Page 50 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Samuel

I ce cut through Samuel as the carriage pulled to a stop, Dabney pushing his way forward so that he was the first to stand in front of the Fox Den.

Samuel slowly followed, his heart still in his throat, where it had been lodged ever since Dabney had appeared in his office with a smirk, inviting him out on a matter of business.

It was “an important task that the Councillor of Law should oversee” and a “trifling matter.” It had felt like a trap, but one Samuel could not avoid.

He had been right.

The door to the gambling den had already been kicked open, a pair of Guards in their black robes standing on each side of it, their claws tight around the long spears in each hand.

Samuel had the uncanny feeling that he was looking at an open wound, the flashing lights from within illuminating an empty skeleton stripped of life.

Where were the workers, the patrons, everyone who made this establishment a living, breathing part of Dameral?

“Why are we here?” he croaked, and Dabney glanced back, that all too proud smirk a taunt that Samuel wanted to rip right off his face.

“You’ll see, my lord,” Dabney said, already stepping towards the door.

The inside was even worse that he had imagined.

The bar to the side had been completely ransacked, glass and liquor spilling out to the floor in a crystalline nightmare.

The counter where patrons exchanged money for tips was completely upended, and a long line of workers huddled against the far wall, hands bound before them, gags shoved into their mouths to keep them from speaking.

Shuddering and crying, they flinched away as he and Dabney passed, and something in Samuel cracked.

They had every reason to be afraid—not just of the man he was with but of himself.

He was Samuel Aberforth, the Councillor of Law, and there was no mercy to be found in his role.

He was just as much a tool of their destruction as the rest of this damned nation, and no amount of lying to himself would change that fact.

Dabney paused at the balcony, looking over the edge to the gambling floor below.

Or, what remained of it. The destruction of the lobby was nothing compared to the ransacking below, the tables themselves shattered under the blows of Blood Workers who had amplified their strength.

A pointless display of power, meant to scare and intimidate.

The staff did not appear to have fought back at all, corralled into a corner where a grim-faced woman methodically chained them up one by one, and still, her compatriots tore apart the Den.

What were they looking for?

Dabney just looked down with glee, a proud parent watching his children. “We finally caught a break, Aberforth. Our investigations might not have brought us to the leaders, but we found one of their little distribution centers. And that’s not even the worst of it.”

Swallowing hard, Samuel forced himself to ask the question. “Oh?”

“It’ll be easier to show you,” Dabney said. “Couldn’t believe it myself, but here we are.”

He sauntered down the stairs, as casual as if they were strolling in a park, unminding of the violence around them.

A Guard yanked open the door to a storeroom, dragging a girl out of the shadows with far more force than necessary.

He threw her to the ground, her head slamming with a sickening crack as the skin above her eye split, blood seeping out, bright and stark against the marble.

Dabney just stepped around her, not even bothering to give her so much as a look.

Samuel swallowed down the bile, the acid scorching his throat as he burned the image into his brain. He would not forget this. He could not forget this. It would cling to him like a haunting, ephemeral and damning.

They left the chaos of the main floor behind, slipping into the long staircase that Anton had introduced him to all those ages ago, making their way up to the High Roller’s lounge.

Dabney was quiet the entire way, not giving Samuel a hint of what was to come.

The tension wrapped tighter and tighter around him, so thick that he felt like he would choke on it—and then the door was thrown open to something he did not recognize at all.

This wasn’t the same lounge he had known; the tables and chairs were all pushed to the side, replaced with pallets where sick and injured people lay cowering.

“This,” Dabney said with fervor, “is the worst part. Whatever traitor it is wasn’t here when our raid started, but they have a Blood Worker helping them. A healer, if you can believe it.” He spat on the floor, narrowly missing the head of the closest person.

Samuel couldn’t tell if Dabney had been aiming to hit or not.

“This way, Aberforth.”

Samuel meekly followed, feeling nothing more than a dog with his tail between his legs, scurrying after his master. What more could Dabney have to show him? How could this evening get any worse?

Dabney shoved his way through a heavy door, leading them to the very room Samuel had been in, hells, was it only weeks ago? When Isaac had been introduced to the rebellion, when Samuel had met the other leaders.

