11. The Party #3
“Oh, surely not,” Gabriel said, tilting his head. He stepped closer, invading the man’s personal space by a fraction of an inch. “I’m sure it hasn’t been that long. Perhaps you simply didn’t find me as memorable as I found you. Your preferences certainly left an impression on me.”
Thornwyck’s eyes darted around the room, terrified. “I—I wouldn’t know anything about—”
“No?” Gabriel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “A pity. Inheritance can be so complicated. So many unexpected responsibilities. I thought perhaps a friendly face to help me make sense of all the detailed records, but I suppose not. ”
Thornwyck looked ready to vomit. Miles prepared a silencing cantrip, just in case the man decided to scream, but a smooth, baritone voice cut through the tension.
“There you are.”
The crowd parted like the sea before a shark. Thornwyck fled and Lord Paray Vellast approached, moving with a grace that belied his soft, indulgent frame. He wore midnight blue velvet, tailored to hide the swell of his stomach, and his face was a mask of bored, aristocratic benevolence.
His muscles locked. This was him. The man who had not only raped Gabriel, but who had partnered with Madaze to sell him and others.
“Lord Vellast,” Gabriel said, turning. The predator vanished; the damsel returned. Gabriel slumped slightly, his shoulders rounding, his eyes widening with relief. “I received your note. I cannot tell you how grateful I was. This... all of this is so much… more than I expected.”
Vellast stopped a few feet away, looking Gabriel up and down. His gaze was slow, assessing. It lingered on Gabriel’s face, his hands, the cut of his coat.
And it was empty of recognition.
Miles stared, struggling not to gape. He searched Vellast’s flat blue eyes for a flicker of fear, of memory, of anything . But there was nothing. To Vellast, the man he had abused was just... meat. Sample inventory. A face to be used and forgotten.
It was more insulting than if he had spat in Gabriel’s face. The absolute, casual erasure of Gabriel’s humanity made him think, again, of the sulfur in his hidden pocket.
“Goldmar... forgive me, Fairfield,” Vellast corrected himself, a small, patronizing smile touching his lips. “You look like your father. Though perhaps with a touch less... severe edges.”
“I hope so,” Gabriel said breathlessly. “He was... an imposing man.”
“A man of vision,” Vellast countered smoothly. He glanced at Miles, his eyes flicking over the plum waistcoat and the lavender coat but showing no sign he had clocked the rig hidden underneath. “And this is?”
“My partner,” Gabriel said. “Master Beauchamp. He’s helping me with the... the numbers. The tax things. I’d be lost without my Miles. Palthor Quillmane has been absolutely dreadful to me.”
“Civil servants usually are,” Vellast drawled.
He dismissed Miles with a turn of his shoulder, focusing his attention back on Gabriel.
“My dear boy, your father and I shared many business interests. I would hate to see his legacy squandered due to a lack of proper guidance. We can put all of it to rights, together. I am more than happy to help.”
“Oh, would you?” Gabriel stepped closer, radiating eagerness. “I admit, I feel quite lost. The house... it’s so big. And there are rooms I don’t even have keys for.”
Vellast’s interest sharpened visibly. “Indeed? Well. Why don’t we retire to my office? It’s quieter. We can discuss how I might... assist you with your transition. I won’t keep you from the party long, but business waits for no man, as Madaze used to say.”
“That would be wonderful,” Gabriel gushed. “Truly.”
Vellast gestured toward the sweeping staircase that led up to the gallery and the hallways branching off of it. “Follow me, Lord Fairfield.”
Gabriel turned to follow and caught Miles’s eye as Vellast turned his back to them.
The fear was gone. The innocence was gone. In their place was a look of cold, sharp-edged triumph, a fox who had just convinced the hound to walk into the snare in its place.
A slight smirk tugged at the corner of Gabriel’s mouth, visible only to Miles, before he smoothed his features back into vapid obedience and they followed the monster up the stairs, down a hallway, and into Vellast’s office.
Miles’s gaze swept the space with the disdain of a scholar.
There wasn’t a single bookshelf in sight.
Instead, the walls were paneled in wood so dark it seemed to swallow the light from the enchanted lamps and chandelier, interrupted only by glass-fronted cabinets displaying a disturbing collection: jeweled daggers, vials of liquid in unnatural hues, and decorative whips.
It was a trophy room masquerading as a workspace, presided over by a massive, inlaid desk.
