Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(91)

Nearby, Liam sprawled on the floor, playing a game on a mini tablet. Even though it was almost five in the morning, nobody had suggested that he go to bed. He needed to process the grief as much, if not more, than any of the rest of them.

Eventually, Rune and Carling said good night. They left in a flurry of hugs and good-byes. Rune touched Dragos on the shoulder, and the two men had a brief telepathic exchange. Dragos gave the other man a nod, and the couple left.

Graydon watched, glad that the two men had reconciled enough so that Dragos could accept Rune and Carling as being part of their extended family.

After they had gone, perhaps inevitably, the subject of how to fill Constantine’s sentinel position came up. Quentin said to Dragos, “I suppose you’ve been too busy to give much thought to picking another sentinel.”

Hesitantly, Bel said in Graydon’s head, This might be an ignorant question, but do you think he would consider inviting Rune back?

He shook his head. Not a chance, he told her. They’re recovering their friendship, but Dragos would never allow Carling to get that close to the seat of power in the Wyr demesne. In some ways, Dragos and Carling are too much alike. They’re both schemers.

I guess I should be glad he’s been so accepting of me, relatively speaking, Bel said slowly, her expression pensive. I’ve been so preoccupied by working to accept him that I hadn’t considered that before.

He hugged her tight. Yes, you’re Elven, and yes, you were a major force in the Elven demesne. But trust me, you are an entirely different reality from Carling.

As they shared their private exchange, the others watched Dragos consider Quentin’s question. He said, “Yes, I’ve thought about it.”

Graydon met Aryal’s frustrated gaze. When Dragos wanted to be inscrutable, sometimes getting any information out of him was like trying to pull giant, dragon-sized teeth.

Aryal said, “You’re not going to hold another round of Sentinel Games, are you? Not only was it a hellish expense, but that week was exhausting.”

“No,” Dragos replied. “Doing it once was a show of our strength. Holding public games again, especially so soon after the first time and in the wake of Constantine’s death, sends another message entirely. I’m thinking of a private event, with a short list of handpicked contestants.”

From his position on the floor, Liam said, “It’s my spot.”

Since it was the first time the boy had spoken that night, it took a few moments for everyone to absorb exactly what he had said.

The sentinels looked at each other. Over by the bar, Aryal pivoted abruptly to put her back to the group. Graydon caught a glimpse of her wide-eyed profile as she mouthed oh my f*cking god to the wall.

Pia straightened from her position reclining against Dragos’s side. Her expression turned guarded, her sharp gaze intent on her son.

“What did you say?” Dragos said, even though Graydon knew the dragon had heard Liam perfectly. “Sit up straight when you’re talking, and look at me.”

Moving deliberately, Liam did more than sit up straight. He pushed to his feet and turned to face his father.

He didn’t seem angry, Graydon noted. Nor did he act defiant. There was something set in his young-looking, handsome expression, as if he had made up his mind, and nothing in the world was going to change it.

For several months now, everyone had been wondering if and how Liam might act out in teenage rebellion.

Here we go, Graydon thought. He braced himself.

Meeting Dragos’s gaze, Liam said in a calm, steady voice, “That sentinel position is mine.”

“No, it isn’t,” Dragos said. His relaxed impassivity had vaporized. Now, even though he spoke as calmly as his son did, sharp authority had entered his demeanor. “I will give you a great many things, Liam. I will give you a home, and I will give you my love. I’ll give you the best education, and when the time comes, I would be very pleased to give you a strong starting position in my company. But I will not give you this.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” said Liam. His arms hung at his sides, but Graydon noted that his hands had clenched into fists.

Ever since his birth, Liam’s Wyr form, the dragon, had strained to reach full-size. In times of stress or crisis, especially, the boy had gone through several growth spurts already.

Now the Wyr demesne faced another challenge that struck at the foundation of its existence. Did the boy stand a little taller than he had the last time Graydon had seen him? Was he broader now across the shoulders, his voice deeper?

Dragos said, “This conversation is over.”

“Wait,” Pia said unexpectedly. “Dragos, hear him out.”

Of all the people present, Graydon had not expected Pia to be the one who spoke up. She had been deeply shaken the first couple of times Liam had gone through a growth spurt.

She wasn’t any longer. Now as she watched Liam with a fascinated respect, along with so much love, she reminded him of the tireless devotion Bel had given to Ferion.

Dragos gave his mate a considering glance. As Pia slid out of the chair to perch on the arm of the nearby couch, Dragos leaned forward in his seat, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring up at Liam. Somehow, in those simple adjustments, Dragos’s armchair had become a throne.

“All right,” Dragos said to his son. “Speak your piece.”

Liam glanced around the room. “My dragon is already bigger than any sentinel here,” he said. “In fact, my dragon is bigger and stronger than anybody else in this room except for you, and I’m faster than anybody else, except for Mom. The only reason why I don’t win in the training sessions now is because I don’t have enough experience. Yet.”