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“Yes,” she snapped. “A little gratitude would be nice. Understand this, Aberforth. You have nothing left to lose. I could give you the world.”

“I don’t want the world,” he said. “I’ve seen what you and your kind do with your powers, your riches. I’ve lived the results of it.” He gestured to the same room she mocked just moments before. “You see this? This is the best life I can hope for, the most I can afford, because you and your Blood Workers exploit us so you can have your riches. Hells, my very existence is proof of that. The late, great, mad Lord Aberforth saw my mother and wanted her, not caring that she didn’t want him back. And so I was born, and my mother? She was ruined.”

She studied him then, the artifice dropping as she took in the anger that flowed through him. He stepped away, raking his hands through his hair as he tried to bring himself back in line. He wasn’t normally so open—he couldn’t allow himself to be so open—but it had just crashed over him, like a wave, the words that he had held back for so long spilling past his lips.

“Samuel,” she said, softly, giving him his space. “I’ve dropped a lot on you. I know you don’t know me, and I am everything you hate about this world. But I understand you.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“I know you can’t yet,” she replied. “But take this—my name is Lady Shan LeClaire. My father brought my mother from her home, a nation of islands where Blood Working was banned, but she was powerful and feared. He brought her here, made her his wife and his possession. And after he got his heir and a spare, he drove her away, keeping her children hostage.”

He turned back to her, drawn by her tale, by the simple way she told it. There were no hysterics, no attempts at drama to earn his pity. It was the simple, honest truth, layered with a pain that was old and well-worn, but none the less potent for it.

“My whole life, I’ve been shamed for my tainted blood, for my brother who inherited my mother’s looks but none of her power. I’ve seen the cruelty of Blood Workers turned against him. I’ve seen the way they use people like him—the Unblooded—as laborers and servants and disposable things.”

She reached out and he let her take his hand. “I’ve spent my whole life building power on my own terms, by rallying the very people they dismiss. The people who surround their lives but are too unimportant to be anything more. I’ve gathered secrets and lies, truth and blackmail, and I’ll use it to burn this system to the ground and create something new. I had planned to use you to do it,” she paused, that small smile coming back, “but I see you’re an idealist.”

Samuel openly stared at her. “So, this is what you’re scheming.”

“And clever,” she added. “It’s hard enough to enact real change as a LeClaire. As tainted blood. But with you on my side, with an Aberforth on my side, suddenly things that were impossible are no longer so.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not,” she said, bitingly. “You have every reason to hate Aeravin as much as I do, and everything to gain. So, Samuel Aberforth, what do you say? Will you help me?”

For a long moment he didn’t answer, weighing what she told him. He did not know this woman, he didn’t know her plans or her schemes, just that she admitted to having them. But she was here, giving him just enough information that, should he wish it, he could turn her in to the Guard and have her executed for treason.

So perhaps, if she was willing to take a leap of faith on him, he should do the same.

Shrugging, he said, “What do I have to lose anyway?”

Chapter Seven

Shan

Shan sipped her tea, wincing as she realized it had gone cold. Still, she drank it down, needing the boost of clarity it gave her. She stood, stretching, then padded across the study she had stolen from her father and rang the bell for the serving girl. She’d need another pot, and, judging by the light starting to stream through the windows, breakfast as well.

Another night without sleep, another restless day.

But she had a lot to plan for. Last night, she had brought Samuel Aberforth into her dangerous plans with a partial vision of the truth. Soon enough she’d return his title to him, but first she’d have to transform him. For now, he’d be seen as nothing more than common trash when she needed people to see a preening young lord.

Shan collapsed in her chair, tucking her feet underneath her as she settled back down. She knew that it was undignified, wearing the same clothes she had worn to sneak through Dameral the night before. Her hair was a knotted mess, curls falling in uneven strands down her back.

She didn’t care. Her mind whirled with all that she had to do, but despite it all she could still taste his blood lingering on her tongue—ancient, alien, rich. Could still feel the weight of his eyes on her, hot as a brand, that bright green—Aberforth eyes. Could still feel his hand in hers—large, warm and strong.

He truly was beautiful. He was pale, yes, and soft, far more than this life should have allowed him to be. But his features were fine, almost elegant, and he had the golden hair of the Aberforths, hanging loose past his shoulders in a way that should have been unfashionable. She wondered what it would look like in the sunlight, and if it was as soft as it seemed.

He lingered with her like a dream, and she dug her nails into her skin to shock herself awake.

Returning to the paperwork she needed to finish, requestioning the next month’s supply of blood for the workings of the LeClaire estate, she hardly noticed when the door opened and a tray of food was placed in front of her.

“Morning, sister.”

That got her attention, and she looked up at her brother—cleanly shaven, shirt freshly pressed and cravat neatly tied. Even his hair was carefully styled back.

“What happened to you?” she asked, though she knew the how but not the why. Clearly Bart had gotten his hands on him and worked his own kind of magic.

“I should be asking you the same,” Anton replied, frowning at her. “It’s like you’re back at the Academy, studying for exams.”