Chapter 8
"Why, Father? Why did you allow Gilbert to contract with Raven? That boy is not of Nightray blood!"
Even from the other side of the Nightray manor, Gilbert could hear Claude's fury. He let his eyes close; after the restless nightmare of the past month (Had it only been that long? It felt like years since he had survived his confrontation with the Raven...), all he wanted was true sleep. Not that strange realm pulled on Raven's wings, chasing after a mystery being through a gray landscape.
Another muffled outcry below. Claude really isn't having it, is he?
Gilbert lay on the bed with all of his clothes on: an attempt was made earlier in the evening for him to dress and make an appearance at supper, something he knew was very important tonight... He sighed, and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to recall exactly why. After being woken from the latest bout of half-remembered dreams by Vincent, Gilbert's stomach heaved. He assumed it was simply hunger; he had barely eaten since he accepted his role as the Nightray's dark blade.
But once he dressed (on his own, for he nearly growled at Vincent to leave him alone), the room began to teeter, and the distance echo of a hundred voices vibrated in his ears...
...thief...
...which made him tumble backwards onto the bed. There, he stared at the canopy that draped the banisters, wondering if it was worth the effort to rise again.
The soft creak of the door stirred his attention. Gilbert's eye glared from his prone position, another sharp retort for his younger brother at his lips.
"Gilbert."
He bit his tongue; the wrong brother stood at his bedside.
"I did knock first," Elliot mumbled. He entered at a slight hunch, hands tucked away in his pockets.
Gil tried to muster some energy and failed. "Yeah..."
"You all right?"
"Yeah..." He let his eyes close again, willing for some peace to enter his mind to drive away all of that dull throbbing focused at the base of his skull. The flapping of dozens of wings.
"Good for you."
The compliment stirred his awareness. He blinked, unsure what to say. Elliot had been next in line to try for the Raven, if it hadn't been for Gilbert. At least that was the argument Ernest and Claude had made to Lord Nightray even though the youngest Nightray barely reached his eleventh year. Gilbert had no idea what Elliot had thought of the plan and recalled the faint prickling of guilt that he was stealing away something precious from the boy. Often, when they were alone, Gilbert meant to ask the question, but every time it would rise up, he squished it down as being something irrelevant. If Elliot was truly angry at losing the family chain, Gilbert would've been the first to know.
No, that is a lie: the Raven was a terror, Gilbert was saving Elliot from this torment and-
"You became Raven's contractor," Elliot's voice, slightly curious, pierced Gilbert's grim thoughts like a ray of light. "Claude and company were just kicking up a fuss about it." A slight shift on the mattress as Elliot perched on its edge.
From this vantage point, Gilbert caught another look at his youngest foster sibling to see another surprise. Instead of his sailor play outfit or his school uniform, Elliot was a somber figure dressed head to toe in black. A coal frock coat and trousers turned the young preteen into a replica of his father. Not even that wooden sword remained at his side.
"What was it like? Making that contract with Raven?" Another microscopic shift of weight, as if Elliot was bracing himself to be sent away again, like Lady Nightray had the day Gilbert met the Raven.
What day is it? Gilbert turned his head to face Elliot. How long had he been trapped in that awful limbo between sleep and wakefulness? For a moment, he believed months had passed, and Elliot had grown up, and he had forgotten all sense of time as if plunged through a rabbit hole into a bizarre fairyland.
He blinked again and a sigh escaped him. He saw Elliot's shoulders tense in anxiety and resolve. Poor sweet boy, you shouldn't ask what I saw.
But Gilbert told him anyway, avoiding the ghastlier aspects. No mention of the gore (though he was sure Elliot must've seen). No mention of the cold hard fear in his throat as he felt the life leaking out of him. No mention of how Gilbert nearly lost the contract when the Chain accused him of offering his blood to another.
Elliot listened, enraptured, until Gilbert got to the point that the Raven plucked their own neck and their ichor, thick and steaming, dripped down-
"You drank Raven's blood!" Eyes wide, face pale, Elliot looked every inch the child he was and not the young man he was trying to become.
