Very well. Once again, the gryphon surged upward. As he picked up speed, she thought she would never tire of the experience. The cold, fitful wind sliced away her tiredness and discouragement, until her mind felt keen and blade sharp.

She asked, How long will it take us to reach Wembley, do you think?

I doubt it can be more than an hour’s flight, he told her. Locating a country estate without specific directions will take longer.

Perhaps, if we can find the astonishingly terrible inn, we’ll be able to get directions from there, she said dryly.

I hope so, he replied.

Curious, she asked him, How do you suggest we search?

He paused. I don’t suppose Ferion left you a note?

She shook her head before remembering he couldn’t see it. No, he didn’t, so we don’t know when he actually left.

In that case, I don’t think we need to stop until we reach Wembley. Once we’re there, we can work backward along the road. With any luck, we might run into Ferion himself, but if we’re too late to catch him, at the very least, we can hope to get directions to Malphas’s estate. It’s owned by a Djinn. Any visitors Malphas has will be much more distinctive than the average traveler. Someone will know of the place.

That makes sense, she said. His logical thinking gave her a sense of deep relief. He was a mature predator. He knew the strategies for how to hunt better than she did.

How are you? he asked. His deep mental voice had gentled again. Not too cold, I hope?

Her relief metamorphosed into a warmer emotion. Not only had he volunteered to help her, but his concern for her well-being was genuine.

He was a good man, a kind man, and he had gone significantly out of his way for her without ever hinting at payment or recompense.

Dragos doesn’t deserve him, she thought. She trailed her fingers lightly over the sleek, strong line of the gryphon’s neck. If he were in his human form, it would be unthinkable to let herself be so familiar, but letting herself touch him while he was in his Wyr form was immensely comforting.

I’m fine, she told him. Thank you for asking.

His mental voice turned gruff. Just wanted to make sure. Let me know if you need to stop. I can build a fire so you can warm up.

His offer brought to mind an image of sitting together by a campfire, Graydon’s rough, suntanned features highlighted by bright, leaping flames. The firelight would reflect in his dark gray, attentive gaze, and the surrounding forest would be blanketed by the dark blue of night.

They could talk together. They could just talk, about anything and everything.

Oh gods, she wanted that so much.

More disturbed than she could say, she yanked her mind away from the image. Her normally well-ordered emotions careened all over the place. She didn’t know this person she was becoming, with the riotous impulses and wayward desires.

Forcing her reply to sound steady and calm, she assured him, I don’t need that right now, thank you, but I’ll let you know if I do.

She had any number of good people in her life. Alanna and Lianne loved her, and she loved them. She had a rich life, filled with many pleasures and pastimes. She had people who cared about her. Calondir might be Lord of the Elven demesne, but she was its Lady.

She believed in the Elven demesne. She worked and cared for it, just as she nourished the Wood and the extensive gardens that surrounded their public home just outside of Charleston. Calondir might rule by law, but she was the one that people came to for advice, problem solving, or comfort.

She was almost never alone, so why did Graydon’s concern and attention touch such a deeply lonely spot inside? The distant ache in her chest grew closer and sharper the longer she spent time with him.

Troubled, she closed her eyes and turned her focus inward. He didn’t speak again. They traveled the rest of the way to Wembley in silence.

When the rhythm of the gryphon’s flight changed, she opened her eyes. They flew over a large town. One or two lights flickered, but most of the buildings were shadowed and dark. As Graydon banked and turned, she saw the signature wheel of a mill by a glimmer of water.

They had reached Wembley.

After flying in a circle, the gryphon arrowed back along the road.

The first cluster of buildings they came to on the outskirts of the town was as dark as the rest of the town. It was unsurprising, given the lateness of the hour.

Bel noted the distinctive layout of a roadside inn, complete with substantially sized stables in the back. In a few short hours, the inn staff would be bustling to prepare breakfast.

The gryphon drifted down to land in the front courtyard. Once he had touched ground, Bel slid from his back, and he shapeshifted. Somewhere close by, a dog barked then fell silent. The rain hadn’t fallen this far west, and the night sparkled with a hard frost.

“I don’t suppose you can scent whether or not Ferion might have stopped here?” She kept her voice very low.

“Not here, sorry. Mostly all I can smell are horses and manure.” Graydon placed a large hand at her back. He kept his voice as quiet as hers. “Shall I inquire inside?”

She smiled up into his shadowed face. “Thank you for offering, but no, I can ask. We’re far enough outside the city, word of my presence won’t travel back to Calondir. If by chance he discovers something, it will be from some other source.”

He nodded and let her precede him to the front doors. Halfway there, she paused. If she roused the innkeeper or his staff, she might wake any number of their guests as well.

She whispered, “Let’s check the stables first. Perhaps there’s a stable boy or groom who sleeps with the horses. It might be quicker to question them than field complaints from people staying in the inn.”

He nodded. “Good thinking.”

They made their way around the inn, to the back. She stood to one side as Graydon opened the barn door.