Page 41 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Shan

T he salon at Lady Lynwood’s had a very somber air, different from every other party that Shan had ever attended.

There was no chattering tingle of conversation, no sly glances and coy laughs.

The tea service, one that Lady Lynwood prided herself on, had been replaced by a stronger set of spirits, passed around by glum-looking serving girls, refilling glasses of dark red wine or tumblers of whisky.

Because the news was out—Lady Holland was dead, murdered in her own study, throat ripped out like some feral beast had gotten a hold of her. It was cruel and horrifying, and countless theories floated through the room as everyone struggled to make sense of it.

But Shan knew the truth. Even without the missive from the Eternal King that arrived at her desk immediately afterwards, she knew that it could only be one person.

The man she hadn’t seen since that disastrous night when she manipulated him into sipping her blood, so desperately curious to see what would happen to him.

If he would become the vampire she thought he could be.

Well, she got her answer, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it.

He had turned into a beast after all, a vampire feasting on the human blood, and she had set him on that path.

First Miss Arena, now Lady Holland, and who knew how many more would follow.

Why he had chosen Holland, Shan could only guess at, but if she could be dreadfully honest with herself, she didn’t want to know.

It didn’t matter in the end. Holland was dead, and the King was determined to find Isaac as soon as possible, leaving Shan with such dreadfully limited options.

Miss Lynwood sniffled loudly, her face buried in her lover’s shoulder. Even at her own mother’s salon, she couldn’t manage the right level of decorum. But, perhaps just this once, Shan could cut her some slack.

“I can’t believe Lady Holland is…” Lynwood cut herself off with a sob, and Miss Rayne just stroked her dark hair, muttering soothing noises.

“We will all mourn her,” Sir Morse said as he stepped forward, offering his handkerchief like the chivalrous man he believed himself to be. “The Council will be lesser with her gone.”

Miss Lynwood offered a watery smile as she took it. “She was the best of them, you know. Mother always said so.”

Shan bit her tongue, even as she admitted to herself that it was true, in a sense.

Holland was by no means a good person, and Shan couldn’t honestly say that she would miss her, but Holland had been so talented at the game of politics, setting to the work with a zeal that should have brought the other Royal Councillors to shame, if they had any.

If she had lived, she would have been a force to be reckoned with.

So, in that sense, perhaps she was one of the best, as dubious a title as it would have been.

But it was a distinction without a difference, and Shan had more important things to focus on. Like the conversation that was happening right in front of her.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Miss Rayne was saying, “we’ll find whoever is responsible for this and see them executed.”

“I would put money on it being tied to those Unblooded radicals,” Sir Morse continued.

“It wasn’t bad enough that they took Lord Dunn, now they had to take Holland from us.

Two of the Royal Council in a year—it simply cannot stand!

I don’t care how many of them we have to mow through, justice must be served. ”

Shan took a heady sip of her wine, ignoring the straight up misinformation that Edward was spewing.

The Unblooded radicals had been separate from Isaac’s gambits, two terrible plots running parallel to each other, feeding off the chaos that they created.

But, of course, that was before Samuel had convinced Anton to help with the rescue of Isaac.

Perhaps there was something more here, something that she wasn’t privy too.

“Honestly.” Amelia leaned in, speaking for the first time in a long while, having waited for the precise moment when she could have the greatest impact. She dropped her voice conspiratorially. “I agree. We should have kept curfew up. The King was right to crack down on them.”

“Maybe if we hadn’t dropped it,” Lynwood sniffed, “she’d still be alive. Oh, this is horrible!”

Guilt churned in Shan’s stomach, because on this—they were right.

Holland’s death had been a horror, at least in the way it had been done.

She had read the reports herself, filled with far more gruesome details than the others had access too, sketches drawn in a steady hand detailing each and every wound on the body.

Blood and steel. This was going to be a disaster if she didn’t do something to stop it.

“Perhaps,” Amelia said, casting a too-casual glance in Shan’s direction, “our dear friend here has some tricks up her sleeve. Your solution to the dwindling Blood Supply was ingenious, after all.”