If Gilbert wasn't near faint from exhaustion, he would've chuckled. Instead, he pulled out the carcere, the shining gold and glass bauble which contained his contract with the Raven and explained its purpose.
"I've come this far just to obtain it... Now, I can finally..."
Enter the Abyss.
Free Oz.
Save him.
The words died on his lips as he glanced at Elliot again. The boy's brow furrowed; his hands became fists at his side. Had it appeared that Gilbert was gloating?
The moment of uncertainly between them rose.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, letting his hand holding the carcere drop as he used that palm to cover his eyes. "This should have been yours... but I..."
"Are you mocking me?"
By the Abyss... Gilbert should've known-
Elliot abruptly stood up, rocking the bed. "Even if I don't have the Raven's powers, I will do whatever I can to support this family!"
Astonished, Gilbert gaped as Elliot continued: "So as a Nightray yourself, as the one who inherited the Raven, and as my brother-"
A warm sense of relief filled Gilbert's chest. The boy before him gave a sharp look over his shoulder. "Make sure you fulfill your duties as well!" Gilbert thought Elliot was about to grasp his hand, pull him up off the bed, and drag him downstairs to confront his elder foster family about their undermining accusations against Gilbert's strength. He suppressed a small smile; of course Elliot would be the one to defend him.
But before Elliot could reach for him, a loud banging interrupted their convention.
"Elliot! Elliot, are you here?"
The door to the bedroom opened and Vanessa, flustered and red-cheeked, came bounding in. If looks were daggers, Gilbert would be sure hers would've kept him pinned to the bedspread. "We've been looking everywhere for you! You can't keep your guests waiting."
"Guests...?" Was that the undercurrent of noise? Now that Gilbert's senses became more attuned to his surroundings, a realization dawned. It wasn't screeching or flapping of wings, but the low susurrus of the string quartet playing downstairs, mingling with light chatter.
"I only wanted to make sure Gilbert was in good spirits," Elliot protested. "I didn't want him to miss the party."
"Party?" Gilbert struggled up on his elbows. In his fogginess earlier he had completely forgotten the real reason he was so motivated to present himself as normal. "My foremost duty had completely slipped my mind today," he said apologetically. He gave a half-smile and offered his hand up to his little foster brother. "Many congratulations on your birthday, Elliot."
Elliot completed his intention: yanking Gilbert to his feet and clapping a hand to his shoulder. "I guess I didn't need to remind you," he snapped, but a soft flush of happiness touched his cheeks. Turning eleven, while not as important as the coming-of-age at fifteen, was still significant for any young person: in fantasy stories of old, it was an age where magic bloodlines were revealed and family destinies foretold. Even though Elliot wasn't getting the family's Chain as his inheritance, he still deserved some sort of special recognition.
Vanessa rolled her eyes and turned a trim-cut heel. Her short swallowtail jacket fluttered behind her. "Now that your business with the ward is finished, someone is here to see you."
Gilbert and Elliot exited and the boy exclaimed.
"Fred!"
"Elliot. Gilbert." The older gentleman removed his top hat and coat and passed it to the head butler, who gave a swift bow before carrying them away. "Thank you for retrieving them, darling," he said to Vanessa, kissing the top of her head as she passed. Vanessa tried not to look embarrassed by the affection and she playfully swatted his shoulder. "I have to go see that Ernest isn't making trouble in the setting up the ballroom," she said, taking the stairs down three at the time.
"I thought you were going to be away on business." Elliot grabbed his eldest brother by the waist in a tackle and the two roughhoused, until Fred eventually won by lifting his youngest sibling off the ground and hauling him underneath one arm like a sack of flour.
Gilbert kept his eyes over the banister, focused on the gathering group of arriving nobles, trying to ignore how their playfulness did not include him.
Fred gave a great baritone laugh of triumph and mussed up Elliot's hair. "I have very important business here tonight."
"Yeah?" Elliot tilted his head. "You're not staying?"
"Oh, but I am. Part of the business includes you." Fred put him down and straightened the boy's jacket and tie. "Father and I brought a surprise."
