Page 35

“No, my dear Shan,” Isaac said. “The pleasure is mine.”

Shan smiled at him, all the while building new walls around her heart.

The play was awful, another load of drivel extolling the virtues of Aeravin. A beautiful young Blood Worker born to a homeland that would never understand her gifts, struggling to find a place, risking life and limb to travel to a land that would accept her.

It ended there, as such stories always did, achieving the dream and ending just before the harshness of reality set in.

But at least they had a private box, closed off from the rest of the crowd as they sat next to each other in the silence and shadows. Throughout the play, he kept brushing his leg against hers, and she could feel the muscles of his thigh even through her skirts. His hand drifted towards hers, brushing over her fingers, the tip of his claw tracing across the soft inner skin of her palm till it pressed against the fluttering beat of her pulse.

The whole while she breathed carefully, convincing herself that the heat that flushed through her was because of the tight, windowless rooms of the theatre, not the way his hand continued to trail upwards, leaving a searing path of warmth in his wake. Yet he did not move an inch past what was appropriate, though she wished for him to dig the tips of his claws into the soft silk of her dress, shredding it under his touch until he reached the warm flesh beneath.

At last the curtain fell and the applause began. She leapt to her feet with the rest of the crowd, not because she had been moved in any way by the production, but to give herself a moment’s respite from the uncomfortable feelings that swam through her.

Isaac stood, clapping just as enthusiastically, but his eyes were on her as the witch light illuminated the theatre.

Apparently neither of them had been focused on the play.

“Enjoy yourself?” Isaac asked, reaching forward to brush a stray lock of hair from her face.

“It was lovely,” she said, choosing her words with care. She didn’t want to outright insult the production, since he had brought her, but blood and steel.

He laughed. “It was a bit trite, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was,” Shan said, with a sigh of relief. Perhaps they would be able to slip right back into the friendship they once had—Isaac had always preferred friends with bite, and it was part of what made them work so well together. No need to pretend to be something she was not. “But at least the company was adequate.”

“Only adequate? You wound me.”

“Trust me, Isaac,” Shan said, “if I wounded you, you would know.” She flexed her hands so that her ceremonial claws glittered in the light, the inlaid rubies shining in their representation of blood.

Isaac’s smirk—even more handsome than she remembered—turned into a real smile. “Now that is a challenge I’d like to take.”

“Oh, darling, I don’t think you’d win that challenge.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but I desperately want to try.” He held out his arm to her, the formality slipping back in. “Ready, my lady?”

Shan slid into her place, a trophy on his arm, and together they strode out to meet the rest of society. They had not arrived early enough to cause a stir before the play, and for that she was grateful. Shan didn’t want to be completely uncouth and ruin anyone’s night at the theatre—the play was already bad enough.

Now was the time to shine. She knew they made a stunning couple—a daring couple. Despite the Eternal King’s open-door policy for Blood Workers from all nations, the vast majority of Aeravin’s most powerful mages were still monochromatic. They valued old blood over new talents and had rigidly kept power in the same families for centuries.

Both Shan and Isaac defied that on an individual basis, and together it seemed almost like a challenge. Their blood might have been mixed, but it was just as strong—stronger even—than anyone else’s. They were the best of the best, and none of the pointed stares could do a thing about it.

It almost made Shan wish she could trust him again, foolish as it was. But Isaac had spent his whole life assimilating, and he had proved that he would rather protect himself than risk tearing down the system to help others. It was so self-serving and self-protecting that she almost couldn’t hate him for it. His place at the Eternal King’s right hand meant that he had finally gotten the one thing he had always wanted—acceptance.

Of a sort.

So, she smiled. Brilliant as ever, knowing the statement it made. Isaac reached over, placing his hand over hers where it rested in the crook of his arm.

“They’re all looking at us,” he whispered, the soft feel of his breath against her skin causing her to shiver.

“Of course they are,” she replied, just as quietly. “They’re all jealous that you’re the one escorting me.”

Isaac laughed. “Naturally. You are the loveliest woman here.”

She wondered if it was genuine—a compliment from the boy she had once known or a carefully calculated ploy from the Royal Blood Worker. Because that was the kind of lives they led, moving in an endless dance, swapping affection and power like cheap coins.

“It’s because of my dress,” she said, suddenly, filled with the desperate need to have just a bit of real honesty.

Isaac kept his gaze forward, not looking at her. “It is a… bold statement. But they don’t know you like I do.” He didn’t even hesitate in his judgement. “That you even gave him a funeral was miracle enough.”