Page 33 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Twenty

Samuel

T he murder scene was even more grisly than Samuel had anticipated, even knowing what Isaac was capable of.

Miss Brittney Arena’s body lay where it had been found, untouched by servant or Guard.

The first to arrive had laid a blood ward around the bed to preserve the scene, slowing decomposition and preventing further cross-contamination.

It shimmered in the air, a faint shine that he could only see from the corner of his eye, but Samuel didn’t dare cross it.

He had enough of a view from where he stood, leaning next to the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as bile burned the back of his mouth.

Arena’s eyes stared straight ahead, empty and unblinking, the lower part of her face crushed by some incredible force, the bones snapped and shattered as her jaw hung half off, connected only by the thinnest strands of muscle and sinew.

Below that, though, was the bloody mess that was her throat, a red and raw chunk ripped out of it.

The teeth marks were not anything resembling human, and even the cruelest of Blood Workers wouldn’t leave a mark so feral.

If he didn’t know any better, Samuel would have thought it the result of some animal attack, a mauling by a rabid beast. But he knew better—this was the result of what Isaac was becoming, fears that had been whispered in the quiet of the night between them, Blood Working beyond anything he could have imagined.

A creature of blood and hunger that had been released to nip at the heels of the King.

Myths come to life in a dark nightmare.

“This is vile,” Dabney said, as he pulled the handkerchief from his mouth, looking more flustered than Samuel had ever seen. He was green around the edges, the sour scent of fear leaking from his pores, but Samuel did not care for his reactions.

No, his attention was on someone far more important—the Eternal King himself, standing within the boundaries of the blood ward, his clawed hands clenched into hard fists as fury radiated off of him. “He will rue the day he defiled one of ours.”

Samuel didn’t respond, he just noted the King’s wording in the back of his mind. He had hoped that the King wouldn’t assume that it was Isaac, but that had been a fool’s gamble.

Who else could it have been?

“Lord Aberforth,” the King said, stepping back through the ward. “A word, if you will.”

Inclining his head towards the door, Samuel said, “We can use Miss Arena’s study.” The King nodded, sweeping towards the door, but Samuel turned his attention back to Dabney at last. “Finish up in here, would you? Then meet me when the King and I have concluded our business.”

Dabney sneered, a quick and instinctive reaction, before he schooled his expression. Oh, he had to be careful, now that the King was here. “As you say, my lord.”

Samuel smiled thinly at him, then ducked out, following in the footsteps of the Eternal King as they walked through the hallways, dodging the many members of the Guard that Dabney had brought along with him.

The rage was still roiling off his liege, a cloying mist of power that Samuel could taste on the air—Blood Working simmering just beneath the King’s skin, ready to be break free and be used.

Such anger, and all because this time the victim had been a Blood Worker, a daughter of Aeravin. Just last year, when Isaac had done the exact same thing to Unblooded, no one had cared. No one cared a bit until it was Lord Dunn who had fallen.

There was a twisted symmetry here that he didn’t want to look at too closely.

Still, he pitied whoever would face the King’s wrath this time, thanking every lucky star that it wasn’t directed at him.

No, as they stepped into the privacy of the study, a cold room filled with dark colors, as empty as the body of its mistress, the King’s shoulders slumped as he turned to Samuel.

Not anger, but a kind of empty frustration, as they stewed in silence for several long minutes.

It seemed that even the Eternal King needed a moment to pull himself together. But he did at last, rolling his shoulders as he muttered, “Damn it all, this will be a disaster.”

“We can keep it under wraps for a few days,” Samuel assured him, “long enough for you and the Royal Blood Worker to get ahead of it.”

“I appreciate that, son,” the King said, leaning against the edge of the desk as he rubbed his temples.

Samuel swallowed his distaste at the King’s attempts at kindness.

No matter the relation between them, the history of a lineage that spanned centuries connecting them in an unbroken line, the Eternal King didn’t get to claim that.

Samuel had never known what it was like to have a father, and the way the King treated him was not love—it was manipulation.

And he would not fall for it.

“In the meantime,” Samuel continued, “we’ll see what we can find. Though, knowing the culprit, I doubt there will be anything of use.”

“He’s far too clever for his own good,” the King admitted, “though, based on the condition of the corpse, his transformation is already well under way. Which means he’ll only get sloppier as he goes on, his control fraying.”

Swallowing hard, Samuel sensed the opportunity before him and took it. “About that… is there anything you can tell me? That will help my men find him and keep themselves safe in the process.”

The King looked him over with a serious eye, and Samuel knew what he was thinking.

Why didn’t he just go to Shan about this?

Shouldn’t she be the one providing him with information?

But things between them were more complicated than that, especially where Isaac was involved, and Samuel couldn’t trust her to help him.

To help Isaac. So, there was only one other person who could, and Samuel had to play his next few moves very carefully.