The youth's face lit up. "Now?"
"Later." Fred clasped the back of Elliot's neck and smiled. "Now join your new friend and greet the guests."
Elliot started down the stairs, but hesitated. "Gil, you're coming too?"
"Why wouldn't I? Fred, always a pleasure to see you." Gilbert presented a hand to shake and was caught off-guard by Fred's grip, which was much more tense than a trained diplomat's should be.
"Young Gilbert, the Duke and I have a surprise for you as well." Fred's winter-colored eyes glinted. "Be sure to stay until the end."
At the grand doors to the ballroom, the three of them waited to be announced. Gilbert hesitated in line, unsure where to stand. Since being introduced to high society, he didn't often take advantage of the many invitations sent his way. Even at Nightray occasions, he usually didn't arrive until much later, not to be caught before people of higher rank. No one wanted to be welcomed after the family ward.
"Presenting Lord Frederic Nightray," called the head butler. On the marble landing, the Duke's son surveyed the room - or, rather, he allowed enough time for the guests to acknowledge his appearance - before gracefully descending the lushly-carpeted steps and welcoming his parents.
Gilbert held himself waiting for Elliot to go next, until the youth positioned himself beside the head butler and imitated his rigid stance.
"Presenting Master Gilbert Nightray," he said solemnly and winked as Gilbert stepped forward. Gilbert's cheeks pinked, and the two exchanged open grins.
From around the room, the chatter subdued as Gilbert let the nobles' assessing glances weigh on his shoulders. His grin quickly wilted as he swallowed hard, not knowing how to respond. A speech? A short bow?
"Erm," he began, before others interceded.
"Happy birthday, Elly!"
Ernest burst forth from the onlookers and galloped up to the landing to scoop Elliot in a whirl-about hug, pushing Gilbert off to the side as he did so. "Many congratulations, my little man!"
"Eeeernest!" Elliot swatted his brother's shoulder in half-annoyance, and Vanessa took that moment to muss his hair with a playful fist at the top of his wheat-gold locks. "Don't call him little," she said. "He looks rather miniscule for eleven years old."
"Not you too!" Elliot huffed. Vanessa and Ernest shared a look and a joyful laugh.
"Presenting Master Elliot Nightray, the man of honor!" they chorused. Placing Elliot on their shoulders, Vanessa and Ernest carried him to the waiting guests to receive their well-wishes. Claude guided the attendees after giving his youngest brother a hardy pat on the back and a glowing smile that contrasted with his usual dour expression. Gilbert gave a nod of encouragement in Elliot's direction and made his way down, trailing a hand along the banister, grateful to be removed from the spotlight.
Yet seeing the five natural Nightray siblings together, chatting animatedly and exchanging wits, made Gilbert slightly jealous. Elliot proclaimed that Gilbert was his brother too, as much as his blood kin, but the elder Nightrays would never treat him with any level of camaraderie.
"What a raucous pack of fools." A hand slipped into the crook of his arm and a blond head rested against his shoulder. "Making all the fuss about themselves, brother, when Elly was granting you some acknowledgment."
"Think nothing of it, Vince," Gilbert replied. "It's not proper for me to take away from his birthday." He tried to control the sudden race of his heart and the need to withdraw. Instead, he fought that instinct and placed his opposite hand on the arm that Vincent linked with his, tightening the hold. He shouldn't be envious of another family relationship, when he had a strong one beside him.
Vincent visibly relaxed and exhaled, as if he too expected rejection. "Look at all of them, preening and kowtowing to Elly." A sneer twisted his features. "When we all know the favor those noble scum really desire is the Duke's. Or, perhaps, yours."
Gilbert shook his head. "I don't think no one else knows I wield the Raven, unless the family had made an announcement you failed to inform me of."
"Big brother knows I try my hardest to keep him informed." Vincent steered the two of them to a far corner of the ballroom. As they mingled among the guests, Gilbert suddenly became aware how they moved as a couple and a flush started up at the base of his neck. "Vincent, let us take a drink."
