Graydon asked, “Has Malphas compelled you to do things in the past?”
The muscles in Ferion’s arms grew rigid. He put his face in her hair and didn’t answer.
After suspecting for so long, both relief and fury swept through her. She said over her shoulder to Graydon, “Silence is its own answer.”
“Yes, it is,” Graydon growled. “So he has already broken the bargain, and it’s up to us to prove it and hold him accountable.”
Her breathing had turned ragged with her emotions. This was the kind of risk one suffered when one bargained with a pariah. For law-abiding Djinn, if a bargain was not upheld, one could present a case to the Demonkind council. If the case was proven, the Djinn would need to make reparation.
No such strictures bound a pariah. They had already been judged by the Djinn and found wanting, and had been barred from society. The only way to stir others to action was by proving that the pariah was doing too much damage to tolerate—because going against a Djinn came at such a high cost.
Everything was stacked in Malphas’s favor. He could cheat while knowing the cost to hold him accountable was too expensive, whereas if she and Graydon broke their side of the bargain, he would . . .
What would he do? Tell the world that they had slept together two hundred years ago? Other than a mild titillation and perhaps a tabloid headline, the world would yawn in his face.
Would he kill the High Lord of the Elven demesne? If he did, he would be signing his own death warrant, because nobody—nobody in all the Elder Races—would allow him to commit such a crime and get away with it.
But if he was pushed into a corner, he could torture Ferion with more extreme acts of control—and that was the one possibility that was so unendurable. She simply couldn’t bear to watch it happen.
Hold steady, she thought. Stay the course. Play the long game.
“Ferion,” Graydon said. “What if Malphas ordered you to hurt Beluviel?”
Ferion’s arms loosened from around her, and he stepped back. His expression turned tender and trapped at once. He whispered, “I would do everything in my power to fight it.”
“Yet, you can’t swear for certain that you wouldn’t do it. Just like the first time.”
The first time, when he had choked Bel because Malphas had ordered him to. Silence again, weighted and toxic with everything left unsaid.
Ferion turned away. “I would have to fight anyone who tried to stop me from doing what I was ordered to do, but then I’m sure you remember that. It doesn’t mean I would have to win. I can always be killed.”
“Don’t say that,” she said between her teeth.
When he glanced at her, the frozen, tight lines of his face softened.
He said, “I’ve been living for two hundred years as both hostage and slave, all because I couldn’t control myself when I really needed to. It doesn’t matter if I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter if I grew up a hell of a lot and learned my lesson, or if I would die before I ever did it again. Every time I think this situation can’t go on or get any worse, somehow it does. So far Malphas hasn’t forced me to do anything catastrophic. It’s been the small things, the mean, sneaky things that keep me from sleeping and eat at my soul.”
“You never said anything,” she murmured, stricken.
His gaze turned wry. “What could I have said? Anything would have made you feel worse, more trapped. I love you too much to put you through that. But now that I’ve become the High Lord, and the Elven demesne has stabilized, we all know the situation has changed.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Graydon asked.
Ferion’s reply was immediate. “I take responsibility. Because of my addiction, people have been hurt, and I would pay any price to bring this hell to an end. So I want you both to do what you have to do to end this, and I will have no choice but to do what I must. And I want you to know that whatever happens, you have my blessing.”
Graydon’s immobility caught her attention. He watched Ferion, his face expressionless, and somehow that frightened her more than anything.
As she watched, his demeanor shifted. His expression became mild and innocuous. Even his body language changed.
“I don’t really catch your drift, buddy,” he said. He rolled his broad shoulders in an easygoing shrug. “I just stopped by to say hey to Bel. You know, two old friends taking a few minutes to play catch-up.”
As Ferion turned to stare at him, Graydon told him in a quiet voice, “We haven’t abandoned you, son, and we haven’t broken any bargains. We won’t, either. Aside from the fact that you know you can trust your mother, you have my word on that.”
An expression crossed Ferion’s face, one that Bel hadn’t seen in a very long time. It was vulnerable, even hopeful. He whispered, “Thank you. Please don’t let me do anything to hurt the Elven demesne or my mother.”
“Like I said, there’s no reason for us to go there.” Graydon gave him an easy smile. Even to Bel’s hypersensitive hearing, every word he said sounded sincere. She could fudge and tell a certain number of untruths while sounding sincere, but Graydon’s talent for lying had hers beat. “Even if you’ve been ordered to keep an eye on her, she’s not doing anything but normal activities. Seeing friends and attending parties. You know, getting a breath of fresh air after a hard six months of work. Isn’t that right, Bel?”
Halfway through, she realized what Graydon was doing. He was feeding Ferion the kind of information that the other man could give to Malphas.
It didn’t matter what Ferion personally thought of what Graydon was telling him. If pressed, he would be able to repeat exactly what Graydon had said, and he would be able to claim it sounded like the truth.
She could tell when Ferion realized it as well. A slight smile spread across his features. “With that kind of reassurance, perhaps I can ease up on the number of guards I’ve set to watch over her.” He met her gaze. “Linwe can report to me.”
“Of course she can,” said Bel. She could tell the younger woman to report only simple, innocent activities and to cover for her when she might disappear. Poor Linwe would be very confused, but she would comply. “It will be a remarkably boring task, I assure you.”
Her son inclined his head. “Very well.”
“Ferion,” said Graydon, “do you know what Malphas can sense? How closely does he watch you?”
The younger male rubbed the back of his neck, frustration evident in his tight body language. “I think he can’t sense my activities unless I can sense him. I’ve become attuned to his presence, maybe because of the bond between us. But he doesn’t have to spy on me. He knows I have to follow his orders—or at least the letter of his orders. While he’s slipped up once or twice, usually he’s very detailed at giving orders that don’t allow much wiggle room, no doubt because of his Djinn nature and bargaining experience.”
Graydon raised his eyebrows. “If you’re more attuned to his presence, perhaps Bel and I are too.”
Ferion shrugged. “You might be. He said once that he would feel it if you broke the bargain. Something to do with the connection he established with you. Other than that, he can’t spy on us all the time.” He paused, and his expression turned uncertain, searching. Hesitantly, he continued, “If I were to guess, I think he’s spread very thin.”
Satisfaction flashed through her. He was trying to figure out the boundaries of his confinement and help them any way he could.
Graydon said in her head, That would make sense, if Malphas’s network of slaves has grown. But even so, Ferion would remain one of his highest priorities.
She said quickly, “I think we’ve talked enough about this.” She added privately to Graydon, If Malphas thinks to ask him what we’ve discussed, Ferion will have to tell him.
Agreed.
Clearly, Ferion thought of that as well, because he said, “I believe we have, too.”