Page 30 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Eighteen

Shan

S han flicked the last of her cigarette out of the window as they rounded the corner, ending the short journey from the Academy to what was known, both affectionately and derisively, as the Blood Treasury.

Yet another of her many scheduled inspections had snuck up on her, another exhausting task that she had to see to, the many little obligations of the Royal Blood Worker twisting around her, the chains she would never be able to break.

The carriage jerked to a stop, and Shan pushed herself from her seat, stepping out of the carriage and tilting her head back to look at the squat building rising over her.

It was a bit of an anomaly in Aeravin, a city built of tall, thin buildings, pressed tight against each other like the pages in a book as the city struggled to fill every available space.

The Treasury only rose three stories, hardly tall at all, but more than made up for it with its width, wide as a city block, a monstrosity of slate and stone, its narrow windows protected by iron bars crossing over them.

It was a relic of times long past, when Aeravin was a freshly founded nation, still shaking off the slick gore of its afterbirth as it established itself as a world power.

And so much of that power was housed here, behind an endless series of wards, patrolled by a robust contingent of Guards, where the Blood Workers of Aeravin stored the very source of their magic—the blood they harvested from their own citizens.

How much of a fool was Shan that she had bought into lies for so long?

The sheer scope of it should have rendered the whole farce unbelievable, but as one of the privileged few, Shan had never let herself look at it head-on.

It had been a kind of self-defense, a way of protecting all the foundations that her world had been built on.

Until Isaac came along and ripped that out from under her, uncaring if she fell to her death.

But she hadn’t—she had taken that moment of chaos to prove herself, climbing to previously undreamed of heights in the process.

And now, as Royal Blood Worker, this was one of her many domains, perhaps even her most important one.

The slowly refilling coffers of blood were more than her duty, it was her greatest success and her most terrible villainy.

And no matter what lay between them now, no matter the disgust that Isaac harbored for her, she would not let herself fail again. Especially now that he had turned away from her a second time.

She held her head high and strolled into the building, her ceremonial robes trailing behind her.

The Guards at the door barely even acknowledged her, flicking once to the unmistakable silhouette of her robes, the shimmer of her claws in the morning light.

They weren’t there to stop people like her, only the Unblooded who couldn’t prove that they were there on their master’s orders, handling the affairs of those greater than them.

The building opened in a large atrium, taking advantage of the floors above, a vaulted ceiling that grew to a height that made one feel so terribly small.

Chandeliers powered by witch light filled the open air, casting an eerie glow that reflected through the glittering crystals.

It cast the patrons in a dim red light that felt odd, especially so early in the day, when the sun shone cool and crisp over a winter morning.

A grand and stately theater, run with all the ruthless efficiency of business as lines of untitled Blood Workers and well-off servants stood in line to present their writs of requisitions to the tellers, seated behind sheer panes of glass with only a small gap to slip papers through.

She could hear them, even now, arguing fruitlessly for just a pint more blood.

Enough to keep the witch light burning so they wouldn’t have to turn to candles, to keep their gardens lush and fragrant even as winter crept in, as steady and unyielding as the dawn.

All frivolous matters, when institutions like the Academies and Healing Clinics had far greater need.

But none of them had ever known true need, and thus, this very reasonable system turned into a form of oppression.

She turned away from the public front of the Treasury, striding towards a small doorway in the back.

It, too, was flanked by a pair of Guards, and as they saw her approach, the man on the left pricked the skin of his palm with his own claw, placing the bleeding wound against the faintly shimmering glow, peeling back for her to pass.

It was a simple security precaution, the many wards of the Treasury keyed to the rotation of those who guarded it, keeping the wards as simple as possible to prevent them from fraying and buckling.

Shan knew from experience that she could shatter it, if she wanted, but it would take time—time for the tellers to call for backup, time for the Guards on duty to take her down.

Such an elegant system, simple in execution and tedious in its logistics.

But she couldn’t think of a better solution, embracing the way the ward crackled as she stepped through, the burn of it raising the hairs on her arms as she cleared it.

The Guard removed his hand, letting it snap back into place.

And without so much as a glance back, she carried on, passing through ward after ward as she descended to the nearly cavernous chambers beneath the Treasury where the majority of Aeravin’s blood was stored.

The temperature dipped as she went, and Shan pulled her winter robes tighter around her, fingers pressed in the thick wool, unable to stop the shivers and gooseflesh that ran across her body as she tasted the magic in the air.

Storing blood was an easy enough process, once one learned the proper wards to protect it from spoiling.

Some Blood Workers kept their supplies in specially crafted bottles, others in large cabinets warded to keep the blood fresh.

But at this scale, something more was needed, and Shan took careful steps down into what felt like an icebox.

And there, waiting for her, was the Eternal King, his normal finery hidden by the long cloak that cut across his shoulders, accentuating his breadth, before falling around him like a spill of blood right from the vein.

It shimmered in the witch light, a luxurious velvet so soft that Shan had to resist the urge to run her fingers down its length—a presumption that felt as dangerous as sticking her hand into the maw of a hungry wolf.

But as he turned to look at her, those emerald eyes glittering with something unfathomable, he only smiled and beckoned her forward. “Look at what you’ve done.”

He gestured at the vault he stood in front of, and Shan stepped forward, appraising the change with a heady dose of pride.

When she had first ascended, the stores had been packed full, the different vaults filled with rows upon rows of blood, every ounce carefully tracked and accounted for, the grand ledgers of Aeravin’s supply carefully tallied in the offices above.

But with the disruption of the Blood Factory, that balance was shattered as far more blood went out of the Treasury than came into it, even with the increased taxes.

It was like trying to refill a well with a teaspoon as the vaults emptied, one by one.

And now, they were starting to refill, recently empty shelves holding fresh bottles. It would be a long while before they were fully filled again, and rationing would need to continue for some time, lest they lose the careful balance upon which they stood, but it was a start.

A victory, however small.

“You did this,” the King repeated, his breath warm against her ear, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard.

His hands landed on her shoulders, squeezing tight, the strength of him evident even through the layers of wool between them.

“I should have come to you a long time ago, Shan. I shouldn’t have dismissed your potential, not when you have proven to be the most capable Royal Blood Worker.

The last one could barely stand to be in the vaults. ”

The comment, as vague as it was, still cut her to the marrow. Because yes, Isaac would have never accepted this. Could never have accepted this, and that is where he had failed.

The King had been right to trust her, and though there were those who would damn her for taking this path, there was no other option.

She had never wanted to create a new Aeravin built on the bones of those who had come before, had feared the vacuum and terror that would naturally follow any sort of revolution.

And what was the cost of a pint of blood when weighted against a life? Well, nothing at all.

It was a terrible calculus, but one that she was used to. Still, she feared that she would never get Isaac to agree with her. That she was losing her careful grip on Samuel, letting his bleeding heart slip through her fingers.

But as she looked upon what she had achieved already, in so little time, she swore that this was only the beginning. That no matter what happened, she would drag Isaac and Samuel kicking and screaming into the future.

“I need to see the ledgers,” Shan said, turning to the real reason she had come. As much as she loved rejoicing in her successes, there was always more work to be done.

The King inclined his head, a shallow but imperious nod. “Of course. Shall we retire to an office?”

“We should,” Shan agreed.

The King held out his arm, and after only a second’s hesitation, she accepted it, taking her place at his side. “And when we are done reviewing the ledgers, there is something I would like to speak with you about. A new educational opportunity for my Royal Blood Worker.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Oh?”