By the refreshments, Gilbert broke Vincent's arm to pour cordial from the giant crystal cut bowl. "Any more news then?" He glanced sidelong. "From Pandora?"
"Not a peep." Their gloved fingers touched as Vincent accepted his cup. He smirked and took a sip. "Expecting anything?"
"Well, I hoped Break would have sent word by now. Or... do you think Lord Zai had intercepted us?"
A low chuckle. Vincent dragged a finger along the rim of his glass. "I should hope not." He tapped that same finger upon Gil's nose. "Maybe I should use my methods to relay your messages for you, hmm?"
He fidgeted. "This is a matter I would like to remain between Break and myself. No need to get you involved."
"It's not a hassle." Vincent leaned in closer, cutting the inches between them. "What's more important than assisting you in any way I can?"
Looking into his brother's gaze, Gilbert forgot to breathe.
"Excuse me."
The two broke apart immediately. A bespectacled youth with a mop of dark black hair jabbed his way between them, cups in hand and a book tucked underneath one arm. "I'm trying to get some punch here." Despite his servant dress, his tone was far from subservient.
Vincent gave the youth a cool, disaffected stare. "Can't you see you are interrupting a private conversation?"
"Then take your conversation away from the food." The boy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Gilbert couldn't help but notice that he had the most extraordinary-colored eyes (Oh, why was he so preoccupied by eyes now? To keep his mind off Vincent's all-encompassing ones?).
"Hey, Leo!" Elliot bounded by the boy's side. He carried his own book and Gilbert noticed they were volumes about those knights Elliot recently got into. "I told you I can get my own drink."
Leo rolled his eyes. "Then tell Master Claude that. He's the one insisting that I serve you as your valet."
"Valet?" Gilbert and Vincent exchanged glances. "I wasn't aware of new additions to the help," Vincent said smoothly.
"Well, he just arrived last week. But we've known each other for awhile. Um, from the orphanage." Gilbert recalled that Lady Nightray encouraged her children to volunteer there often to help develop good moral character. Elliot ducked his head, scratching the back awkwardly. "Ernest said I should finally have a manservant of my own. For the party."
Leo sniffed. "Well, wrap me with a bow and tell me congratulations. I hadn't realized I was part of your special occasion."
Elliot sighed. "You're not a gift, Leo. It's just... Ernest said it was a noble son's duty to present himself well."
"They don't have servants at their beck and call," Leo pointed out, gesturing to Gilbert and Vincent. He tilted his head and looked about. "Unless they're hiding under the tablecloth."
Elliot gave Leo a good-natured shove and snatched the cups from his hand. "Stop it. Now let's get some punch," he quickly meted out the portions, "and get you out of the way."
"So I'm just the lad who gets in the way, eh? Not what a decent valet does?"
"Whatever, Leo." But the two exchanged amused looks as they dashed off, books and cups in hand.
Gilbert smiled. How many times had he and Oz acted the same together, excited to share their thoughts about the latest novel or serial?
Vincent's snide words cut into the air. "What a cheap ploy to assert Elliot's superiority in the family."
"Why do you keep saying things like that?" Gilbert clenched his drink and retreated to a further corner, moving briskly past other guests and out of Vincent's reach. He stopped by a set of velvet draperies beside the balcony doors and chugged the rest of the punch. An alcoholic edge to the drink burned down his throat and he pulled a face. Ernest probably spiked it. He hoped Elliot and Leo wouldn't imbibe too much, then.
Vincent pulled the curtain down behind him, leaving both of them cocooned in dim blue. "How do you mean?"
"Like everything is a power move against us." Gilbert kept his voice low, but added a sharp tack to his words. "And the way you keep putting the Nightray family down at Elliot's expense. They love him, and I love him too, and none of this bitterness is warranted."
Vincent's expression turned blank. "You say those words so easily."
"Yes, I do!" Gilbert blinked. "Why is that an issue?"
Behind him, he sensed someone stirring.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELLIOT!"
Both men recoiled as a third leapt from the drapery's shadows.
