Page 13 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)
Chapter Eight
Shan
S han quietly fumed the whole way over to the safe house.
There had not been a moment to discuss things since Samuel dropped the revelation, as he ushered her back to the ballroom to handle the end of the Engagement Ball. It was lucky that it was already so late into the evening and that one of Samuel’s servants let it slip that the King had dropped by.
She would have to give that boy a bonus later; that was quite well done. He had allowed them to break up the party with a minimal amount of fuss. Duty called, and if people were to gossip about the Eternal King’s private business, all the better.
But still, little over an hour later they were cutting their way across the city, taking advantage of the recently relaxed curfew laws.
The streets were not as bustling as they had been before all this had started, but they were not the only souls on the move, scurrying along with their heads dipped low.
There was still the bitter scent of fear on the air, but Shan could use that as they crept along the shadows, having traded their fine clothes for something simpler.
In this moment, they were not a Lord and Lady of Aeravin, but two anonymous souls in the night.
It was difficult for her to admit, but Shan missed this.
The freedom of being the Sparrow, the excitement of learning every dark and depraved secret, the thrill of taking that ill-gained knowledge and solving the greatest puzzles of the kingdom.
Being the Royal Blood Worker was its own sort of thrill, but it had never been the path she wanted to walk.
But there was no bringing it back, especially now. With Isaac’s escape—rescue—whatever this foolish plan of Samuel’s was, any progress they had made in the last few months would be swept away.
Undone in a heartbeat, and for what?
She just hoped that Isaac would be worth it. No matter how she cared for the man—and oh, did she still long for him—one life was not worth the price of an entire nation whose peace hung by the thinnest of threads.
Samuel lifted a hand, and she came to an immediate stop.
They had never worked like this before—there had never been a chance to train him in this, to test how he would handle the darker side of her work, but they fell into such an easy and natural rhythm, as if they had been doing this their whole lives.
Samuel was her perfect match in every way, which only made this hurt all the more, a wound deeper than any of her daggers or claws could cut. The way that he had gone against her wishes, had organized it all behind her back?
She didn’t know if she should be proud or heartbroken.
Inclining his head ever so slightly, Samuel indicated the building ahead.
It was very similar to the last safe house she had found her brother in, if in a completely different neighborhood.
One door in and out, a townhouse in the midst of a row of townhouses, the windows covered in dark curtains that were not entirely out of place.
As defensible as any such building could be, as anonymous as any other home in the capital.
It had been months since she had spoken with her brother, but she was still so damned proud of him.
Samuel pulled out a key and unlocked the door, stepping into a narrow hallway, lit by the slowly dripping candles above.
No witch light here, though she wasn’t surprised, with the rationing.
The other doors were closed, no doubt hiding away some part of her brother’s little rebellion, but she didn’t care about that.
Not when Samuel was leading her with such surety towards the stairs.
“You and Anton are quite close these days, then?” she said, at last, the bitterness she had been trying so hard to swallow bleeding out. He paused, turning back to look at her with an expression so open, so hurt, that she regretted speaking at all.
The rift between her and Anton was a mess of her own making, and she had drawn Samuel right into the mire with her.
“Come on, Shan. It will be easier to explain this only once.” He continued up the stairs, leaving her behind, and she had to hurry to follow, one step behind.
They climbed the stairs, passing even more closed doors hiding secrets that she itched to ferret out, but Samuel kept climbing, story after story, till they emerged into something like a loft on the topmost floor.
It was a well-appointed, if small, flat, filled with simple but sturdy furniture.
There was a small kitchenette against the far wall, a set of low couches by the windows that overlooked the street, and a small shelf filled with a collection of second-hand novels.
It was simple and homey, made even more so by the sight of her brother sprawled out on the couch, his head resting in Bart’s lap.
She took quick stock of their outfits, Bart wearing the uniform of a hackney driver while Anton lounged in the same outfit he would wear while working the network they had created. Comfortable leathers, designed for ease of movement, dark as the shadows through which they slipped.
