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“It is not so bad as that—”

“I’ve seen the ledgers,” Anton interrupted. “And, yes, your investments are starting to turn out. And, yes,” he quickly continued, before she could voice her counterargument, “I know what you’re going to say about appearances and power and looking strong, but that wardrobe you bought for the Aberforth put us back.”

“He needed it.”

Anton nodded. “He did. But it didn’t have to come from us.” He leaned against the banister, looking suddenly tired. “Just be careful. Don’t spend so much time pretending to be like them that you actually become them.”

Shan ground her teeth. “Thank you for the warning, brother. Now if you’ll excuse me, my guest will be here momentarily.”

“Oh? And who is that?”

Though she knew he’d disapprove, she didn’t flinch. She threw the name in his face. “Isaac.”

Anton tensed immediately. “De la Cruz? I don’t understand. After what he did to you?”

“I know,” Shan replied, honestly.

His nostrils flared. “He’s the worst kind of traitor,” Anton snapped. “It’s bad enough for people like Father, but de la Cruz should know better. He should be better.”

It was an old argument that they had many times over the past few years, but Shan grabbed his wrist, not willing to indulge him. “It’s complicated,” she said, because it was. When their father had shut her brother out of polite society, Anton never had to learn the complicated dance that people like them had to play. Acceptance, as people with such obvious foreigner’s blood in their veins, was a tightrope, carefully managed lest they fall, dashed to pieces against the harsh stone of Aeravin’s expectations. “All of it. You know my feelings.”

“And so you join him for a night at the theatre?” He gestured at the new dress, her carefully done hair, her eyes lined in kohl to make them all the more striking. “And you doll yourself up for him? For them?”

“That’s not it,” Bart said, suddenly appearing at Anton’s side. Shan narrowed her eyes at him—how long had he been there, silent, watching the two of them fight? But he entwined his fingers with Anton’s, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, bringing Anton’s anger down in his own way. “Not everyone has the opportunity to defy expectations, and, besides, de la Cruz’s proven to be a powerful player. We could use him.”

Anton grimaced, but Shan nodded. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “Listen to your man, Anton. He understands the game we’re playing.”

“This is not a game,” Anton hissed, but Bart was already squeezing his hand, rubbing soothing circles against his wrist.

Shan watched the easy way they laced their fingers together, the way they communicated without saying a word. Anton instinctively leaned into Bart’s touch, all the tension flowing out of him.

She told herself the reason she watched was so that she could learn to do the same thing. To mirror their actions and use them to lull someone into her confidence.

It was not because she was envious.

“Well,” she said, the sound cutting through the easy silence that had taken over. “I must be off. Isaac will be here soon.”

“Be careful, Shan,” Anton warned, and Bart huffed.

“Our Sparrow can take care of herself,” he murmured, tangling his fingers in Anton’s jacket and pulling him close. “Now, come on, it’s not often we get the house to ourselves.”

“Blood and steel!” Shan glanced away. “At least wait until I leave, please.”

Anton laughed, waving goodbye as Bart dragged him towards their bedchamber, and she couldn’t help but smile. At least one of them deserved some happiness.

She had barely enough time to make it to the parlor before there was a knock on the door. She heard the footman open it, the exchange of pleasantries on the doorstep. Swallowing hard, she tried to calm the thrum of excitement in her veins. Tonight, all eyes would be on her. She wouldn’t be slipping through the shadows of Dameral, having whispered conversations with her informants. She wouldn’t be finding the broken and the damned and luring them into her web.

That was simple.

But this? This was new. Now it was time to be the Lady she was born to be. The smiling, charming woman who would be a distraction from all the work she did in the dark. And all she had to do was seduce everyone into trusting her, starting with Isaac de la Cruz.

The footman entered, announcing her guest, Isaac following after. He was dressed exquisitely in his suit, the dark grey jacket molded to his frame, the matching pants so tight they could have been sculpted on. His cravat was a complicated but carefully tied knot, hanging over a waistcoat with elegant embroidery. He had even lined his eyes—lightly, ever so lightly—with kohl, so that their dark depths pulled one in, and his hair hung in perfect waves.

Everything about him was calculated to adhere to the latest fashion. It wasn’t enough that he was Royal Blood Worker. With his background, he had to be perfect in all ways, and she was just a tad bit mad for him.

He stepped forward, bowing over her hand. His kiss was warm and gentle, and when he looked up at her with his tired eyes, Shan saw just how desperately he wanted forgiveness. But he had hurt her so badly, and she still wasn’t sure she could give it.

“It’s good to see you,” she said, as he rose.