"B-break-?" Gilbert spluttered.
"Now where is the lovely young lad of the hour? I hadn't offered my congrats!" Break smirked. For some reason, despite having appeared seemingly out of nowhere, the Pandora senior officer also held a china plate piled high with sweets taken from the refreshments table. He tucked an entire cookie into his mouth and mumbled around it. "Well, if he isn't here then, I shall find him soon enough." Shoving the plate into Vincent's hands, he grabbed Gilbert's cup and tossed that too in Vincent's direction. "Gilbert, a word."
"Hold on, you clow-" Vincent juggled his drink, on top of the thrown items, spilling punch and sending several small cakes to the floor. Gil opened his mouth to protest, only to be grabbed roughly by the shoulders and pulled toward the wall.
"Ta-ta, sewer rat!" Break called behind them as he pushed them through the shadows-
- and escaped, quite suddenly, to the balcony. Break dragged him to the elaborately-wrought iron railing, beneath the shade of some overhanging gargoyles. "Oh, how smashing running into you. Who would've thought I finally would have the opportunity, after so very long!"
Gilbert's back hit against the rail and he hissed in a stage whisper, "Break! By the hell's Abyss! I've been trying to get in touch with you for weeks."
"I suspected." Instantly, Break's joviality stopped. He gave a look around to ensure they were alone. The coolness of the evening ensured that few guests had chosen to linger outside. "You've been one tough spy to communicate with, left eye."
'Left eye' was Break's personal code word for Gilbert, since he was supposed to be acting as Break's insight into the Nightray household. The young man shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry. I think Vincent may have something to do with that."
A snort. "May have?"
"He only has my best welfare in mind." Or so you keep telling yourself. "He had the right to be cautious. I thought you'd be at my contract ceremony, but Lord Zai showed up in your stead."
"That conniving weasel," Break admitted. "He attended under everyone's nose, even Lord Barma's." Now it was Gilbert's turn to scowl. "But he didn't go alone. Lady Sharon observed using her Chain."
Of course. It was known by very few people that Lady Sharon Rainsworth had a Chain of her own, Equus, who spied from the shadows. "Has she been tracking him?"
"For awhile, yes. But she hadn't been able to get a hold of him much after your ceremony, I'm afraid. Lord Zai hasn't given her an opportunity since. And," Break added off-handedly, "my mistress has been deeply worried about you too." Lady Sharon rarely left the manor nowadays, since she had not aged since her thirteen-year-old self contracted the Chain, and society would start to notice how youthful the girl remained.
Break frowned. "Duke Barma has been getting high annoyed with Vincent's antics. He's demanding that both of you make an appearance at Pandora to demonstrate your ability with the Raven."
"A duty I'd willingly fulfill..." Gilbert bit his lower lip. "But I'm unsure how my performance would be."
"How so?"
"The Raven is a monster, Break." After holding in his anxieties so long, Gilbert couldn't contained them anymore. "I had no idea what it is like to wield a Chain, but that- that flock of wretchedness has been pushing me to the brink of sanity. There are voices, so many voices, in my head, and when we were contracted, the Raven accused me of trying to deceive it and I don't understand why; I keep flying about in my dreams, it feels like the flock is trying to tear apart everything that is myself, just my own self being subsumed by the Raven entirely and sometimes I can't even control my own body I tried to shoot my own damn left arm and I can't sleep anymore and they keep demanding I surrender some kind of thief, and I don't know how much longer I can control it I'm afraid the Raven will take me over, Break, they'll take me whole and I'll be gone and, and-"
"Whoa there," Break soothed. He placed his hands on Gilbert's shoulders and made him bend forward. "Breathe, man, breathe!"
Gilbert gasped, bracing his knees with his head down. That Raven's mark burned against his neck, suppressing his very voice. "Dear stars above and below," he mumbled. "I don't know myself, anymore, Break. I'm going mad."
The older man rubbed circles into his back, tsking under his breath. "Aren't we all mad here?" he murmured. "But calm yourself, Gil. You're not gone yet."
