home

search

B1 | Chapter 41: Blushing Hardwood

  CHAPTER 41: BLUSHING HARDWOOD

  Bartholomew Grimsby’s ballroom had been completely transformed. There was no Solstice Eve tree shimmering at its center, tables were arranged for dining rather than dancing, and dark curtains and sparse candlelight dimmed the entire venue, turning it from the bright, airy space Elias recalled—it had been over a year ago now—into an intimate setting more appropriate for stronger drinks and subtle words of power.

  As expected, the crowd was also considerably smaller and more conservatively dressed. Elias had been able to afford his own suit this time, and while it likely had not cost him as much as most of the suits worn in this particular room, he had invested in a well-made, well-fitted tailcoat. He had invested, he’d reasoned a week earlier, in himself.

  As he stepped back inside that faintly familiar ballroom, Elias already felt it was a good one. It still made him no less an outsider, however, even if it helped hide the fact. And so he did what anyone does upon entering a strange party: he searched for familiar faces. He found the few he expected to find. There was the father, Arthur Graystone, sullenly sipping his sherry while enduring a gaggle of young men who had fenced in the poor family patriarch. There was the son, Edric Graystone, laughing at his own jokes (Elias was not actually within earshot but assumed as much) as he flirted with an audience of two uninterested women (again, a lot of assumptions on Elias’s part). And finally, last but never least, there was the daughter, Abigail Graystone, already seated and chuckling with a few friends Elias did not recognize. The chairs around her were unfortunately filled, but he would find her again, he told himself, plotting his intention like a destination on a map. The two had not spoken since the previous summer and that violent incident in Azir. Would she have since forgiven him or, better yet, changed her point of view?

  He also spotted one familiar face he had not expected to see here, just as he had not expected to see it last time: Constance Eve, though her handsome companion, Lucas Dawnlight, was nowhere in sight.

  Eventually, Elias settled into a seat at the end of one of the room’s many long tables, precisely three tables over from Abigail. He plopped himself down while the chairs around him were still empty, deciding to let his company choose him rather than the other way around. Maybe Bertrand would have been better at this, after all.

  As others gradually joined him, an old man took the stage before Elias could introduce himself. Even from the back of the room, he recognized those pale gray eyes, that snow-white hair, the way he ambled toward the podium as if slightly lost—yet also uniquely found. Their brief exchange at the Solstice Eve Ball had left an impression on the much, much younger man.

  Mr. Grimsby cleared his throat more than once, waiting for them to slowly shush, to adjust their gazes upward, as if he had all the time—not just the money—in the world. “Good evening, fine ladies and eager gentlemen,” he finally said. “I see some new faces tonight.” Hand over brow, he peered over them like a sailor to the horizon. “New faces are important, I always say, or else these events would grow rather stale.”

  There was a murmur of obligatory consensus, but up close, Elias thought a few of his table companions appeared mildly offended.

  “I recently mistook a stale muffin for a fresh one, and I must say, it was no good, no good at all,” Mr. Grimsby informed them. “Though I suppose I still finished it. What does that say about me, I wonder? Perhaps it is important to finish what one starts.” He nodded at this. “I’m told tonight’s dinner will be quite the opposite of a stale muffin, which is to say it will be fresh and undoubtedly delicious. May your company tonight be likewise.” He bowed toward his audience. “Please, if you have not already done so, take your seats.”

  The silence had time to settle before the first person clapped, the rest quickly following.

  Mr. Grimsby escorted himself off the stage and started doing his rounds as waiters and waitresses poured into the ballroom, carrying with them a glittering display of domed silver dishes. Still searching for conversation, Elias overheard one man say “He’s losing it” and a woman reply “He’s charming.”

  Dinner’s first course was a wide array of soups and side dishes, and Elias helped himself to generous portions of all that he could reach. Between bites, slurps, and sips of wine, he made short conversation with those around him, who, while polite enough, ultimately seemed more interested in catching up with one another than in getting to know a total stranger. They feigned fleeting interest in his burgeoning venture, but never for long enough that Elias felt he could raise the idea of investment.

