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Samuel did, not caring that he was covered in blood, that he was facing the King with tears in his eyes. “She didn’t deserve to die.”

“That is not your choice to make,” the King said, his eyes cold and hard as he looked Samuel over. “Treason is a capital crime.”

Samuel started to tremble, and the King turned away. “We’re done for today. Go home, rest up. Justice is hard, but you’ll adjust in time. You’ll see this is the only way.”

Wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, Samuel turned away from his king. He didn’t do as he was told, though. He left the palace, but he couldn’t simply go home. He couldn’t be alone with his thoughts, with the image of Kalyn’s dying face burned into the back of his eyelids.

He wanted to forget about it—he wanted a friend who would treat him like a person tonight, when he felt so much like a tool. But he couldn’t turn to Isaac—he had no clue where the man lived. So it would have to be Shan.

First, however, he had to return home—just for a moment. Even the Lost Aberforth couldn’t wander around Dameral in bloodstained clothes.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Shan

Shan heard the commotion from her study—the raised voices, the crash of something fragile, shattering as if it had been flung against the wall. She was on her feet in an instant, hiking up her skirts and running out of the room and down the stairs. The sight she came upon was something out of her worst nightmares—Isaac and Anton at each other’s throats, seconds away from bursting out into a bare-knuckled brawl.

Her footman—no doubt unwillingly drawn into this conflict—huddled in the corner, next to the destroyed remains of a very fine vase. The two men were screaming in each other’s faces—vile words of censure, and Anton was advancing on Isaac with an anger that scared Shan.

She had never seen him so enraged before, but then again, he had been walking a knife edge these past few months since she had killed their father, and it looked like he had found an outlet at last.

At the very least she was thankful that Isaac had the decency to restrain from Blood Working, though he held his ground against Anton’s advance, cruel words dropping from his lips. “Useless man, hiding behind your sister’s skirts.”

“Enough!” she shouted, and both of them turned to her in shock, as if surprised to see her standing there at the foot of the stairs. As if they didn’t think their row would draw her to them.

“Shan,” Isaac breathed, a plea, and she turned her eyes upon him in worry even as her brother began to rant.

“Ah, there you are, sister,” Anton spat. “I was just telling our esteemed guest that he has to leave, seeing as he is not welcome here—”

Shan held up her hand without even looking at her brother, shushing him as she took in the ragged look around Isaac’s edges. She had never seen him like this before—so worn and weary, seconds away from falling apart. “Why are you here, Isaac?”

Isaac didn’t respond. He just looked to Anton helplessly, shaking his head.

Shan understood. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—speak in front of her brother. He was too vulnerable for that. So, silently, she took him by the arm.

“What are you doing?” Anton turned on her, his anger not diminished in the slightest. “Shan, you cannot trust him, not after—”

“I told you before, brother,” Shan said softly, so very quietly, “that I know what I am doing. I do not need your protection.”

Anton stared at her for a long moment, clenching his fist, then spun away sharply. He snapped his fingers at the footman, who hurriedly grabbed his jacket. The second he had it in his hand, he slung it over his shoulder and stalked to the door. “I’d warn you not to do anything you’d regret, but you’re with him.”

He slipped out, slamming the door behind him and leaving them standing there in painful silence.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Isaac whispered.

“Nonsense,” Shan replied. Glancing at the footman, she instructed him to have one of the maids bring up some wine, then waited until she was gone before she spoke again. “Please don’t take my brother’s words to heart.”

“He isn’t wrong, though.” Isaac wrung his hands. “I have only brought pain and regret. To both of you.”

“We’re not children anymore, Isaac. Now come on.” She tugged him by the arm, leading him to the stairs. “Let’s talk.”

He followed her in maudlin silence. She carefully smoothed her skirts, rolling her shoulders to release some of the tension that had crept up in the last few minutes. She led him again to her study, seating him by the fire, and when the serving girl arrived with the glasses and the wine, she poured them both a generous amount and placed the goblet in his hand.

He didn’t speak right away. He just sipped his wine and stared into the fire. Shan didn’t push him. Settling in the chair across from him, she waited. He was scared and hurting, and he would speak when he was ready.

“We’re too late,” he said at last, looking up at her with haunted eyes, and suddenly everything became clear.

“Samuel,” she whispered, and he nodded. “Where is he?”