It felt like a lifetime.

Inside was the Matron, her fine dress torn and stained with what was unmistakably blood. Hers or someone else’s, Samuel wasn’t sure, but though she was bound to the chair her mouth was uncovered.

Oh, this was an interrogation, and Samuel was expected to be part of it. Terror struck through him before rationality caught up—there were only two living people who knew that the Aberforth Gift had returned, and neither were the type to reveal that truth to the King, let alone Dabney.

No, he was not here for that; he was part of this interrogation in name only, not dragged here to be helpful, but as a test. Dabney was pulling him deeper and deeper in the mire that was the Guard of Aeravin, looking to see when his new Councillor would break.

And despite the terrible atrocities he was forced to witness again and again, he would not break.

He could not afford to, his position was too valuable.

He knew that he wouldn’t last forever, but that one day he would find that line he could not cross. But as he met Monique Lovell’s eyes, as she gave the tiniest, barely perceptible shake of her head, he knew it wouldn’t be this day.

This day he would look an almost friend in the eye and watch as she fell.

The Guard behind Monique grabbed her by the hair, twisted her locks around his fist as he yanked her head back so that she looked directly up at Dabney. “You,” she spat, venomous as a viper, and Samuel had to bite back a smile.

Good. Make them fight for it.

“Now, now,” Dabney said, indulgently, clapping his hands together. “There is no need to be uncivilized, Miss Lovell.”

“No need?” she sneered, refusing to take the out she was given, even if it would have made things more pleasant for her. She would not acquiesce in advance—she would not acquiesce at all, if she could avoid it.

Oh, what a loss this would be, for there was no way for him to save her by himself.

“Well, if you want to be that way.” Dabney stepped forward, backhanding her across the face, the blunt side of his claws leaving burning red marks across the side of her face.

As Monique spat blood, a mad cackle catching in her throat, Samuel recognized that it had only been a warning. One that Monique ignored. “Gotta try harder than that, swine.”

“Really…” Dabney shook his head, heaving a chair over and sinking into it. “These Unblooded don’t know what’s good for them, do they?”

Maybe he was supposed to take part in this, play the rough hand to Dabney’s reasonable one.

But he wouldn’t be pulled into that game.

Taking his pocket watch out, he flipped it open with a sigh, pulling all the nonchalance he had seen in the King and weaving it around himself like armor. “Do I really need to be here, Dabney?”

A vein in the man’s forehead started to tremble, the only sign of his annoyance, before he swung his gaze back to Monique.

“See, you’re wasting our valuable Councillor’s time,” he continued, trying to spin this into something he could use.

“Why don’t you tell us the name of the Blood Healer who helped you? ”

“Why should I?” Monique hissed as the Guard behind her tugged again, nearly strong enough to rip the hair from her head. “You haven’t made that illegal… yet.”

“No,” Dabney conceded, with great effort. “It is not. So, if that is your worry, you need not fear. We only want to chat with your friend.”

“You must think me a simpleton if you think I believe that. You’re not getting a name from me.”

Dabney frowned, grabbing her round the face, digging his claws into her flesh, scarlet just barely starting to well. “You’re a defiant one, aren’t you?”

Monique said nothing, gave not an inch, and Dabney sighed. “Fine. If that is how you want to play it.” He shoved her back. “Guards, bring her back to headquarters, we’ll get the answers we need out of her eventually.”

The Guard finally let go of Monique’s hair, giving a sharp salute. They watched in silence as he freed her from her bindings, then marched her towards the door.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Dabney said, that cold grin of his back. “Take all her employees as well. They might be able to shed some light on this.”

“No!” Monique twisted in the Guard’s hand, trying to turn herself back around. “You can’t do that! They don’t know anything!”

“My dear Miss Lovell,” Dabney drawled, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “You had the chance to handle this civilly, but you chose not to. Don’t start crying now.”

She stared at him, slack jawed, and Samuel’s heart hurt just to watch it. But she didn’t choose rage—she just picked herself back up, squared her shoulders and walked out, even though she was walking to her own destruction.

Samuel would never forget her.