Shan recognized it for what it was—a little nudge, priming the others for what should happen if she needed to act outside of the normal chain of command again. It was a time of emergency, after all.

Too bad Amelia didn’t already know about the plans the King had put into motion, the vampire that they were creating to combat the horror that Isaac was becoming. Fire to fight fire—and she had to hope that all of Aeravin wouldn’t burn in the process.

“Do not worry,” Shan said, speaking up and drawing the attention of the others. “I have a meeting with the Eternal King shortly, and I am already working with Lord Aberforth on the issue.”

It was only a slight lie. She and Samuel had been avoiding discussing it as much as possible, a kind of truce they had made around Isaac.

But if Isaac was going to risk upsetting the fragile peace in Aeravin even more, then they were forcing her hand.

The consequences were theirs to reap, and Shan would not let herself feel any guilt at being the hand that dealt them.

Her interference would be much kinder than the King’s would be, and hells, they should be thankful for her.

Lynwood reached out, grabbing Shan’s hands with a harsh squeeze, eyes shining with tears. “Please do. Oh, you are too dear a friend, Shan.”

“It is only the right thing to do,” Shan demurred, though the open affection in Lynwood’s gaze struck her deeply.

She hadn’t expected it—her rise in their circle had been entirely manufactured, her friendship with them existing on the very conditional status of what Shan had to offer them.

But, in this moment of shared grief and loss, there was something honest beneath it all.

Yes. She could use this.

She squeezed Lynwood’s hand in return, a perfectly designed smile on her face. “I will, right now in fact. The King is waiting for me.”

She stood, ready to take her leave, when Sir Morse caught her by the wrist. “I speak for my grandmother when I say this, Shan, but know that my family and their vassals stand ready to support you and the King, no matter what.”

Shan inclined her head, a gracious acceptance already on her lips.

Such a promise was a dangerous thing, the implication that one branch of the government was ready to intervene into another’s business.

The military and the Guard were separate for a reason, but this meant that Morse did not believe Samuel and the Guards were capable of stopping this threat.

That Morse was ready to step in, in a way that had never been seen in all of their history.

This spoke of deep unrest within the noble classes, and Shan had to fix things before their government shattered completely. And to do that, she needed help.

She needed the Eternal King.

Shan found the King deep beneath the palace, in the laboratory that had once been the Blood Factory.

The scope of it always took her breath away, a cavernous space that once held so much, stripped away around them in every direction, an echoing emptiness that should have chilled her.

Instead, it teemed with untapped potential—they had needed such little space for what they had begun with Mel.

What more could they do, if they were brave enough? If they had no other choice?

She put that from her mind, focusing instead on Mel and His Royal Majesty, who had perched himself on the same metal slab they had been using for their experiments.

He had removed his jacket and his vest, sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the taut lines of his forearm and the old scars that crisscrossed them—jagged lines where blades had sliced deep to reveal the blood beneath.

Wounds that he could heal, if he so chose, but that he refused to, for reasons Shan did not understand.

Mel draped herself across his lap, luxurious and utterly relaxed, her mouth latched to the inside of his wrist as she suckled.

The King ran his hand through her hair, working out the tangles with a gentleness that surprised Shan.

He looked up at her with that ever more familiar smile, gesturing her closer, inviting her into this twisted parody of intimacy.

Mel startled beneath him, just noticing that they had company, lifting her head in surprise.

Her mouth was a mess, blood smeared across her lips and chin, the bright glint of fangs shining in the light.

She looked utterly feral, her blue eyes glazed over with a primal hunger that Shan had only ever seen in beasts, but Mel was content to dive back to the feast offered to her, dragging her tongue across the gnawed mess that was the King’s flesh.

“Go on, dear,” the King cooed, and Shan had to fight the disorientating realization that he was truly treating her like a pet. Mel mewled into his skin, a pleased rumble that reminded Shan so much of a cat. “I know you’re still hungry.”