

She had a long acquaintance with Carling that spanned centuries. Over time, she had watched the other woman rise in political influence and magical Power, but always from a distance. They had been pleasant to each other at public gatherings, but they weren’t close.

Now, Carling’s dark eyes were warm with concern. She put a slim brown hand over both of Bel’s and squeezed lightly.

Carling asked in a gentle voice, “Bel, is your son under Malphas’s control?”

Bel dropped her gaze to their hands.

Don’t say a word. Don’t acknowledge the question. Don’t betray anything.

Gods, let it be enough.

Carling said, “She’s shaking like a leaf.”

“Leave her.” Graydon’s voice sounded unexpectedly harsh, and close.

Carling pulled back as he shouldered in front of Bel.

“I’m all right,” Bel told him. “It’s okay. It’s . . .” At the last moment, she remembered to switch to telepathy. After so many years, it sounds incredibly dangerous to hear other people talking about this.

That’s because it is dangerous, he replied. His dark gray eyes held so much understanding, the expression in them highlighted just how alone and isolated she had felt for so many years, despite being surrounded by loved ones.

She gripped his hands as he knelt in front of her.

There was something so poignant about the moment, surrounded as they were by a sharp, rapid conversation. They remained wrapped in silence, existing on the edge of other people’s reality yet entirely immersed in the gigantic landscape they had shared together.

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.”