Shadow's End by Thea Harrison Page B

handkerchief.
    Graydon didn’t bother to check the contents. He couldsmell bread, cheese and chicken. Accepting the parcel, he gave the boy a nod in thanks.
    When Bel opened a small, black leather purse and pulled out a few coins, the boy’s eyes widened and began to shine.
    â€œThank you for everything.” She handed him the money.
    â€œYes, my lady. Thank you, my lady.” Falling silent, he stared at the coins in his palm.
    One corner of Graydon’s mouth lifted. He murmured to her, “I believe that’s our cue to leave.”
    He held the door open, and she slipped out into the cold, crisp air. In silence, they walked away from the inn.
    She had no idea where they were going. Matching her stride to his, she veered when he veered, following his lead in a daze.
    All she knew was that they were going to someplace entirely new, entirely strange. It was the sweetest place with the sharpest pain, and she did not quite know how she could bear it, yet she didn’t know how she could survive without it.
    When he handed her the food and shapeshifted, she leapt onto his back, and they flew over the town and past the mill. Graydon followed the river and didn’t land again until he had reached a tangled clump of woods, some distance upstream from any property.
    As she dismounted, she took in the place. A thick blanket of winter leaves covered the ground, while the dark outline of the trees overhead was spiky from bare branches. Evergreens dotted the area, giving the scene a sharp pine scent, while the quiet, rejuvenating sounds of the nearby river played at the edge of her hearing.
    It was a clean, undomesticated place. The difference between it and all the other places they had visited in that long night couldn’t have been more dramatic.
    Some unrecognized burden fell from her, and without realizing it, she breathed, “Oh, this.”
    She barely sounded coherent, but he seemed to know exactly what she had meant.
    â€œYes,” he said, very low. “This.”
    Together, they gathered wood. She had countless years of experience to draw upon, and he did too. They didn’t evenneed to speak as they coordinated everything they did with quick, neat economy.
    As she cleared leaves from an area, he collected stones to make a fire ring. She walked down to the river to wash her face and hands, relishing the biting cold water. When she returned, he had a fire started and had even found a fallen log to use as a seat.
    â€œThank you,” she said fervently.
    His smile lit up his rough face. “My pleasure.”
    Rolling her tired shoulders, she slipped out of her sword harness, set it aside and sat. Echoing her movement, he joined her on the log. The fire quickly took hold, and flames began to leap, throwing off bright, intense heat.
    She heaved a sigh. “Cities are hard.”
    He had begun to unwrap the food. The glance he gave her was brief and heartfelt. “Don’t I know it.”
    â€œHow can you stand to live right in the middle of one?” she asked, curious.
    â€œI guess it’s necessary,” he said. He lifted one wide shoulder in a self-deprecating shrug. “New York isn’t nearly as big or as intensely urban as London, and after a time, one gets used to it. There are so many challenges to face every day, which helps, and between all the sentinels, we make sure that we get plenty of time to roam. I’ve felt more cooped up since I’ve been in London than I do at home.”
    The handkerchief held a large chunk of bread, several uneven slices of cheese, and part of a roasted chicken. He offered her the food, and she took the bread, breaking it into two pieces, one much larger than the other.
    Keeping the smaller piece, she gave him the large one, while he set the food cloth on the ground between them and handed her a slice of cheese.
    She took a bite of the bread and cheese. The crust of the bread was golden brown and crunchy, while the