  Perhaps it made him poor company, or maybe he was just too fresh for this stale crowd. He had come here on a mission, to find an investor so that The Two Worlds Trading Company might acquire a lucrative paper mill in the Broken Isles, but the only time he managed to broach the suggestion, his one willing listener was suddenly distracted by something someone said across the table that she just had to chime in on.

  In the end, his most receptive audience was the enigmatic man he had met once before over cheeses, a chief proprietor with deeper pockets than any of them. Still making the rounds, Mr. Grimsby leaned over their table and singled out Elias. “I remember you.” He pointed. “You were at my Solstice Eve Ball a couple of years back. From Acreton, yes?”

  “You remember that?” Elias could hardly believe it.

  “I remember many things, despite what they say about me. You’ve filled out nicely, young man—like a maple in spring.”

  “Thank you.” The blushing hardwood in question struggled to muster a more assured response, and then he recalled the old man’s speech. “Do you get many new guests here? New faces, as you say.” Others were listening in, and for the first time that night, Elias felt he possessed a certain social value, if only by the grace of Mr. Grimsby, whose interest in him piqued everyone else’s.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Not enough,” the evening’s host lamented. “Never enough, I dare say.”

  Rather than dig any deeper into this candid observation, other guests were quick to comment on the food, and Mr. Grimsby was likewise hasty in his retreat. He headed down the long table with a few waves and a “Thanks for coming”—winking at Elias, who concluded that, no, he could not just ask Bartholomew Grimsby for thirty thousand relics.

  He did casually raise the idea once more over dessert, but their newfound fascination with him seemed more surface-level than well-intended, or perhaps he simply needed to find the right investor in this sea of suits. And yet, deep down, he knew it would not be so easy. What would The Two Worlds Trading Company have to give up to make such a deal work, assuming an offer even existed? Elias was not sure, but he had a mind for solutions first and foremost. Details were always a matter of negotiation.

  Eventually, as guests rose from their respective seats and began circling the room like leaves in fall, Elias was once more singled out. “We missed our opportunity to speak when last we saw each other.” Constance Eve stood eye-level with him, her arms half-crossed as she cradled a glass of sherry. She was a handsome woman with an intensity that could almost be felt standing this close. She was, in this regard, quite the opposite of Jalander, the other seasoned collector in his life.

  “Constance,” Elias said. “Nice to see you again.”

  “I don’t believe I ever told you my name,” she replied.

  She waited for his green gaze to meet her own as he searched the room for answers. Lucas. Lucas Dawnlight had spoken her name. He mentioned their run-in in Azir.

  “Yes, I heard about that,” Constance confirmed. “I guess you have a good memory for names. It has gotten a tad stuffy in here, hasn’t it? How would you like to grab some fresh air?”

  As soon as she said it, Elias realized he could desperately use some fresh air. He also could not help his fascination with this woman, nor his discomfort around their meeting. She was Valshynarian, and Elias, well, he was supposed to keep his head low, to stay hidden from people exactly like her. He recalled his conversation with Mitra and her offer of a safe haven.

  Alas, there were no hiding places here, no anonymous alleys to slip into. On the contrary, the aim of tonight’s attendees was to be seen. The two collectors nonetheless found their corner of quiet out on the deck, overlooking Mr. Grimsby’s meticulously manicured garden, its myriad trees and shrubs softly illuminated in the halos of arching oil lamps.

  The evening air was warm for early spring but not without a bit of bite. Elias buttoned up his tailcoat as Constance leaned onto the stone railing overlooking the blooming greenery below. He joined her and commented on the view.

  “I was surprised to see you here,” she said, “and then, once I thought about it, a little less surprised.”

  He feigned ignorance. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “I’m quite sure you do—this and other paths.” She looked at him. “I know what you are, Elias Vice. Our mutual friend, Jalander, will neither confirm nor deny my suspicions, and you may consider yourself lucky for that, assuming you value your independence as I know he still values his.”

