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Gooseflesh broke out across Samuel’s skin. Whatever was happening, it was too dangerous for him to be here. If he was found…

He turned to flee, but there was already movement at the edge of the alley. Black robes. The soft red glow of witch light moving closer.

He was caught.

“Is there a problem here?” the Blood Worker asked, holding up the lantern so that it nearly blinded him. But he squinted through it, taking in her features—she was young, younger than him. He didn’t put her at much over twenty. Her features were sharp and harsh, her fair hair shorn close to the scalp. There was something about her that looked dangerous, something calculating and empty as she catalogued him, as academic as if he was a butterfly pinned to a board, and it chilled him to the bone.

Samuel considered lying, considered running. Considered unleashing the dark power that stirred in his chest. But none of these options was viable, so instead he simply said, “I think there’s been a murder.”

The Blood Worker moved forward, almost too fast for the eye to see. It was the preternatural strength that Samuel knew existed but had so rarely seen. In a heartbeat the Blood Worker was kneeling next to the dead woman, her hand hovering over the corpse’s face, as if she were too afraid to touch it.

“Blood and steel,” she cursed.

Samuel took a step back. “It wasn’t me. I’m not… I’m Unblooded. I just found her. I swear.”

The Blood Worker didn’t even look up at him, staring at the corpse’s ruined face.

Her unidentifiable face.

The Blood Worker turned to him, taking in the poor quality of his clothes, the lack of claws or knives on his person, and immediately dismissed him as a threat. “What’s your name? We’re going to need a statement.”

“I said I didn’t—”

“I know that,” she snapped. “Hells, anyone who looks at you would know that. But you still found her. Now, I don’t want to waste my time arguing with the likes of you, so let’s just get this over with.”

Samuel bit back the surge of power that stole his breath, but he nodded. The Blood Worker was right, after all. There was no way he could have committed the crime, but he was part of it now. “Hutchinson. My name is Samuel Hutchinson.”

The Blood Worker finally looked up at him. “Good. I’m Guard Alessi, and I’ll come and collect you for your statement later.” Grimly, she turned back to the corpse. “But for now, I have a body to take care of.”

Samuel didn’t fight it. He was, completely and thoroughly, fucked.

Chapter Three

Shan

The day dawned clear and warm, far too beautiful for a Funeral Ball. It was ridiculous, truly, but Shan almost felt like the weather itself was celebrating with her.

It was finally over. Shan was the new matriarch of the LeClaire line, and everything was hers. The estate, the title, the seat in the House of Lords—everything she had spent a lifetime scheming to achieve. She should have been relieved, happy even, but she buzzed with energy, ready to get on with the next thing.

There was so much work to do.

The official memorial would happen that evening, when the LeClaires opened their home to the masses of Dameral. All Blood Workers of rank were invited to mourn their late sibling and welcome the new heir into their midst. For many it was a time of celebration as well as pain. It brought the whole family together as they honored the new head of the House. But the LeClaires had always been a vicious, cruel line, and Antonin had been the exemplar against which all others were measured.

Her father had been the fourth child, far beyond the heir and the spare, but he had been the most ambitious of his generation. He had plotted and killed his way through his siblings till he was the last one standing, had ensured that none of his nieces or nephews lived to take the line back from him, children dead before they even had a chance to live. His exploits had attracted even the Eternal King’s attention, and for all his efforts he had been rewarded. He had been drawn into the inner circle of power, into the role that was never named but always known.

That of Aeravin’s own spymaster.

The King had elevated him, had given him power and privilege in exchange for turning his cunning and viciousness against Aeravin’s enemies. The pressure, though, had broken him. He started seeing enemies everywhere, his cruelty turning paranoid to the point of madness. Within a handful of years, the King had cast him aside, and all of society shunned him for his weakness. With no other outlets, he turned his cruelty on his wife, and, when she fled, upon his children—his legacy. Now it was just Shan and her brother—all that was left of a diseased, despised, nearly destitute House.

Sometimes, Shan thought that if they were wise they would let it end with them.

She was finishing the final touches on the evening’s menu when Anton burst into the dining room, his eyes wild and his hair disheveled. His cravat was hanging loose around his neck, and he had not bothered with his waistcoat or jacket, showing up in simple shirtsleeves. It looked as if he had fallen asleep in the clothes he had worn the night before then rolled out of bed to join her. Which, in all fairness, was probably the truth.

Though she had beaten him into the world by only a matter of minutes, they were the same. For all their lives, they had been the perfect image of twins, reflecting each other. They had both inherited the look of their foreign mother—the same rich, golden skin, the thick, dark hair, the wide cheekbones and the narrow eyes. They were both beautiful, but in Aeravin, so terribly other.

Shan wore it with a graceful elegance, the kind that moved people to shamed deference. Anton wore it like a challenge, daring them to speak the truth that lurked behind their polite smiles and carefully chosen words.

It was a deliberate, calculated choice. Where she was the perfect daughter, he had adopted the role of the dissolute fop, living only to spend what was left of his father’s money as he flitted from scandal to scandal. And though he played his part well, it was far from the truth. Anyone who looked closely enough could see the cunning in his eyes.