A flask from the man's copious sleeve flashed in the moonlight. "Drink this."
Gilbert straightened up and took a sip. The burn, more intense than the punch, made him choke. He coughed into his palm and pushed the flask into Break's hands.
"Don't forget to breathe..."
He nodded vigorously, coughing again. "Is this... what it's like? Did the Mad Hatter do this to you?"
The man went so silent Gilbert wondered if he even heard the question.
"Yes," Break finally answered. "Very much." He gave a twisted grin and took a swing of the flask himself. "They had to lock me in manacles in the Pandora basement for three days as the Hatter ran around my brain. Yet I'm here." Another swing. "You see, Gilbert," Break said somberly. "Each Chain demands a price from its contractor. Or a sacrifice, if you think of the old histories on how contracts work. Until that price is paid, your mental connection with the Chain will be unbalanced. You have to tame the Chain, find yourself on equal footing with the creature, or else you risk having it take control."
Gilbert gasped. "Possession?"
"Nothing that extreme, I should hope. But the power you wield over it will be limited."
"So I won't be able to use the Raven's full potential unless I find what it wants?"
"Exactly. Given the demands from Pandora, you best figure out your connection to the Raven soon."
"What could possibly happen if it doesn't work out?" But the tightening in his chest was justified by Break's next words.
Break eyed the carcere lying at the base of Gilbert's throat. "Pandora grants final authority on who contracts Chains. If you can't bond to the Raven, they'll transfer the power to another Nightray who can."
A clatter of breaking dishes came from the corner of the ballroom, but no one noticed. Vincent ground a shard of crystal beneath one heel, gritting his teeth. A puddle of red pooled by his feet, but he continued stomping, mashing together bits of glass, fine bone china, and ruined cakes and cookies until it became an unrecognizable heap resembling broken bodies. He scoffed, exhaled loudly, wiped the grime from his shoes and stepped out of the draperies.
That damned clown and that bitch with the stallion. Vincent knew he couldn't avoid the powers of Rainsworth forever, and now that clown dragged Gilbert off to who knows where.
master?
whispered the Dormouse.
you
called?
No, snapped Vincent, Go away.
hrumphf
said the Dormouse and scurried away into the depths of his mind.
More caustic than the hatred Vincent felt for Break was the resentment at Gil's simple words.
"They love him, and I love him too, and none of this bitterness is warranted."
"I'll show you bitter, brother," Vincent hissed. "So bitter you choke!" Dark visions flashed across his imagination: Gilbert, straddled on his bed, gagging on Vincent, moaning-
He clasped his hand over his mouth, stunned. No, he wasn't angry at Gilbert. Not his sweet, foolish brother, doting on a mere child. A silly headstrong boy anyone could adore.
The punch had spilled upon his gloves, staining the lambskin red. Vincent could feel the sickly sweet residue on his cheeks. Immediately, he rubbed his mouth harshly, trying to remove the sensation. He stifled a sob and ripped off the gloves, tossing them to the marble floor. Damn Nightray bastards!
Those monsters were using Gilbert. Over a month passed while Gilbert lain in bed, and those elders never visited, not even once. A couple hours ago, Claude was throwing a temper tantrum in the Duke's study. That soulless, vapid ingrate. And Ernest the gambling boozer. And Vanessa the hot-tempered twit. And Elliot, what a spoiled brat, what a puffed-up piece of nothing...
Chords of singing wrapped around Vincent and he shook his head from its dark haze.
"Cheers for the king!
Cheers for the queen!
Cheers for the lad on being seen!
Three cheers for all and for one!
Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"
He found himself on the edge of the gathering nobles, their toasting song in full swing, and Elliot hoisted upon a chair, as tradition dictated. The king's seat for the birthday boy.
"Drink to the Duke! To the Duchess! To the Duke's son!"
Elliot's cheeks were flushed, and he laughed as Ernest and Claude lowered the seat to a round of clapping and toasting.
Vincent tried hard to withhold the gagging in his throat. Someone pushed a fluted glass in his hands and Vincent downed its contents in one go.
