Page 36 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Isaac

I saac entered first, slipping through the narrow doorway to the even narrower staircase, the chill from the early winter morning seeping into his skin. Anton followed behind, stopping only to check the series of locks that ran along the edge of the door.

In a different time, Isaac might have called him paranoid.

But he knew better, knew that they were doing the best they could without the protections that Blood Working offered, having to use cunning where brute force would have sufficed.

No wards, no magic—just a well-placed lock and the careful selection of a proper location.

“Here we are,” Anton muttered, throwing back his hood with relief. “I almost thought we were caught for sure.”

Isaac only nodded. It had been a harrowing trip, even if it was only the distance of a few blocks.

But the Guards were out in force after his slaying of Miss Arena, riding through the streets on their horses, darting from street corner to street corner chasing even the slightest bit of suspicious activity.

Isaac knew the only reason they had made it through with as little attention as they had was because of the timing.

They had slipped into the busy crowds that came right after the fall of night, as Unblooded across the city made their way home after a long day’s work, as those with the dreaded evening and night shifts made their way in.

Traveling through Dameral would only get more difficult, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not after it tempered the hunger.

Oh, he still thirsted, but it was no longer an all-consuming starvation, no longer a feral craving lurking in the back of his mind, forcing him to eye those around him with a predator’s gaze, assessing who was and was not a meal waiting to happen.

It was a temporary reprieve; he knew the lust for blood would return again. The myths were clear—this was the new challenge of his life, but for now, he was safe.

And he would use that time wisely.

They emerged into the large underground room, an unfinished basement below one of Aeravin’s many bakeries, filled with barrels of flour and sugar and all the many supplies needed to own and operate one of Dameral’s finest establishments.

This one was run by a talented Unblooded baker who had honed his craft in the King’s very kitchens, who had seen the cruelties of the world first-hand.

Apparently, Maia had been the one to work her magic, drawing him into this group that was larger than Isaac had ever imagined, individuals coming together to chip in towards a greater whole.

But why they were here, precisely, Isaac did not know. All he knew was that Anton planned to put him to work—and it was better than sitting alone, stewing in his safe house that felt more like a prison with each passing day. Waiting for the hunger to strike again.

Maia stood behind a large table covered in parcels, wearing a comfortable outfit of breeches and a simple shirt, her dark braids pulled together in a bun at the nape of her neck.

She looked so confident in her role, comparing the numbers to a thin piece of paper in her hands.

A young man stood with her, thin and slight, loading one of each into a parcel.

There was something oddly familiar about him, a nagging feeling that Isaac had seen this boy before somewhere.

It wasn’t till they stepped closer and the boy looked up that Isaac recognized him.

It was months ago in a tavern, the night he had foolishly taken Samuel out to practice his gift.

It was the same boy, the same shaggy dark hair and the same gruff manner—only instead of acting as the rallying cry of the rebellion, here he was, quietly doing his work.

Hells, if it wasn’t for Samuel and his indomitable good nature, this boy would likely be dead.

If Samuel had been just a hair crueler, Isaac would have used him to take the boy, would have delivered him directly to the King as any good Royal Blood Worker would have.

It could have led to the disruption of this whole group, and Isaac wouldn’t have batted an eye.

He would have done whatever it took to protect his own schemes, even if it damned others.

Even if it damned the ones who were truly working for a better nation.

Perhaps Anton hadn’t been wrong to not trust him, but Isaac was learning. He just hoped that he hadn’t ruined it all in some other small, infinitesimal cruelty that he wouldn’t have even noticed before.

“Toby,” Maia said, cutting through the silence and the spiral of Isaac’s self-doubt. “This is Isaac. Isaac, this is Toby.”

The boy nodded at him, a simple greeting, but there was no malice there.

He didn’t recognize him for who he was—for what he was.

If he remembered that night at all, Isaac was probably little more than a face in the crowd.

He had no clue how close he had come to torture and execution, and Isaac was not sadistic enough to reveal that.

Just like he was smart enough to not reveal precisely who he was, not unless it was necessary.

It was difficult enough with the proprietress of the Fox Den, and he did not want to pull attention to himself.

This was not about him—he was only here to help.

“Nice to meet you,” Toby said, then passed him an empty parcel. “One of each, then stack them over there.” He nodded to a large pile, haphazardly stacked together. “We’ll deliver them in the morning.”

“I can do that,” Isaac said, taking the bag and filling it, one object at a time. There was fresh bread, packages of apples, small bags of dried beans. Even some satchels of loose tea—Isaac raised that to his nose and inhaled deep, catching the signature scent of bergamot, sharp and tangy.

“What is this?” he asked, drawing Maia and Anton’s attention. They both looked up at him sharply, whatever conversation they had done and forgotten, but Maia’s gaze quickly softened.

“Toby,” she said, “why don’t you run upstairs and do inventory on today’s leftovers.”

The boy glanced between them, his welcome expression shuttering as he studied Isaac with new fervor. His ignorance had ruined his casual disguise, but Toby did not press the matter. “As you say, Miss Maia.”

The quiet remained until he disappeared up the stairs, then Maia let out a soft sigh. “Many Unblooded lost their jobs, Isaac, when the King lay down his new laws.”

