Page 4 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Two

Samuel

S amuel’s head was pounding and they hadn’t even reached midday recess yet.

The air in the Royal Council’s chambers was stifling without even a window to open, the heat from the various fireplaces in the Parliament House that kept all the other corners of the building comfortably toasty turned this one room into a damned oven.

While Lord Rayne droned on and on about taxes and loans and interest, Samuel fidgeted awkwardly with his cravat, wanting nothing more than to loosen it.

But even here, among those he might not be able to call friends but were certainly something more than acquaintances, he knew that it would draw him undue attention.

That the stark scars on his throat would still catch everyone’s eyes, a reminder of what he had been through.

It wasn’t just on his throat either—the darkened lines trailed across his body, along all the paths that his veins and arteries travelled, a reminder of what had been done to him.

It had been months and they had not faded in the slightest, the touch of Isaac’s magic a memory he would carry on his skin for the rest of his life.

A tale of loss and suffering that anyone could read, even if they did not know the full context of what had been taken from him.

And, despite the way Tristan had put him on display that night when he had changed both his and Shan’s lives, it was not a tale that was anyone else’s right to see.

And so, he suffered.

Even if it left him hot and sweltering in his long-sleeved shirt and pants, his hands hidden by soft gloves, the cloth at his collar obscuring the delicate line of his throat.

The others had shed their coats, had rolled up their sleeves in a desperate attempt to chase the littlest bit of comfort, stirring an unkind spark of jealousy that lodged itself in the back of Samuel’s throat.

“Enough,” Belrose said, leaning back in her seat and draping her hand across her eyes. It was strange how different they were, like this, without the weight of expectation and decorum.

When they were grappling with the details of their work during the official recess, nailing down the different motions they would bring forward with the new Season, as they worked together to hash out what was left of their government after the King had stepped in last summer.

Sweeping laws that restricted the rights and movements of the many Unblooded citizens of the nation, only now just starting to lift, like that damnable curfew.

Though that was only because enough Blood Workers had been complaining about it, how terribly difficult it was to schedule their employees’ and servants’ work around the legal regulations, funneled through the offices of the Councillor of Industry.

A minutia he never would have even considered, a year past.

It was more than he had expected, back when he had first joined the House of Lords, less than a year ago. It had all seemed so frivolous. And maybe it was, then. There had never been a political shift like this in all of Aeravin’s history, not since its very founding.

They were in uncharted waters, and as the least experienced member of the Council, he did not know what the Eternal King had been thinking with this appointment.

“Jenna,” Lord Rayne pressed, only for Belrose to shoot him a quieting glare.

“You’ve made your point quite well, Matthias.” She straightened in her seat, hands draped over the edges of the armrests. “We are fucked.”

Samuel couldn’t help but wince at her blunt language. She wasn’t wrong, as far as he could tell. The particulars were beyond him, truthfully, but the basis of it was clear enough.

In addition to a blood shortage, Aeravin was teetering on the brink of financial collapse.

“Then perhaps you should do something,” Rayne muttered, looking every bit of his seven decades. “Trade is our only option.”

“Not our only option,” Lady Holland said, leaning forward. Any spark that she once had burned out over their many meetings, as she made the same argument again and again. But none would side with her, none but Samuel, as what she asked for was so absurd that it was laughed out of hand.

For why would the richest of Aeravin consent to a rise in monetary taxes when they already had to suffer the effects of blood rationing?

But that was the joy and frustration of working with Lady Holland—she was always willing to look at issues through the lens of sheer practicality, even when it was uncomfortable.

Especially when it was uncomfortable.

Lady Belrose did not even dignify Lady Holland’s comment with a response, her attention firmly on Lord Rayne. “As you are aware,” she shot back, “I cannot simply change tariffs on my own. We’d need Royal approval.”

Several sets of eyes shot in his direction, a question hanging unasked on the air.

It was something that had been happening ever since his appointment.

It had been over a century since an Aberforth had been on the Council, and he couldn’t blame them for wanting to use him to their advantage.

He was uniquely positioned as the only living blood relative of the Eternal King…

in addition to his close ties to the Royal Blood Worker.

Licking dry lips, he turned his attention to Lady Belrose. “If you have a proposal written up, I can ensure that it is brought to his attention.”

“Can you truly?” Lady Morse interjected, drumming her fingers on the table.

Even here, in the privacy of their secluded meetings, she was as unyielding as stone.

A hardened military leader in a land where the military hadn’t mattered for centuries.

“His Majesty has not responded to any of our other proposals of late.”

“I am but the messenger,” Samuel replied, spreading his hands wide in a placating gesture. “The King is busy with his studies.”

It might have been the truth, as far as Shan had been able to assure him, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

The problems were stark, and the King’s ongoing policies were only making things worse.

The Blood Taxes had been raised, rationing had been enforced, the curfew had only just been lifted.

Outright rebellion had been ceased under the threat of violence, but the unrest continued.

And unless Tristan Aberforth, the Eternal King of Aeravin, could be bothered to get off his arse and do something about it, this fragile peace would shatter under the slightest weight.

