18. Epilogue #2
Gooseflesh rose on Miles’s arms, though the autumn breeze was kind tonight. He looked at Gabriel. The reality of their position—surviving not by law, but by the grace of dirty politics—should have terrified him.
But Gabriel just watched Viz go, a faint, feral smile touching his lips. “Well,” he said, adjusting his cuff. “At least we know the rules of the game now.”
“We’re playing against the house, Gabriel.”
“Darling, we own the house.” Gabriel winked, then took Miles’s elbow. “Come on. I want to show you the final layout that Rookgate and the residents settled on.”
The house breathed now. The oppressive weight of Madaze’s legacy had been scrubbed from the very stones, replaced by an expansive entry hall that smelled of beeswax and citrus fruits.
To the left, a polished oak door bore a brand-new brass plaque: Velma’s Future Consultancy Services .
Beyond the reception desk, a massive archway framed the central courtyard, while hallways branched off like welcoming arms, lined with doors that bore dignified little nameplates for their occupants.
They wandered through the new wing, Miles cataloging the changes with a mix of awe and professional curiosity.
There were bathing facilities with therapeutic heated pools, steam curling invitingly from the tiled thresholds, and recreational spaces filled with soft light for quiet reflection.
A fully stocked infirmary stood ready, and the dining hall had been expanded to feed a hundred souls, the kitchens already clattering with industry.
It was unrecognizable, a total rewrite of the manor’s past.
Yet, as they walked, Miles found his gaze drifting upward, searching for a staircase that wasn’t there. The attics had vanished.
A niggle of irritation pierced his satisfaction.
The Veilmancy books—dangerous, yes, but vital intelligence—were gone.
He shot a suspicious look at Gabriel’s profile.
Had he told the house to simply eat them?
Miles hoped the manor had merely sequestered them in some gastric pouch, much as it had held the bodies of Vellast’s would-be assassins before spitting them out for Viz to give to the river in exchange for Rookgate’s solution for the refugees.
Knowledge, no matter how dark, shouldn’t just be digested.
He squeezed Gabriel’s arm, distracted from his brooding as they stopped to shake hands with Lord Wrenvale and nod politely at a beaming Lady Ashwyre.
An hour later, once the general public had been guided out the front doors, Gabriel led Miles through the central archway into the twilight-drenched courtyard.
The air was cool, scented with night-blooming jasmine.
Their inner circle was gathered near a stone fountain: Genna, Bria, Nikka, Velma, and Viz.
But Miles stopped dead. Standing next to Bria, looking approving of the house but deeply critical of the hors d’oeuvres, was a short, compact woman with iron-gray streaks in her chestnut hair.
“Mother?” he breathed.
Lucy Beauchamp turned, her sharp brown eyes assessing him. “You’re too thin,” she said, though she stepped into his embrace. “But I like the coat.”
“I... I don’t understand,” Miles stammered, pulling back to look at her, then at Gabriel.
“I sent a courier.” Gabriel exchanged smug looks with Genna and Bria. “About a week ago. Told her you were finally making an honest man of me.”
“You—” Miles started, but Gabriel moved. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a small object through the air. Miles snatched the dark velvet box from the air before his brain caught up .
He stared at it. It was the ring he’d hidden in the bottom of his trunk, back when he’d had such naive hopes that they’d be returning to Briarleigh in time for the harvest festival.
“How did you get this?” Miles asked, scandalized.
“I may temporarily be a lord, darling, but I’ll always be a thief and a spy.
It’s what I do.” Gabriel dropped to one knee as Miles fumbled for a reply.
He produced a second box from his coat pocket, snapping it open to reveal a band of white gold set with a deep, violet amethyst. “And I couldn’t let you have all the fun. ”
Miles looked from the sapphire ring in his hand to the amethyst in Gabriel’s. The courtyard went silent, save for the splashing fountain. The joy surged, hot and bright, before crashing into the cold wall of reality.
“Gabriel,” Miles whispered, his voice cracking. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”
“I know,” Gabriel said softly. “The Crown won’t give us a license.
I don’t care. I don’t need their permission to belong to you.
” He looked up, his pale eyes fierce. “Handfast me, Miles. I know, it’s not what we really want, that it holds no legal weight, but I still want to belong to each other in whatever way we can.
I want a promise between us. A year and a day to start, or a lifetime, promised now. Your choice.”
