Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(65)

“Graydon wouldn’t let the threat to him stop him from taking action, if he thought it was needed,” Rune said.

“Acknowledged,” said the Djinn with an imperious tilt of his head. “Still, a threat in some form is present. Grace has determined you both have a single connection to a Djinn. I believe it stems from a bargain with Malphas. Otherwise, you would not need to be so circumspect in what you say—or don’t say. While some of this conjecture may be wrong, enough of it is true to guarantee one thing. Now my father will have no choice but to take the strongest measures possible.”

Graydon blew out a breath. There it is, he said softly to her. There’s our war. The genie is out of the bottle now, and there’s nothing we can do to stuff it back in.

You were leading to this all along, she said. That’s why you investigated so carefully, why you built such a comprehensive case, and it’s why you wanted to have a group meeting. You hoped the others would put things together and come to the right conclusions.

More or less, he said. Ducking his head, he gave her a sidelong, wry glance. Frankly, I didn’t have things that well planned. For example, Con really did push his way into this—and he was the one who had all the right pieces. If I hadn’t been so focused on keeping this separate from the Wyr demesne, I would have seen that and included him sooner.

How could he be so adorable and dangerous at the same time?

Leaning forward, she put her arms around his neck. He leaned into her embrace and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight.

She hid her face in his neck. He put his face in her hair. For one more magical moment they stayed alone, in their intimate landscape.

Then his arms loosened. When he pulled back, she had no choice but to let him go, although she resented every inch of physical space that grew between them as he sat back on his heels.

He asked, “I think we’re ready to call Soren now, don’t you?”

She nodded and stood along with him. “We need to move quickly. The longer I’m gone, the more unpredictable everything feels.”

As she turned to the group, she found everyone staring at them in varying degrees of surprise.

They might have separated physically, but Graydon took a protective stance at her shoulder, turned partially to face her. All she had to do was shift her weight to her left foot, and she could lean against his broad chest. Knowing that comforted her immeasurably.

Graydon asked the group, “Who has a connection with Soren?”

Carling, Grace and Khalil all said at the same time, “I do.”

“Please, do allow me,” Khalil said. Despite Bel’s concern over what came next, the Djinn’s satisfied expression caught her attention. He was clearly looking forward to holding his father accountable.

In a quiet yet strong voice that reverberated with Power, Khalil said, “Soren.”

Silence fell, as everyone stilled, bracing themselves for the Djinn’s arrival. For a few moments, nothing happened.

Carling raised one eyebrow. She murmured, “He must still be miffed at you for getting together with Grace.”

“He can bite me,” Khalil said between his teeth.

The modern slang, combined with the particular viciousness with which he had said it, spoke volumes about his own feelings toward his father.

A surprised sound, something between a snort and a cough, escaped Melly.

Grace had turned tense. “You haven’t talked to your father since he tried to imprison you,” she muttered. “Just wait. He’ll be curious enough to come.”

The young Oracle was right.

Before Bel could do anything more than wonder at why Soren would have tried to imprison Khalil, a comet of Power arched toward them from an uncounted distance, approaching impossibly fast.

A whirlwind entered the room, spinning faster as it coalesced into the figure of a tall man with craggy features, white hair and the piercing diamond eyes of a Djinn.

Soren, Khalil’s estranged father and the head of the Elder tribunal, had arrived.





FIFTEEN


Khalil might be dangerous and Powerful, but his father was a first generation Djinn. Born at the beginning of the world, Soren shone with a fierce white Power.

Bel was also one of the eldest of her kind. While her Power was connected to the earth, she could still look on Soren without flinching, but she saw that those who were much younger—Melly, Claudia, Grace and Luis, and even Julian—had to brace themselves for the onslaught of Soren’s presence.

Soren had coalesced on the opposite side of the room from Khalil. Once he arrived, neither Djinn’s human form appeared to move, but the air bristled between them.

Stirring, Constantine muttered, “They’re like beta fighting fish.”

“What an interesting gathering,” said Soren. “Which of you is going to tell me why my son has summoned me here?”

“I am,” Graydon said. “Although I’ll leave the others to tell you the details. You and I, along with anyone else we can get to fight along with us, are going to kill Malphas.”

Soren lifted one white eyebrow so imperiously that, despite their differences in physical form and temperament, for one moment he looked remarkably like his son.

He drawled icily, “Please explain what brings you to such a remarkable and presumptuous conclusion.”

Bel didn’t think Soren was prepared for all the reasons that bombarded him from every direction. The Djinn stood immobile in silence, absorbing every comment.