The orchestra changed its tune to a lively dancing song and immediately Vincent shoved past the party-goers before he was swept into the mess. After several minutes of struggling against the flow of ruffles, feathers, tailcoats, and stomping boots, he managed clear the throng and took another glass from a passing servant.
"I love him too."
Down went the wine. Vincent was never much of a drinker – too cautious, too keen on observing others instead – but this moment he did not care.
The floor began to sway. The wiser part of Vincent knew he was being an idiot, that he should not descend down this path any further...
"I love him too."
Vincent found himself by the grand stairwell and sat upon the bottom step. A buzzing started in his ears. He was feeling tired. To bed, to bed, and away from all this rabble.
He raised his eyes at waltzing couples. Look at Ernest with Countess Tramp-What's-Her-Face. Claude being a limpid sack by the cake tray. There, near the center, that show-off, Lord Frederic Nightray, the heir apparent and top-of-the-line phoney carrying Vanessa close in his arms. They're laughing. Don't they make the charming pair? Holding each other like lovers, not siblings.
They're fucking, Vincent thought viciously. Those haughty arse-lickers, and they are laughing at me and Gilbert, they're... The words curdled inside him like spoiled milk.
"Vincent?"
Gilbert stood beside him, eyes wide. Immediately, he stooped down to his brother's level. "Are you ill?"
"They... they are...fffff..." Vincent slurred and Gilbert grew even more alarmed.
"Are you... drunk?" Gilbert waved a servant over, gave him a signal, and then wrapped an arm around Vincent's shoulders. The servant returned, bearing a cup of water. "Vince, take this." He raised his brows at Vincent's bare palms. "Where are your gloves?"
"Red... they got too red..."
"No matter. Here, drink." Gilbert put the lip of the glass to Vincent's mouth, and he obeyed. "I'm sorry Break pulled that stunt. I didn't mean to get you upset."
"I'm... not mad at you, Gil. I never could be." Vincent finished off the glass, but it was Gilbert's warmth which steadied him.
"Now let's get up. Take a seat here." Gilbert steered Vincent toward a padded bench and got another water.
The seat was narrow enough that their thighs pressed together when Gilbert joined him. Vincent leaned against Gilbert's side. From this angle, he could see the fresh bandage wrapped around his neck under the azure cravat. Beneath that linen lay the Raven's mark, a scabbed-over feather covering its wound. A wound which bled fresh whenever that feather stirred. How often had Vincent changed Gil's wrappings this past month, being so careful to keep them sterile.
Tentatively, he reached over and stoked his naked fingers against the stiff linen. Gilbert stilled.
"Shall I take you to your rooms?"
Vincent didn't reply. Instead, those fingers continued to brush alongside Gilbert's neck. Gilbert's pulse throbbed against his skin. His other hand grasped Gilbert's shoulder, pulling him down towards his face.
Gilbert barely breathed as Vincent pressed his wine-stained lips against the wrapped hollow of his neck. Above the Raven's mark.
He jerked away, making a strange noise in the back of his throat. "Vin..." Gilbert shielded the spot with his hand, those golden eyes growing wider and wider.
"My precious Elliot!" Lord Frederic's voice boomed, cutting through the music. The spell between Vincent and Gilbert broke, and Gilbert immediately stumbled onto his feet.
The guests parted to reveal Fred standing in the center of the room opposite Elliot in the king's chair. The older gentleman gave a sweeping bow and gestured to the head butler, who descended the staircase holding a gift wrapped in black satin. "Before we continue our festivities, I wish to announce two things. First, my deepest congratulations to Master Elliot. My family thanks you all for the gracious honor of your presence during his birthday celebrations."
A polite round of applause followed the remark. Vincent scanned the crowd to discover where Gilbert had gone and saw him reappear near the middle, only a few feet from the Duke. He bit down on his tongue to stop the curdled feeling twisting his gut.
