CHAPTER 29: JADE POSSESSION

  While time was of the essence to procure a proper, permanent warehouse, Elias had spent the remainder of the previous day organizing the unloading of cargo into their upstairs office, having failed to consider just how grueling the addition of stairs would make their last-minute storage facility. Taking it all back down the next morning was only slightly preferable, and Elias realized—helping as best he could, for he was technically stronger than any of them—that he had earned the goodwill of his workers. Their willingness to put up with this was proof of that. In contrast, the downstairs candlemaker was not happy, not happy at all.

  Bertrand, meanwhile, had made himself useful by following the instructions in Abigail Graystone’s newspaper ad. He had visited her office shortly after their conversation about it and booked a tour for them the next day. Offers, he reported back, would be considered at the end of the week. But the real, near-term question for Elias was whether to join Bertrand on said tour, and the only conclusion he could arrive at was that he had to. It was a big business decision, and he reasoned that it would be weirder if he did not go. “Abigail doesn’t hate you,” Bertrand had reminded him. “If anything, your presence could bolster our plight. She has a soft spot for you. Just don’t be weird. You can manage that.”

  Standing in front of a relatively modest brick warehouse with an address that matched the one Bertrand had been provided, Elias was less certain of this. His large friend patted him on the shoulder as he took a deep breath.

  “I’m fine,” Elias said. “Let’s get ourselves this warehouse.”

  Bertrand opened the building’s creaking metal door and gestured for him to go first.

  Elias paused for only a second, then walked into a very empty space. Empty, that is, if not for the distant silhouette of a waiting woman, whose expectant expression he could imagine even before its reveal. He adjusted his own and reminded himself that the first word would be the hardest. Bertrand may as well have disappeared.

  In the end, the words chose themselves. “Nice place” sort of just tumbled out of his mouth.

  “It’s an empty warehouse in need of a few repairs and a fresh coat of paint,” Abigail replied. “But she does produce a lovely echo if you fancy singing a song.”

  Elias fancied other things. “Good to see you.”

  “It’s been a bit, hasn’t it, Mr. Vice?”

  Mr. Vice. So formal. So cold. Or was she teasing him?

  “Yes, Miss—Mrs. Graystone.” At least she had kept her own surname, perhaps because she was still a Graystone heiress and a company executive, or perhaps because she was Abigail Graystone.

  “Pleasant morning, Abigail.” Bertrand reappeared beside Elias as if from nowhere.

  “And to you, Bertrand,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve chatted since your engagement with Amara. I’ve only heard her side of things.”

  “Her side? I didn’t realize we were doing sides.”

  “It was all very flattering.”

  “Even the part where I punched a little boy?”

  Abgail’s questioning smirk split Elias back open. “She may have skipped over that detail.”

  “Well, now I must explain myself, lest you think you’d be selling your warehouse to a puncher of children. So, there was a skating accident.”

  “Say no more, Bertrand,” she stopped him. “I’ve witnessed a few.”

  He exhaled a heavy sigh. “Thank you for sparing me the agony of reliving the event.”

  She stepped forward and touched his wide shoulder. “I just wanted to say that I am incredibly excited for your wedding, though not as excited as you, I imagine. Next spring, is it? Time will fly faster than you think.”

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  Elias, who was still standing there uncharacteristically silent, realized that Bertrand and Abigail had an experience in common that he did not: the planning of a wedding. It settled over him uncomfortably. Or maybe he just didn’t like reminders that she was a married woman, as if he ever forgot. In his own way, Elias was anticipating the wedding too, in large part because he had known she would be there.

  But now she was here.

  Abigail did not touch Elias’s shoulder, and yet she pulled him back into the conversation with a half turn of her head, her almond eyes meeting his emerald ones. “I suppose we must separate the personal from the professional,” she said. “What do you think of the warehouse?”

  Elias nodded approvingly. “It’s everything your ad said it was.”

  “A warehouse in the desirable warehouse district of approximately five thousand square feet,” she repeated. “Could use updating but is in workable condition.”

  “Beautifully put,” Bertrand added. “Our needs are, of course, practical. The warehouse works, and we do want it. Thus, it is a matter of price and availability.”

  “Isn’t it always,” she said. “I imagine you have some means now. I know Elias sits in the House of Merchants these days. Congratulations on that, by the way.”

  “Did your brother mention it?” Elias inquired.

