Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(92)

Dragos raised one sleek black eyebrow. “You are correct on all accounts. And your last point is the essential one.”

“Where will I fit in this demesne when I finish growing?” Liam asked. “And you know I’m going to finish growing soon. What job could I possibly take that will satisfy my dragon?” He paused, his body tight. “How do I get experience if I don’t do anything to earn it?”

Beside Graydon, Bel stirred. The discomfort in her expression threw him back to what she had once said about Ferion living a half life, never allowed to take too much responsibility in his father’s demesne, yet never allowed to roam free either.

Disquieted by the memory, he frowned.

“You ask compelling questions for which we don’t have answers, yet.” Dragos’s voice softened. “We will find answers, and you do have a place and a home where you’re valued and loved, always. Always, Liam. But still, I will not give you that sentinel position.”

“I’m not asking for you to give it to me,” Liam said. “I’ll fight for it. I’ll take it—just like every other sentinel has taken their position. I’ll make it mine. What I want you to do is give me time to get ready for the fight. Dad, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to work in your company. And our demesne is so strong, this is the first time a sentinel has ever died, and this chance isn’t going to come around again, soon or even ever. The only thing that would be worse than not letting me at least try would be to create an eighth position just because I’m your son.”

There was pain in that last sentence, enough pain that when he fell silent, nobody spoke again for long moments.

Finally, Dragos stirred. Telepathically, he asked Graydon, What do you think?

Graydon chose his response with care. He said, I think if you don’t let him try, it’ll create a rift between you that might take a while to heal.

The dragon’s fierce gold gaze flashed to him. I’m concerned about that too, but that’s not enough of a reason, Gray.

Pausing a moment to think, he came at it from a different angle. If he tries and fails, he’ll have done what he needed to do, and he’ll have answered his own question. If he tries and wins, the demesne won’t suffer, and he will have earned a place that I think he needs badly. He doesn’t know how he fits in this world, Dragos. Young people don’t, and in some ways, his situation is harder than most.

Dragos’s dark brows came together as he listened. Graydon couldn’t tell what the other male was thinking, but at least he listened.

He added, And he’s right—if you try to create a position for him, it won’t feel real. Give him a chance. That’s all he’s asking for, just a chance. He took a deep breath. It’ll be a challenge to keep the position open, but we can hire extra staff. If you’ll agree to it, we can somehow make it work.

Dragos’s gaze left Graydon to travel to Pia. After another long pause, she gave him a small nod.

Only then did Dragos turn back to Liam. The boy had never once looked away from his father. As the silence had grown prolonged, he had whitened, and his heart was in his eyes.

Dragos paused, taking in the boy’s desperate entreaty.

He said, “I’ll give you one year.”

Passion leaped into that pale young face, along with an expression of such naked gratitude, Graydon had to drop his gaze.

Liam said fiercely, “Thank you.”

Dragos cleared his throat. The crisp command in his voice turned husky and gentle. “You’re welcome, son.”

Graydon told the dragon, I get that he’s not really a child, not in the way that we normally think of children. But still, I don’t see how a year can be enough.

It’s his chance, and that’s all he asked for, said Dragos. And we don’t really know what he can do. I’ll be interested to find out.

? ? ?

The Tower recovered from the aftermath of the masque. Clean-up crews worked overtime to put everything to rights. Dragos, Pia and Liam traveled back home again, to upstate New York.

None of them would be nearly so fast in recovering from losing Constantine, but Bel was a wise woman, and she was right.

It would take them a while to heal, but eventually they would.

For Graydon, he had to fight nightmares of the battle, reliving again and again those last terrible moments when Constantine had leaped at him and spun him around, away from the deadly threat.

Each time, in the dreams, he shouted and struggled, but something always prevented him from dragging them both away, and he had to watch that long, wicked spike burst out of Constantine’s chest, followed by the gush of so much blood.

Sometimes, he woke himself up shouting. Other times, Bel shook him awake, and he discovered he had been thrashing around in his sleep.

Once, he woke to the sensation of his fist connecting with soft flesh. Comprehension flashed into his mind immediately.

Sickened by the realization that he had struck her, he lunged to turn on the bedside lamp and whipped around to inspect every inch of her body. Despite her protestations that she was okay, he had to see for himself.

He had caught her arm in a glancing blow, and he was beside himself as he watched the welt appear on the delicate skin of her arm.

At first, she was calm, gentle and supportive, but when he began to drown in self-castigation, she quickly turned stern.