“We understand, Samuel,” Holland assured him, offering him something of a sympathetic smile. He wasn’t sure if any of the other Councillors could truly be called allies, but if there was one, it would be Zelda Holland. “But we are running out of options.”

“I know,” he said, with more fervor than he intended. “I know.” The futility of it all was nearly enough to drive him to madness, but he couldn’t bring himself to not try.

Trying was all he had left.

“Very well,” Belrose said, with an air of finality. “I’ll have the draft on your desk by morning, Aberforth. As for the rest of us, I propose that we take the rest of the day as a recess. We all know we need it.”

The rest of the Councillors muttered their agreement, pushing away from the table as they gathered their things. Samuel didn’t object—hells, he agreed, even as it felt like they were giving up. Another meeting, another waste of time, and what was there to show for it?

A plan that the King would probably never deign to look at, no matter what pretty promises Samuel made.

Holland crept over to his side as the others made their way out of the room, hovering awkwardly as he collected his notes. “Could I borrow a moment of your time?”

He hesitated for only a second before flashing her a smile, one that he had practiced in the mirror under Shan’s careful instruction.

It wasn’t quite second nature yet, the charming yet untouchable role of Lord Aberforth, heir to the Eternal King, but it was coming easier with each passing day.

Rarely did he feel the bile creep up the back of his throat with every lie, nor the flush of shame that marred so many of his early days in this role.

Each day he sunk a little deeper into the lies that he had learned to wear like armor, and he didn’t know if he would ever be able to claw his way out again.

“After you,” he said, inclining his head towards the door.

Holland nodded, accepting with a small smile, and he followed her through the halls of the Parliament House.

They walked in comfortable silence—Zelda had never been the type to fill the air with idle prattle, like the rest of the Councillors.

When she spoke, it was direct and with purpose, and Samuel was always thankful for that.

Several minutes later, she unlocked the door to her office, and Samuel swept in to take a seat while Zelda instructed her aide to bring them some refreshments.

Her office was sparse but not spartan, the most striking feature being the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that contained tome after tome of information.

Unlike many of the other Blood Workers he had come to know, especially of the nobility, Zelda gave little care to appearance or politicking.

Her focus was on the work that she excelled at, managing the many little laws, regulations, and ordinances around industry in Aeravin.

Out of all the Councillors, she was the only one who gave a damn about the Unblooded, though not out of any particular care for them.

She just understood their value in her many calculations.

But that was something he could work with.

It didn’t take long for the girl to return with a fresh pot of tea, Samuel pouring for the both of them as Zelda dismissed the aide.

“Well,” Zelda said, settling behind her desk and accepting the cup.

She placed it carefully on a stack of papers, as there was not an inch of it not covered with something.

“We are continuing to get jack shit done.”

Samuel didn’t bother hiding his smile, truer this time. Though he couldn’t trust her motives, he could trust her actions, and that was more than the others. “Your directness is refreshing as always, Lady Holland.”

She snorted into her tea. “Don’t waste time with bullshit, Aberforth. We need to readjust our strategy. We won’t be making any progress at this rate.”

He fiddled with his cup. “We do not even know what things will look like, when the House of Lords returns this year.”

Zelda’s frown was so severe that it changed the entire topography of her face, her normally quiet and mousy appearance turned into something fierce.

“I can almost forgive him for what he did at the summer solstice, and I don’t even fully disagree with all of his measures.

But this…” She steepled her hands in front of her.

“We barely had a functioning government as it was.”

“While I don’t disagree,” Samuel said, picking his words with care, “I do not know what you expect me to do about it.”

“Honestly, Aberforth? I don’t know either.” Leaning back in her chair, she let out a defeated sigh. “But you’re the only one I trust to actually put forward anything that will benefit Aeravin, not just yourself.”

“Lady Belrose is not so bad,” Samuel offered, but Zelda scoffed.

“A year ago, I might have agreed with you. But she hasn’t been the same since Dunn.

” The frown was back, exasperation bleeding through each movement.

“Nasty way to go, I won’t deny that, but Dunn was a piece of shit who barely cared to manage his own affairs, let alone that of his station.

You may be bold, but at least you care.”

“Thank you.” The praise was a welcome one, considering he was only beginning, and looked upon with much distrust. Dunn had left the Guard to run on their own, a machine built on its own corruption, greased by bribes and favors. Samuel was doing his best to undo that, bit by bit, but…

“I have a long road ahead of me.”

“That you do,” Zelda agreed. “But I think you just might be able to pull it off. Which is more than I could have said for dearly departed Kevan.” Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the table.

“Let me be blunt, I want to propose an alliance. I believe our goals are aligned, and we can do more working together than we could do separately.”

Samuel considered it for a moment. He knew what Shan would advise. This was a golden opportunity, power was an ineffable thing, and having another Councillor in their pocket would only help them in the long term. The choice was obvious.

It just made him sick to his stomach.

But he smiled gamely. “Why, Lady Holland, that is something I can agree to.”