  She chuckled. “More like I overheard him, and I do check these things myself, you know. For example, it is my understanding that you’ve partnered with the Serpent Moon Syndicate. Perhaps you could explain to me how that unlikely arrangement came about. Is this connected to that Valshynarian man you helped back in Azir?”

  She would never forget that night, it seemed. Nor would Elias, especially knowing what he knew now about Lucas. “They’re not the Valshynar, not technically,” he said. “Though the man you’re thinking of, he sort of still is—it’s complex. But Serpent Moon Syndicate members are no longer Valshynarian. They’re their own thing, and yes, we have a perfectly legal partnership with them. I had crossed paths with their leader before, and she suggested an arrangement that could be mutually beneficial.”

  It was all true enough. He did not wish to lie to her, though he still left out important details. Indeed, Elias was no longer sure whether he even needed to hide his true nature anymore. Their secrets were slipping out, rumor by rumor, often in the form of half-true hearsay. The regulars did not know what exactly had happened earlier that year, but they now knew that something had, and Constance made it one of her missions to ensure they at least understood that the Serpent Moon Syndicate was not to be mistaken for the Valshynar or, for the matter, the lesser known, Azirian-headquartered Four Winds Alliance.

  “If I were to sell to you, I’m sure it goes without saying that my brother would not be pleased,” Abigail said. “Nor my father in normal times, though he’s hardly himself these days.”

  Elias knew from his sessions in the House of Merchants that Arthur Graystone’s sickness had persisted, a regrettable fact for Elias too, as Edric still retained his not-so-temporary position on council. “I’m sorry about your father. I hope he gets better.”

  She did not comment on that, returning instead to logistics. “I could sell you the warehouse through one of our neglected subsidiaries, which should keep him from noticing—Edric is not a details person—but that assumes you make me the best offer. The Transcontinental Trading Company is willing to pay twenty thousand relics for this space. If you can match that and do me a small favor, I shall spare you a bidding war. Consider it an early wedding gift for Bertrand.”

  Twenty thousand. It was exactly the price they had anticipated—and near the top end of their budget, even with Constance chipping in. “Anything for you, Mrs. Graystone,” Bertrand said, smiling. “Name your favor.”

  “It relates to another gift, actually, this one for my mother,” she told them. “It will be her fiftieth birthday in a month, and as rich women are wont to do, she enjoys collecting things that are nigh impossible to collect.”

  A fellow collector. Suppressing a smirk, Elias never uttered the joke aloud.

  “Her rare, expensive poison: antique necklaces,” Abigail went on. “She has her own miniature museum. Really, you should see it. Golden pieces from ancient Azir. Dazzling sapphires from Belrania’s Regency Era—am I boring you boys?”

  “Not at all,” Bertrand replied. “Sounds like another great heist.”

  After a silent second, no one could stop themselves from laughing, if only a little in Abigail’s case.

  “We’ll be adding to the junk pile this time, I’m afraid,” she said. “A fellow necklace collector—and occasional rival of my mother—lives in Saint Albus of all places, goes by the name of Bjorn Halvorson. Do you know him?”

  “Is that Iric’s brother?” Bertrand asked.

  “It is,” Elias confirmed. “I’ve met the man once. He’s an interesting fellow.”

  “He is also in possession of a unique jade necklace from the old Northern Empire that my mother has had her eye on since I was a babe,” Abigail explained. “I’ve been writing Mr. Halvorson about the piece for the past year, and I believe I have finally convinced him to part ways with the necklace—for the right price, of course. In any event, I’ve done my research, and you’re one of the few companies that trades in Saint Albus on a regular basis.”

  “It’s a long trip from Sailor’s Rise,” Elias confirmed. “Most traders won’t fly there directly. But as we discovered as a new venture, there is always a market for speed. I take it you want us to purchase the necklace for you? We’re heading up in a week, so your timing is impeccable.”

  “Not quite,” Abigail said. “Bjorn does not wish to hand off such a precious piece anonymously, and I need to confirm its authenticity for myself. I shall not reveal to you the exorbitant price I’m paying, though I know how much Mother will value it. All of which is to say that I must go there personally to complete the transaction. I must go with you.”

  And just as Elias had begun to believe he could survive a few hours of Abigail Graystone’s intoxicating presence at Bertrand’s spring wedding, he found himself reeling once again. He had not steeled himself for this.