Part Twenty Five – Departure and the Gift
Jonathan slipped through the hall's double doors, the heavy air of the wedding pressing against his back like a weight. His skin still prickled from Albert's words, from that unshakable stare that had carved into him like a scalpel. He needed air, distance, anything but that ballroom.
The night outside was drenched in fog. Lamps glowed pale along the drive, their light dissolving into the mist. He pulled his coat tighter, the chill clinging to his bones.
A figure stepped forward from the haze. Lord Madeiya. Tall, austere, his cane gleaming with the faintest trace of silver. At his side, a servant struggled under the weight of a polished oak box bound in iron clasps.
"Leaving so soon, young Hanns?" Madeiya's voice was smooth, but beneath it, there was something like curiosity sharpened into a blade.
Jonathan offered a stiff bow. "It has been a long evening, my lord."
Madeiya studied him for a breath, then gestured to the box. The servant lifted the lid. Inside lay a book of weathered tomes, its spine cracked and stained, bindings etched with faded sigils. Jonathan's stomach tighten.
"This," Madeiya said softly, "was commissioned by your late father during my last trip to Varecia, Paid for in full. Arcane Knowledge—banned under every council law worth its ink but we all have our secrets, and we look after one another."
His eyes lingered on Jonathan's face, gauging every twitch. "Tell me, Young Master Hanns… do you know why your father, Raymond Hanns sought such knowledge?"
The name—his father's name—landed like a hammer. Jonathan's throat tightened. Behind his eyes flickered the memory of prints in his father's study.
But he forced his face still, his voice steady. "No, my lord. I've no idea, perhaps just another piece to his collection ."
Madeiya's lips curved, not quite a smile, not quite disbelief. He leaned closer, his cane tapping the stones between them. "Ah, yes, perhaps,"
Jonathan swallowed, his palms damp.
Madeiya straightened, the mask of courtesy snapping back into place. "Whatever the case, this book is yours now. It belongs to your house, and your house alone. Try not to put any up for a public display, Forget them if you can."
He gestured, and the servant closed the lid with a dull snap. "But do not mistake its silence for safety."
The box was pressed into Jonathan's arms, heavier than it should have been. The weight sank into him—not only of wood and paper, but of expectation, of mystery, of danger he could not yet name.
"Thank you, Lord Madeiya," Jonathan murmured, though the words felt hollow.
The older man inclined his head. "And if you have any requests of any kind and I mean any kind in the near future, Do not hesitate to call on me, A hanns can always rely on A Madeiyas."
His eyes flickered with meaning Jonathan could not decipher.
The fog rolled in thicker as Jonathan's car pulled away, the box beside him on the seat like a silent passenger.
Through the misted glass he glimpsed Lord Madeiya one last time, standing tall, watching, his figure dissolving into haze but his gaze lingering—sharp, unreadable, unrelenting.
Jonathan looked away, clutching the box tighter. Another secret. Another burden. Another shadow his father had left behind.