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she was doing and made her grip relax.
    Then she heard the exact wrong thing come out of her mouth. “Can I rely upon your discretion?”
    He bent his head, studying the ground at their feet. She felt warmed all over again as she saw how carefully he considered her question.
    He looked up at her again. “As long as you can say it has nothing to do with the workings of either demesne?”
    â€œIt doesn’t,” she said as she met his gaze. With those two simple words, she set them both on a path to disaster.
    â€œThen you absolutely can,” he told her, dark gray eyes unwavering. “You have my word on it.”
    Even as he spoke, she sensed a presence enter the Gardens, fierce and lava hot.
    The Great Beast had arrived at the masque at last.
    Inside, she completely fell apart. At the best of times, she had to brace herself to endure Dragos’s presence. To have him come so close now, when she was off balance anyway, abraded her nerves until she felt raw inside.
    â€œGood, thank you, yes.” The words tumbled rapidly out of her mouth. “I must leave. I mean, in that case, if you would join me, we need to go. Only first, I must speak with one of my attendants.”
    â€œOf course,” said Graydon immediately. “Let’s find one.”
    As she fell into step beside him, she glanced over her shoulder.
    Even in his human form, Dragos looked like a killer. The battles the Elves had fought against the dragon had burned the landscape and literally reshaped large tracts of the world. Many Elves had died, and several of them had been Beluviel’s friends.
    The war had occurred so very long ago, but that was the thing about the Elves.
    And the dragon.
    None of them ever forgot.

THREE
    G raydon’s assignment in attending the masque was a simple one.
    Dragos wanted him and Constantine to show up, make nice, and demonstrate to people that they were friendly, domesticated creatures and not the wild, vicious animals that the Wyr were often reputed as being.
    While the Wyr were very well aware that one thing did not necessarily preclude the other, putting a friendly face to their demesne did seem to help the rest of the world relax whenever they were present.
    Graydon figured the parameters of the assignment meant he could enjoy himself as well, and Oberon’s cocktail fountains never did seem to run dry. The food was pretty decent too, except those gold cockatrices were frankly odd. He much preferred the plainer sausages.
    One of the advantages of attending the masque meant a rare opportunity to visit with Francis, which was how Graydon came to be standing with Weston and Constantine when Beluviel and her two attendants appeared.
    As always, whenever Graydon saw Beluviel, he had topause what he was doing to take in the pleasure of her presence.
    The three women made a uniquely powerful statement that had nothing to do with swords, armor, or anything else overtly warlike. In direct contrast to everyone else, they wore thin, colorful gowns, with short puffy sleeves.
    While Graydon didn’t know the first thing about female fashion, he thought the dresses were lovely in their simplicity. Their bare, slender arms, and lack of jewelry or warm, thick clothing made everyone else seem lumbering and overdressed, the lavish decorations and refreshments garish and overdone.
    Smiling, his gaze passed over the two other pretty Elven women to concentrate on Bel.
    The Lady of the South Carolina Elven demesne was beautiful, of course. All the normal requisites for a face were arranged in the most pleasing proportions imaginable. She had a wide, dark gaze filled with calm intelligence, and her long, shining dark hair, also unadorned, cascaded down, like a silken waterfall, to her hips.
    Beluviel’s beauty was the first thing anybody seemed to notice. Graydon thought it was the least important thing about her.
    As one of the eldest of the Elven race, her Power had grown with age. It