“Lifetime,” Miles breathed, his analytical mind derailing entirely in favor of the buoyant ache in his chest. “Absolutely a lifetime.”
He dropped to his knees, disregarding the silk trousers, and hauled Gabriel into a kiss that tasted of champagne and victory.
Gabriel broke the seal a moment later, breathless, and pulled them both upright.
“Good,” he said, brushing a speck of dust from Miles’s knee.
“Because our friends and family are here, and we’re already dressed in our best.” He gestured to their friends, forming a circle around them. “Let’s do this now.”
Miles’s throat closed, the sting of tears blurring Gabriel’s face.
This wasn’t the legal marriage he’d obsessed over, no—but Gabriel had conjured as much as could be managed.
More than what he’d thought they’d have until they solved their myriad problems. His lover understood his ache for commitment, for permanence, even when the law said no, and had somehow made this happen amid the chaos of the last two weeks.
Miles might be the mage, but Gabriel was pure magic .
“You magnificent man of mine,” Miles managed, voice rough. He pressed his forehead to Gabriel’s, breathing him in. “How did you—”
“Because I know you,” Gabriel murmured. “And I love you.”
The tears spilled over. Miles didn’t bother wiping them away.
“Then let’s begin,” he said.
They opened their velvet ring boxes. With trembling fingers, they slipped the bands onto each other’s hands and turned toward Lucy.
Lucy stepped forward, a ribbon of braided silk in her hands: midnight blue for Miles, and a paler blue for Gabriel. She wound it around their joined wrists, a soft shackle they chose freely. The smooth texture of the braid pressed against Miles’s pulse.
Their friends made a circle around them as they spoke the vows of their hearts.
“I promise to be your truest friend and your shield,” Miles said, “To value your freedom as much as my own, and to love you with every moment, every spell, and every breath I have.”
Gabriel’s eyes, so often masked in layers of irony and defense, were stripped bare.
“And I promise to stop running,” he said, a smile curving his mouth.
“Unless we’re running together. I will make your happiness and well-being my own.
I promise we will carry the weight of our burdens together, and I will fight for you and for us. Defiantly. I am irrevocably yours.”
As the knot settled, the manor decided it had stayed silent long enough.
The balcony doors above the courtyard swung open in a synchronized wave, light spilling out like gold onto the stones.
Residents—refugees from Vellast’s cruelty, people who knew what it cost to find safety—spilled out onto the terraces.
Applause rained down, hesitant at first, then thundering against the new cream stone.
Someone struck up a fiddle tune near the fountain. The jaunty, uneven rhythm was joined quickly by a flute and rhythmic clapping. The champagne was recirculated, and more food was carried out from the kitchens.
“Dance with me, husband.” Gabriel pulled Miles into the sway of the crowd.
Miles stumbled, laughed, and let himself be led.
They spun through the courtyard, surrounded by the people they’d saved, held by the house they’d healed.
Gabriel moved with fluid grace, making Miles look far more competent than he was, guiding him through the press of bodies who joined in their celebration .
Eventually, the music dipped into a slower lull. Miles caught his mother’s eye near the archway. She gave him a sharp nod—the highest praise in her arsenal—and tapped her wrist.
They pulled away from the celebration, breathless. After a fierce hug from Lucy and a whispered warning to Gabriel to keep her son in one piece, they slipped out of the courtyard and through Rookgate’s front doors to the city of rot and marvels beyond.
“Take me home,” Gabriel said, lacing his fingers through Miles’s.
Miles guided Gabriel through the lamplit streets toward the Great Guilder’s Bridge, their footfalls echoing off the cobblestones.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the pedestrian walkway, suspended over the black rush of the Aver.
Gas lamps flickered along the railings, casting pools of amber light across the worn stone.
Below, the river churned and hissed, its voice a familiar white noise that drowned the city’s clamor.
Miles stopped at an iron-bound door set into the bridge’s fourth massive pier.
Gabriel produced the key from his coat pocket, and the lock clicked open.
This was Riverwatch, formerly the Bridge Warden’s Station, a defunct office that used to monitor traffic between the Scriptor’s Ward on the western side of Averdon—dominated by the Crown’s palace and the wealthy homes of the Spires—and the Guild Quarter on the eastern side of Averdon—dominated by trade and labor.
These days, it was available for rent, and Gabriel had snatched it up to serve as their residence in Averdon.