Above the unlit hearth, a heavy tapestry depicted a stag being torn apart by hounds. Subtle.
“Please,” Vellast said, gesturing toward two peacock-blue armchairs that looked designed to swallow their occupants whole. “Sit.”
Miles took the seat to the left, sitting on the edge of the chair to avoid sinking into the plush cushion. Vellast poured three generous measures of amber liquid from a crystal decanter on the sideboard .
“Windberry single malt.” Vellast slid a heavy glass across the desk toward Gabriel, then Miles.
He sank into his own leather chair on the opposite side of the desk, folding his hands over his paunch like a satisfied toad.
“Now. To the point. Your father and I found our partnership mutually... enriching. I see no reason why his death should interrupt that. I propose you pick up where Madaze left off.”
Gabriel picked up his glass, holding it with two hands like a child with a mug of cocoa. He looked around the room with wide, impressed eyes, letting his gaze linger on a vicious-looking stiletto in the display case.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Gabriel said. “I’ve been so worried about the estate’s finances. The tax collectors are absolute vultures, Lord Vellast. They’re demanding simply enormous sums.”
Vellast waved a hand dismissively. “Taxes are a concern for other people. Madaze understood that true wealth lies in the margins. We operated... discreetly. Once you take up the mantle of leadership in our common interests, you’ll find they shield you quite effectively.”
Miles took a small sip of the whiskey. It was predictably—annoyingly— excellent. He kept his silence, letting Gabriel spin his web.
“Discreetly?” Gabriel blinked, tilting his head. “You mean... unregistered cargo? Smuggling?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Vellast said, a smirk playing on his lips. “We provided certain specialized services to the city’s elite. When a problem required a delicate touch, Goldmar provided the solution.”
“Services?” Gabriel repeated, blinking rapidly. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”
Vellast sighed as if trying to explain calculus to a golden retriever. “People, Lord Fairfield. Goldmar provided people when needed. People who could disappear problematic individuals, acquire sensitive information, or provide… entertainment.”
Miles hid his frown in his drink. Madaze’s operation might have been bigger than they had thought.
Gabriel had actually performed all three functions Vellast listed for Madaze, but they had thought that was an aberration.
Most of the residents of Madaze’s Gilded Cage only fell under the category Vellast had so charmingly described as entertainment.
There must be more locations from which they operated.
Gabriel’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ of astonishment. “How terribly complicated! And this was all... legal?”
Vellast’s laugh was indulgent. “Legal is such a restrictive concept. Let’s call it... established practice among those who understand how Averdon truly operates.”
“I see,” Gabriel said, though his expression suggested he absolutely didn’t. He set his glass down, his fingers trembling just enough to be noticeable. “And I would be expected to... continue this established practice?”
“With guidance, of course,” Vellast assured him. “The networks are already in place. You need only maintain them.”
As Vellast launched into detailed explanations of the operation—drop points, payment structures, blackmail leverage—Miles maintained his neutral expression through sheer force of will.
The man spoke of suffering with the casual indifference of someone discussing crop yields and revealed his illegal operations with the breathtaking arrogance of a noble knowing he was above the law.
Gabriel played his part perfectly, asking innocent questions that led Vellast to incriminate himself further with each response. “And the city guards look away? How convenient!” or “You mean people are actually willing to be... lent out this way?”
By the end of the explanation, Vellast seemed entirely convinced of Gabriel’s malleable nature.
“It sounds terribly complex,” Gabriel sighed, shoulders drooping slightly. “I’m not sure I’m clever enough for such intricate arrangements.”
“You needn’t worry about the details,” Vellast said, practically salivating at the prospect of manipulating the seemingly hapless new lord. “Just follow my lead, and everything will continue smoothly.”
Gabriel’s face brightened with manufactured relief. “Oh, that would be marvelous! I’m ever so grateful for your guidance in these matters.”
Miles maintained his neutral expression, but he noticed an almost imperceptible shift in Gabriel’s demeanor as the discussion wound to its conclusion.
The subtle straightening of his spine, the barely-there narrowing of his eyes.
To anyone else, Gabriel still appeared the picture of naive enthusiasm, but Miles recognized the predator about to strike.
“You know,” Gabriel said, his voice still light but with a new undercurrent that made Miles fight back a smile, “I just knew it would be so easy for us to work with each other... again. ”