  Elias reasoned there was no point in lying from here on out, but he was careful with his disclaimers, worried that nakedly admitting the truth might still put him in some sort of legal peril. He was not sure what laws Constance considered herself duty-bound to adhere, whether she was threatening him now or, perhaps, doing him a favor too.

  “I have my own business now,” he said. “I’m proud of that fact, of what my friends and I have built from nothing. I wouldn’t want to leave it behind, hypothetically speaking.”

  “I do not know what I officially do not know,” she reassured him, “but you deserve to hear another perspective. Jalander’s reservations about the Valshynar are not entirely unfounded, but what society is perfect? What system is flawless? Are the Valshynar beyond reproach? Of course not. But are we necessary? That is the harder question to answer, but it is the better one to ask.”

  As Elias considered this, he spotted two more people crossing the deck behind them, deep in their own intense conversation. They wandered into the garden, eventually stopping at the edge of it, half but not entirely hidden in darkness, their shapes stenciled in the aura of an oil lamp, their shadows painted on the path beneath them. It took Elias a moment, but he recognized them: it was Edric and his father. He could not make out their whispered exchange, though it increasingly rose above a whisper despite their best efforts. They looked angry, he realized. Or rather, Arthur looked angry.

  “I do not expect you to say anything.” Constance interpreted Elias’s distracted silence as an intended one. “But you must know that an unchecked collector can do a great deal of damage. I only hope you yourself do not one day become… an example. You dreamed the dream, so you know our history: the great shattering, an apocalypse that resulted from the unchecked power of men. We contain problems before they can turn into catastrophes. Containment may sound like an undesirable proposition to someone your age, but far fewer people are harmed in the process. Politics is never impeccable, but anarchy is a fool’s dream.”

  “I’m no fool.” Elias finally found his voice. “And I’m not going to make trouble or hurt anyone. I’m just… a businessman.”

  Whether it was intended as a joke, Constance could not help but chuckle. “If only that were true, I suspect you wouldn’t be here tonight. I hear you won your seat at the table through a game of chance. My, what were the odds?”

  “Everyone here won their own game of chance,” Elias said, “when you think about it.”

  “I like you, Elias,” she responded, “which is why I will ask you this once and only once. If you wish to join the Valshynar, tell me now, and we needn’t mention the full account of everything that came before. We are forgiving of those who are open and honest with us.”

  Elias looked everywhere but toward the woman before him and her one-time, life-altering offer—a fair one, he knew, but his answer would be the same one he gave Mitra.

  “Or say nothing at all,” she said under her breath.

  He silently met her gaze.

  “Go enjoy the party,” Constance sighed. “I’m watching you, Elias Vice. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “You too,” he said, smirking.

  She shook her head and wandered back inside, leaving Elias alone to collect his thoughts or perhaps reconsider her offer while there was still time. Though he was not quite as alone as he would have liked. The Graystone men were still bickering about something at the edge of the lawn.

  Elias tried to eavesdrop but couldn’t quite decipher complete sentences over the rustle of leaves. Being a collector had improved many of his natural abilities, but better hearing was apparently not among them.

  Though not all messages were conveyed with words, and such was the last message from Arthur Graystone to his son. Arthur slapped Edric across the face, and not lightly. His son shook, then went rigid. Elias recoiled a little himself, as if taking some of the damage merely from witnessing it. However he felt about Edric—and despite the fact that Elias himself had once punched him into a pyramid of egg tarts—there was something unacceptably sinister about a father striking his son.

  As Arthur stormed away, Elias could not help but feel almost sorry for Edric, wondering now if his hallmark cruelty had been inherited, though Abigail seemed to have eluded the trait. Quickly, he tried to make himself invisible with nowhere to hide, and while Arthur paid him no mind as he passed by, when Elias flashed a look toward Edric, he found the younger Graystone glaring back.

  There was no telescope dividing them now. Indeed, Elias felt the distance between them close in that moment, and in this nearness, he saw in his enemy not simply an aversion to his presence here—but a raw hatred of it.

Recommended Popular Novels