“I am not preventing her from working,” Khalil said. “I am preventing anyone from harming her.”

Grace’s sigh sounded clearly from within the cloak, and she looked around the room. After a few moments, she shook her head again. “I don’t sense any unusually strong connections, and that’s the only way I would know to look for it. Khalil, will you please get off me now?”

Silently the Djinn flowed away from her body and solidified into a man again. He resumed his former position, arms crossed and unrepentant.

Grace told Graydon, “The reason I mentioned it is because we were talking about whether or not Malphas was controlling you. Constantine said your behavior was constricted in some way, and I can see that you have a connection with a Djinn. Although that in itself isn’t unusual. Several of us have connections with Djinn. A couple of us have quite a few. I’ve accrued quite a few, myself – I’m now considered quite wealthy by Djinn standards, as a lot of them owe me favors.”

Rune angled his face toward Graydon again. “Don’t tell me you made a bargain with a pariah Djinn. Did you? Is that restricting you from answering certain questions?”

When Graydon didn’t reply, Rune swore under his breath.

From his slouching position by the window, Constantine remarked, “You know, I’ve been racking my brains, trying to figure this puzzle out. What could it possibly be? You’ve presented us with several cases where Malphas clearly preys on gambling addicts, yet you can’t or won’t say how you got the information, or why you’re pursuing it.”

Nearby, Bel shifted in her seat. It was another tiny tell that didn’t go unnoticed. Graydon swept the room with his gaze. Julian’s attention hadn’t shifted from Bel for quite some time. Both Claudia and Carling watched her too.

Restlessly, Constantine pushed away from the wall, wagging one finger. “Wait a minute. Two hundred years ago, when we went to London – there was a gaming hell that Weston razed to the ground. I remember since it had been so notorious. The news was all over the city the next morning. It especially caught my attention because we had just been visiting with Weston at the Vauxhall masque. At the time, he had seemed perfectly relaxed. He hadn’t given any indication of what he was about to do. Of course, he always did have a hell of a game face.”

Come on, Constantine, Graydon thought. Piece it together.

Aloud, he said, “The case I’ve presented to you stands on its own merits. Anything else is speculating outside the boundary of this investigation.”

“Did Malphas own that gaming hell?” Rune asked Graydon.

Could he answer that? Ownership of Malfeasance had to be a matter of historical fact, but acknowledging Rune’s question with a direct answer might be too leading. It could trigger the bargain, and he and Bel had already skated such a fine line tonight.

So far, he had essentially said just two things. The first was that he wanted to kill Malphas.

The second thing he had said was: here are the facts of an investigation. It was entirely based on other people. None of it touched on Ferion, or stemmed from what had happened in Wembley.

He glanced over at Bel. This time, she gave no hint of what she was thinking or feeling. She kept her gaze on her hands, folded in her lap. She held so still that to an outside observer, she might look like an exquisite Elven statue.

Graydon had seen her many times throughout the years in movement. Normally, her beautiful face, and every gesture and word, were alive with expression. Now, her very stillness was as loud as a shout, for anyone who knew how to hear it.

Carling studied Bel with a heavy-lidded glance. If there was anyone else present who might have the capacity to hear Bel’s silent language, it would be Carling.

Constantine looked from him to Bel, and back to him again. Malphas. You. Beluviel. London. Weston. Gambling addicts. Gaming hell. It’s all connected somehow, isn’t it? How is it connected? I’ve never heard of Beluviel having a gambling problem. If she gambles, that has sure been one hell of a well-kept secret. Calondir’s dead, so he doesn’t matter anymore. Ferion, though – once upon a time I remember he had a wild streak, before he settled down.

Graydon fought to keep his face stony, unrevealing.

Suddenly Constantine breathed, “God damn. Goddammit. It’s Ferion, isn’t it? Malphas has a soul lien on the Elven High Lord.”

And that, of course, broke the whole thing wide open.

Hearing one of the other sentinels utter the truth out loud sent a thrill of terror through Bel’s muscles. Inwardly panicking, she forced herself to remain immobile, while she ran through everything in her head.

Had they played it carefully enough? She couldn’t feel Malphas’s presence, but at the moment, she couldn’t feel anything beyond her own chaotic emotions.

When Carling squatted in front of her, she startled violently.

She had a long acquaintance with Carling that spanned centuries. Over time, she had watched the other woman rise in political influence and magical Power, but always from a distance. They had been pleasant to each other at public gatherings, but they weren’t close.

Now, Carling’s dark eyes were warm with concern. She put a slim brown hand over both of Bel’s and squeezed lightly.

Carling asked in a gentle voice, “Bel, is your son under Malphas’s control?”

Bel dropped her gaze to their hands.

Don’t say a word. Don’t acknowledge the question. Don’t betray anything.

Gods, let it be enough.

Carling said, “She’s shaking like a leaf.”

“Leave her.” Graydon’s voice sounded unexpectedly harsh, and close.

Carling pulled back as he shouldered in front of Bel.

“I’m all right,” Bel told him. “It’s okay. It’s…” At the last moment, she remembered to switch to telepathy. After so many years, it sounds incredibly dangerous to hear other people talking about this.