Dangerous Thoughts

Chapter 14

The dinner itself was absolutely delicious: lamb and wine stew, plates of sole accompanied by roasted potatoes and carrots, fowl with picant sauce, and a dazzling display of desserts, from puddings to small cakes. For a while, it was too easy to just be quiet and enjoy the meal—unless you happened to be Thomas Monroe.

Although he sat so close, Charles couldn't seem to get a word in to his father-in-law. Every few seconds, someone new would appear at his side, trying to draw the former battle mage into a conversation. Charles found it tedious to watch every man and woman in high society come up to him, as if stealing a second of his time would cause his power and influence to rub off. Eventually, Charles realized it was best to let him be—he could always congratulate him later in the evening.

Instead, his eyes fell to the man seated to his right, Mister Fox. He seemed perfectly content to eat his meal in silence, but then caught Charles' glance and he quickly dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.

"Sorry, have I got something on my face?"

"No, no," Charles said, feeling a touch embarrassed. "I just realized we haven't met before. I'm Charles Abbot—"

"The memory mage," Mister Fox said with a knowing nod. "And Miss Monroe's fiancée. You're well known, Mister Abbot. And likely wondering what a dusty old bookworm like me is doing at the seat of honor."

It was true that Charles had been wondering the exact thing, but the man's bluntness startled him. Charles started to babble out an excuse when the man shook his head. "No need to be embarrassed, Mister Abbot. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure why I'm seated here either. I think I'm just Thomas' current favorite—I'm sure he cycles through them."

"He does have a point," came a new voice from further down the table. Charles looked up and saw that the comment had come from a man seated across from Juliette. He wore a striking black suit jacket embroidered with hundreds of small golden threads. The lights from the chandelier seemed to bounce off the threads which matched the glimmer in his dark almond eyes.

Before Charles could ask for an introduction, the man gave it himself. "Leland Morgan," he said, and Charles recognized the name: this was the owner of the largest textile mill in the city.

Mister Morgan continued, unabashedly, "Thomas does like to play favorites, although his whims are fickle. What did you find for him, Mister Fox—a really good book?"

Mister Fox smiled back at him. "Several. He's a collector, you know."

"As, yes of course." Mister Morgan sipped from his wine glass. "Well, everyone's eyes are on you, Mister Fox. Look around—these vapid souls all envy your position. You should enjoy the seat of power... while you can."

Charles couldn't quite tell if Mister Morgan was threatening the other man or just being crass. He looked over at Mister Monroe to see if he had overheard the exchange, but he seemed too engrossed in another conversation to have noticed. Thankfully, Mister Fox didn't seem to take Mister Morgan's comments to heart. Perhaps he wasn't used to the games of the rich, but he just smiled and took another contented bite of his chicken, "mmm"ing softly as he did.

"Mister Fox," Charles said, doing his best to turn his back on Mister Morgan, "what sort of books do you sell?"

"Well, all sorts. First edition literature. Historical maps. Spell books. You name it."

"I'm a bit of a collector myself," Charles said, which was partially true; he left out the fact that the books he "collected" were the cheap versions he had been holding onto ever since he had had enough money to afford a book. He had a feeling that despite Mister Fox's plain exterior, he dealt with more lucrative texts. "I'd love to see what you have."