The head butler lowered himself on one knee, raising the cloth. "Eleven, as we all know, is the age in stories when young people learn their destinies. For you, brave Elliot, I present this." Fred also went down on one knee and gestured for Elliot to make the final move. The boy slid from his seat and removed the satin. There on a silver and ivory platter lay a sheathed sword. The ebony leather gleamed in the gaslight.
"This is the Nightray family sword, our original black blade. Forged from metal gleaned from a meteorite hundreds of years ago."
Elliot gasped. Fred grinned. "Go on," he said. "Present the Nightray's black blade."
Carefully, Elliot lifted the sword and gripped the handle. In a single, swift move, he unsheathed it. The metal indeed held an otherworldly essence. Elliot flourished the blade and then went into a practiced sabre position. He angled the blade to and fro in the light, and Vincent could see a faint shimmer along its edge.
The crowd murmured in awe and adoration. Several men and women whispered to each other excitedly. They knew they stood in the presence of a Dukedom's treasure, probably the most valuable physical object the family owned.
"I spoke to Father, and we both agreed that it is your duty, Elliot, to serve as the sword's steward. Forevermore, no one else shall command this blade except you."
The boy's bright blue eyes shone. "Really?"
"Truly."
Elliot gaped a little, then stood ramrod straight. He sheathed the sword, bowed deeply to Fred, and then to Duke Nightray. "This is a family duty I hold to my heart. I will not dishonor you or the family blade."
"That I do not doubt." Another genuine smile and Frederic got up once again. Elliot moved as if to rush his brother in a bear hug, but stopped himself and gave a curt nod instead. The head butler fastened the sword-belt around the lad's waist and the room erupted in applause.
"Well, well, well, what a show."
Vincent turned and saw Break beside him, balancing an even smaller plate stacked even higher with cookies. The Pandora officer bit into a frosted biscuit and grinned. "Never thought I'd see the Nightray heirloom blade by my own eye." He smirked and proffered his dish. "Want another?"
Once the fervor died down, the Duke raised a hand to speak. "The first announcement is a historic event," he said, "yet we should allow my son to acknowledge the other black blade in the family." The Duke's unreadable gaze met Gilbert's, and he took a step backwards. Vincent balled his fists and started to join Gilbert, but a dull slap and a pain crossed his torso. Break held his own sword-cane up to block Vincent's way. "Hold yourself, sewer-rat," he hissed. "Let us witness the Nightray's next move."
Just as Vincent had the instinct to run and defend, Gilbert had one to flee. Before he could depart, Frederic grabbed his wrist. "Tonight, the family is proud to announce the succession of an ancient power our family has long held." He raised both their arms. "As heir apparent, I recognize Gilbert Nightray as an official member of the Nightray household and the herald of the Raven, one of the five guardians of the Abyss!"
The second wave of applause barely outstripped the first.
Break started laughing, a deep rumbling in his chest that shook the sword-cane he held. "How very interesting," he cooed. Vincent grimaced and slapped the weapon down. The senior swordsman arched an eyebrow. "My, my, sewer-rat, what's gotten you affright?"
"Don't you understand, you horse-clout?" Vincent wanted to scream. "Now everyone knows Gilbert's the Raven! Assassins had tried to kill him twice already! How many more noble scum will be plotting Gil's death during their carriage rides home tonight?"
Gilbert's expression held barely-masked panic. Fred kept their arms locked and raised. When he turned to beam at Gilbert once more, his mouth looked like it held too many teeth. "Tonight you become more than a ward of the Nightray family, Gilbert. Tonight, you honor me as my newfound brother."
Instantly, hot anger caused crimson to flash across Vincent's vision. He glowered, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted raw iron.
Gilbert. Is. Mine.
Deep inside the Abyss, unbeknownst to the Child of Misfortune, a bestial skeleton clamored into awareness, shedding the dust of ages past.
"In honor of Gilbert's official acceptance into our household, I propose a dignitary ball at my southern estate a fortnight from now," Frederic continued. "We shall fete our newest brother properly, and there, he will demonstrate to all the power of the Nightray Dukedom!"
Inside Vincent's mind, the Dormouse's snout twitched.
oooo,
it said,
parties
are
so
much
fun