“It was partially the curfew,” Anton added, filling the picture in. “As the Unblooded couldn’t be out past nightfall. Part of it was just Blood Workers looking to punish those they thought weren’t appreciative enough, inflicting suffering just because they could.”

Maia nodded, her dark eyes flashing with an anger that Isaac understood all too well.

“Since the curfew lifted, many have been hired back. But some have not, and even for those who did, they went months without income or hope. So, we work with people across Dameral to provide at least some of the basics. Food and other necessary sundries, occasionally clothes as well, now that winter has come.”

Isaac followed her eyes as she glanced upwards towards the bakery that was now closed.

“Toby’s father is kind enough to let us work out of here, since he has the space.

And with all the shipments in and out—the supplies he gets from grocers, the deliveries he makes to restaurants and homes—it’s easy enough to hide these parcels among them.

Toby makes most of the deliveries, good lad that he is. ”

Isaac gripped the bag tighter, a sick feeling twisting in his stomach.

Of course this had happened, of course the King’s response to his actions led to the suffering of so many.

People he had not thought once about, reduced to simple abstractions in his calculations.

Oh, he had told himself that every kill was for the greater good, that the Blood Factory he had been forced to run was an abomination that could not stand.

And while he was not wrong, while all that was true, it was easy for him to ignore the consequences he never would face.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning against the wall as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop the trembling. Anton and Maia didn’t say anything, sharing a long look before she stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a harsh squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not daring to look at her. Not wanting to face another failure.

His whole life had been failure after failure, each and every fleeting bit of success he chased letting someone down. First his parents, then Shan, then the King. Now all of Aeravin itself as he unleashed an avalanche then did nothing to help all those he displaced.

“Isaac,” Maia said, his name gentle on her tongue as she gave him a slight shake. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Isaac breathed, but she only shot him a warning glance.

“You tried,” Maia continued. “You did the best with what you had. Without you, none of us would have known the depths of the King’s crimes. And you not only revealed it, you destroyed it.”

“Temporarily,” Isaac ground out. The whole of Aeravin knew of Shan’s new policy, and the fervor with which the Guard applied it. “I feel like I just made it worse.”

“Perhaps,” Anton said, kinder this time. “But you’ve also brought it out into the open, made it something that the King can’t hide. And while there is suffering because of it, people now know where to direct their anger. They face injustice in new and palpable ways, in ways they can’t ignore.”

Isaac clenched his fists, feeling the press of his nails biting into his skin, almost sharp enough to draw blood. He wished they were—wished he could inflict a smaller pain on himself to distract from the gaping ache within. “You mean you can use this, the mess I made.”

“I do,” Anton said, with a shamelessness that reminded him of Shan. But this was different in some slight way that he couldn’t name. The twins were such mirrors for each other, and yet, here Anton stood, ready to risk everything in a way Shan never would.

“Something we agreed on,” Maia said, soothing him like a child, “when we first started this, was the knowledge that we cannot achieve the change the country needs by being nice. By playing by the rules and the system that exists. Now, we had planned to take things more slowly, to build up the support we needed over time, but you gave us a galvanizing moment. And we won’t waste it.

“Of course, we regret the suffering and—” she nodded to the packages “—we do what we can to mitigate it, but it’s a price that needs to be paid.”

Isaac exhaled slowly, then forced himself to look at Anton. The ringleader of this, the one who was forcing him to look. “This is why you brought me here, isn’t it?”

“Clever boy.” Anton smirked, and it was all the confirmation he needed. “Your attack the other night was good, but it’s just the start. I know things are going to get worse before they get better—we all know this. But I wanted to be sure you did.”

“You think me a coward.”

“No, I don’t,” Anton replied, and from the steady, unchanging beat of his heart, Isaac knew that he was telling the truth. “But I know that you… care.”

The last word came like he was pulling teeth, but Anton looked at him with an appreciation that hadn’t been there before. An understanding that they had both denied the other.

What a fool he had been, turning what could have been a brother into a much-hated enemy. What a fool he still was, for only realizing it now. But there was still time to make this right. “It was never going to be one kill, was it?”

Maia flinched away, as well she should. He was glad there was still someone here who balked at death, who recognized it for the horror that it was. But Anton just turned that smirk on him. “No, it’s not. We are just beginning.”

He leaned in, taking Maia’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Maia is here to keep an eye on us, to make sure that we return as much as we take.”

The shape of the rebellion was starting to make sense to him, the full scope sketched out in his mind.

Maia, the heart, holding them back from going too far.

Anton, steering the ship and making the harsh decisions that someone had to face.

Samuel, providing information that only the Councillor of Law would be privy too, and Bart plucking from the network of spies that Shan herself had created.

Monique and Toby and this baker who Isaac had never met, proving that many hands make light work.

“And Alaric?”

“Who do you think funds us?” Anton lifted a shoulder with a shrug. “If the Lords of Aeravin do not see him as a suitable heir to his house, then why shouldn’t he use the fortune he was gifted to make them see him?”

Isaac nodded, slotting it into place. There was only one missing piece, then. “And me?”

“You, my friend,” Anton said, baring his teeth in a grin that chilled Isaac to the core, “are the one who is going to bring this nation tumbling down.”