Shadow's End
Page 13

The swiftness of Graydon’s internal reaction was as wild and vicious as any Wyr could turn. Who did she need to see so badly, and why did it matter so that she had to hide it from everybody?
Shocked at himself, he drew in a deep breath and forced his reply to remain mild, without a hint of snarl. Are you sure? I can be persuasive when I put my mind to it.
I’m sure, she told him. I’m probably the only person he will listen to, so I have to confront him in person. You see, my son has developed a serious problem.
As fast as he had reacted, his strange, unruly emotions morphed into surprise. Whatever starburst of nonsense had just exploded in his brain, he hadn’t considered anything like this.
Malfeasance did not just offer games of chance, which was part of its notoriety. Other vices could be purchased, including sex and drugs. If one had enough money, or so Graydon had heard, one could purchase anything one wanted, no matter how unsavory.
He could not imagine that Ferion would need to resort to a place like Malfeasance for sex. The handsome, charming Elven heir could have his pick of any number of sexual partners for free, yet there was no accounting for taste.
Another possibility occurred to him. He asked, Don’t tell me he’s developed an opium addiction?
No, she replied grimly. Games of chance are his vice. No matter how many times he has promised that he will quit, he cannot seem to control himself.
They had reached the gate. As they passed through to the London street outside, the frigid air caused by the Daoine Sidhe’s magical influence warmed. The snowfall stopped, to be replaced by a steady, cold drizzle.
Falling silent, they picked their way through the crowds of people and carriages around the entryway.
Hoping to disguise Bel’s presence, Graydon put his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side. If anyone were paying attention, perhaps his Wyr scent and signature presence would confuse them enough they would not be able to identify her.
Bel neither objected nor questioned his move. Once away from the thick of the crowd, he picked up the pace until they were striding swiftly away.
Only then did he speak aloud. “An addiction to gambling can be every bit as serious as any other kind of addiction,” he said. “How long has he been having the problem?”
“It began several years ago.” Although she kept her tone low, Bel spoke aloud as well. She paused. “That’s not exactly true. I’m not quite sure how long ago it might have started. It was several years ago when I first noticed how often he gambled, but he always seemed to be in control of it.”
“People who have a problem with drinking spirits often disguise how much they drink,” he said.
Under his arm, her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “And gaming is a pastime so many people indulge in, I didn’t really think anything of it, until he came to me the first time with a debt he couldn’t pay. He said he made a mistake and lost his head. He swore it would never happen again, so I paid the debt for him.”
As he listened, he watched for a quiet side street or private park where he might be able to shapeshift hidden from casual sight. While the weather was inclement, it was still winter solstice, the night that masques were celebrated all throughout the Elder Races.
Not everyone was lucky enough to get an invitation to King Oberon’s event, and the streets were busier than they might otherwise have been. Drunken, cheerful groups passed them more than once, and a solitary, cheap, gaudy mask lay abandoned on the cobblestones.
When she fell silent, he said, “I think I can see where this is going. Even though Ferion promised, he didn’t really stop. Did he?”
He felt rather than saw her shake her head within the depths of the hood. “I thought he had. I truly didn’t think any more of it. Mistakes happen, and in some ways, Ferion has had a more challenging life than most.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She sighed. “He is his father’s heir and expected to remain close and available, knowledgeable on demesne affairs but not too involved. Calondir guards his authority jealously, and he won’t let Ferion assume too much responsibility.”
He frowned. “That sounds frustrating.”
“It is, and we are so long lived as a race, he won’t ever inherit unless an accident takes his father’s life. Every time he has tried to develop a sense of purpose for himself, it has become skewed and stunted by this very narrow role he’s supposed to fulfill.”
Graydon had never witnessed the complications of family life up close. Children were rare in the Elder Races. While he loved them, as an unmated sentinel, he didn’t get much occasion to spend time with any. The situation Bel described had truly never occurred to him.
Shaking his head, he muttered, “I had no idea.”
“Ferion lives in a particularly difficult cage. At times, he doesn’t handle it well. He has bouts of drinking and melancholia too.” She drew in a sharp breath. “It’s too easy to confide in you. I know you’ve already promised you would be discreet, but please don’t say anything.”
“I won’t,” he said, tightening his arm in reassurance. “I wouldn’t.”
“Thank you,” she told him. “So, yes, I thought everything was taken care of, but sometime later, he accumulated another debt he couldn’t pay. That time, we argued about it. He promised it wouldn’t happen again. Even though I had doubts, I paid the bill. Again.”
“Let me guess,” he said quietly. “Calondir doesn’t know any of this.”
She went silent again for a long moment. Through his arm still across her shoulders, he could feel the tension gripping her slender body.
“No,” she responded at last. “Calondir doesn’t know, and he can’t know.” When he didn’t reply, she said stiffly, “There are reasons.”
Why couldn’t Calondir know? He wanted to ask, but it was evident she was already having difficulty with telling her story, and it wasn’t his place to pry. He also didn’t want to cause her any discomfort so that she shut down and possibly turned him away.