What a mess they had made.

“It would be helpful to know,” Samuel continued, digging himself out of the hole he had made, “what I can share and what I can’t. It is such a delicate matter, after all.”

“Ah.” The King nodded. “A very fair question. I’ll draft up something for you to share and have it sent to your office.” Stepping forward, he clapped him on the shoulder. “I was right to appoint you to this role. You’re doing well, Samuel.”

He forced a smile, one that felt false, even to him. He wasn’t doing well—he was drowning. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ll be in touch soon,” the King said, stepping past and opening the door. Waiting behind it was Dabney, looking as sour-faced as ever. “And it seems you have more meetings to attend to, Lord Aberforth.”

“Send him in,” Samuel instructed, and the King barely even stopped to acknowledge Dabney before sauntering back, back to his palace and whatever other duties mattered to one so important as him.

Leaving the door wide open for Dabney to bully his way through, the deference vanishing as quickly as the King’s shadow. “Aberforth,” he sneered, going so far as to drop the honorific.

Samuel kneaded at a tender spot where the back of his neck met his skull, the early signs of a tension headache rising through him. Hells, the day had hardly started and he was ready for it to be over. “Dabney. Report?”

Dabney crossed his arms across his chest, the movement accentuating the man’s breadth.

There was something slightly terrifying about a man who was used to getting whatever he wanted—and worse, thought that he had the right to it.

“The coroner should be finishing up with the body soon. We’ve rounded up the servants and are bringing them back for questioning.

We can handle the rest from here, my lord. ”

Samuel only inclined his head—he recognized a dismissal when he saw one, but it wasn’t Dabney’s place to kick him out. As the Councillor of Law, he had a right to be here, especially considering who the deceased was.

Instead, he focused on the man’s words. “Is it really necessary to book the servants? They’ve had a traumatic enough morning.”

Scoffing, Dabney leveled a glare, speaking like he was explaining that the sky was blue to a particularly simple child. “One of them must know something. There is no sign of a break-in, so logically, that means that one of them must have helped the perpetrator.”

Samuel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking out. He knew that wasn’t true in the slightest—Isaac had no help, not from anyone inside. But he couldn’t say that. “It still seems excessive, to lock them up on a simple hunch and no evidence to back it up.”

“If they are innocent,” Dabney replied with a shrug, “then they’ll be released soon enough, only a pint of blood lighter.”

Ah, that was it, then. Samuel should have seen it coming—the man probably didn’t believe a damned word he was saying. All of it was an excuse to harvest them, to fill the coffers under the Royal Blood Worker’s new system.

Dammit, Shan. This was the reason why it was a bad idea, but she was so far removed from the day-to-day application of it that she couldn’t even conceive of what it would be like to suffer under the laws she had created.

There was nothing he could do about it—he had already tried and failed.

So why did it feel like his hands were dripping with blood?

“Don’t be cruel to them,” Samuel said, with grumble. “Remember that you have no proof of any wrongdoing.”

“My lord,” Dabney said, mockingly, “trust me to handle my own job. I have only been doing it since you were a boy.”

Drawing himself up straighter, Samuel did not let himself be cowed, even though Dabney was right—he did have decades of experience on Samuel, but that experience only blinded him to the cruelty of the system.

Maybe once, when he was younger and more innocent, he would have balked at it.

But after so long he had become desensitized—no, worse.

Dabney saw his work as just, and Samuel realized that there was no reforming this system.

It wasn’t broken, like Shan believed. No, it was far worse. It worked exactly as intended, turning men into monsters to be used against their fellow citizens.

Samuel closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do but try, again and again, crashing against this same wall until it broke or he was driven mad, whichever came first.

“I respect your experience,” Samuel said at last, with as harsh a glare as he could manage.

“But this system is new, and we are all learning it together. So, unless you can convict them with something solid,” he practically spat out the next words, dripping with acid, “do not take any of their blood.”

The command hung heavy in the air between them as Samuel waited to see if it would be followed. Dabney swallowed hard, the veins in his forehead throbbing, before inclining his head in a jerk. “As you say, my lord. Is that all?”

Stunned, Samuel nodded, dismissing Dabney with a gesture. The older man lurched out of the study, thundering down the hallway to join the rest of the Guard, and Samuel let out a sigh of relief.

He had expected a fight, an argument, hells, even an outright refusal to listen. What he did not expect was Dabney to agree. He should have been feeling ecstatic about it, but something like shame ran through him, stirring cold and vile in his chest.

A familiar kind of darkness that he had not felt in months. That he had hoped he would never feel again.

But no, that was impossible. Dabney had simply grown tired of arguing, had acquiesced only to end the conversation. Like as not, he would simply ignore the command as soon he was gone.

It was nothing to worry about, especially when there was still much to be done. His day was long from over, and he had to get ahead of this before rumors spread.