“Sister,” Anton drawled, barely bothering to look at her. It was so lazy, so bored, that she immediately bristled.
“Not tonight,” Bart warned, dragging his hand through Anton’s hair like he was soothing an angry cat.
It had grown long in the past few months, the carefully maintained hairstyle her brother once prided himself on now shaggy and messy.
There was a roughness to him that Shan hadn’t seen in a long time, a break from the carefully cultivated image he had worked so hard on.
She wasn’t sure if it was a sign of freedom or failure, and she hated that she didn’t know her own twin well enough to tell the difference anymore, if she had even known him in the first place.
“Bart’s right,” Samuel said, stepping in before things could get even more awkward. “We’re here for Isaac. How did it go?”
Anton flicked his gaze towards Samuel, the tension bleeding out of him with a sigh. “Fine. He was cleaning up in the washroom, but you can probably check in on him.”
Shan made a harsh movement towards her brother, but he just shook his head, stopping her. “There’ll be time for that later, Shan. See to your man.”
Her man.
That’s what Isaac was, wasn’t he?
Hers .
And Samuel’s. Once, they had dreamed of a future with the three of them, together.
A united front who could come together to make Aeravin better, stronger, fairer.
But Isaac had been playing the game with an entirely different set of rules, even if she hadn’t realized at the time.
And now, she didn’t know where they stood, if they could even begin to repair all the ways that they were broken.
But Samuel had risked everything to save this man that they loved, and blood and steel, she owed them both this much.
She knocked once on the bedroom door before throwing it open.
Isaac was sitting on the bed, head in his hands, before looking up at the intrusion, shock flitting across his expression before he shuttered it into something colder, harsher.
It had only been days since she saw him last, in the King’s own dungeons, but it was much the same.
A flicker of what once had been, before he hid it away, waiting to see if it was safe to share before making the first move.
Just like she did.
Hells, they really were the perfect pair, weren’t they?
Samuel, though, let out a wordless cry of pure happiness, crossing the room in three large steps before he plopped onto the bed at Isaac’s side.
He pressed Isaac against him, his hand caressing Isaac’s cheek as he whispered sweet murmurings.
Isaac hesitated for only a moment before melting into the embrace, shifting to bury his face in Samuel’s shoulder.
And Shan had never felt more like an intruder in her life.
She closed the door behind her, buying them a modicum of privacy from the others in the next room before joining them on the bed.
They froze as her weight dipped the mattress, Isaac’s dark gaze wary and questioning.
But she held out one hand, an offering, and after only the slightest waver of indecision Isaac took it, twining his fingers with hers.
He pulled her into the embrace, and she let herself fall, knowing that she would be caught by the two men she loved the most in the whole damned world.
For a few moments they didn’t move at all, tangled together in a mess of limbs and shared breath, the heady sandalwood scent of Samuel’s cologne blending with the sharp tang of the cheap soap Isaac had used.
It was the closest thing she had known to peace in a long time, and she never wanted it to end.
But it had to, because no matter how much she wanted time to stop, it kept marching on. And their Eternal King had expectations of them.
She was the first to lean back, to dash the tears from her eyes and straighten her spine. “Isaac,” she said, firmly. “Samuel. We need to get our story straight.”
Isaac huffed a laugh, soft and breathy. “Still the same, aren’t you?”
“Someone needs to ensure we keep our heads,” Samuel said, running his hand down Shan’s arm. “Right?”
“As always,” Isaac agreed. He shifted back, adjusting the pillows and leaning against the headboard.
He looked so tired, a detail Shan should have noticed sooner.
He was thinner than he had been, before his imprisonment, the dark circles under his eyes even more prominent, but despite the way the King and his Guards had treated him, that spark in his eyes still shone.
His ordeal hadn’t broken him, and Shan allowed herself to feel the rush of relief at the realization.
“So,” Shan began, turning her sharp gaze onto Samuel and watching him wither. “Why don’t you fill me in?”