Page 62 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Shan

S han took a long drag on the cigarette, the harsh tang of the nicotine doing little to soothe her nerves. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Nothing seemed to help these days, her entire body filled with a creeping sort of dread that left her wound tight, ready to snap at the smallest of things.

She stared at the burning tip, the paper turning to ash in her fingers, before she flung it out of the window.

It disappeared behind her as the carriage rolled on, the harsh sound of the horses’ hooves and clattering of the wheels echoing around her.

The shadow of Dameral slipped away through the window as they left the capital behind, vanishing the longer they travelled out to the country—to a world beyond anything she had known.

She had grown up in the city, had built her entire life and power in its shadow. The wider world of Aeravin was beyond her experience, an intriguing and terrifying mystery, despite the handful of birds she had scattered across the various Academies.

That she once had scattered across the Academies, before duties as Royal Blood Worker had consumed her life, causing her network to slip through her fingers.

It was in Bart’s hands now, but in a better time, she would be using this opportunity to grow her network.

Instead, she sat in this carriage for hours as the day slipped closer to evening and they approached the Aberforth country estate.

The King had need of her. Mel had need of her, chained as she was in the seat across from her, arms shackled in front of her, chains hanging between her ankles, mouth held fast with a muzzle.

The bridge between them still burned strong, Shan having eased the girl into a restful slumber for the ride.

But though Mel didn’t—couldn’t—fight her, Shan could still feel the corruption oozing off her, a taint that tasted foul in the back of her mouth, like blood gone sour and thick.

That filled her nose with the scent of something monstrous, the unpleasant aroma of fur in the rain.

Oh, the girl looked human enough for the moment, but connected as they were, there was nothing she could do to hide the inhumanity that lurked beneath.

The inhumanity that Shan, however indirectly, had helped create, standing by the King’s side as he fed Mel his blood time and again, pushing her to see just how far they could go.

Leaning her head against the edge of the window, Shan regretted tossing her cigarette away. She regretted not having something stronger—regretted not being stronger and ending up in this position in the first place.

But what choice did she have?

The road curved away from the ocean, leaving the ocean behind as they moved inward. The roads were shockingly empty, only the rare merchant’s caravan passing by. Dameral got most of its trade by sea, but once travel between the capital and the rest of the nation had been a flourishing business.

Another casualty of the last year, then. Another change that had swept across her nation.

She leaned back in her seat with a sigh as they approached their destination, the large gate towering over them, the likeness of roses and thorns woven in dark metal bridging a high stone wall.

The gatekeeper appeared, a slim figure in Aberforth livery, a spot of blood red against the darkness of the metal, winding the gate open for the carriage to pass through.

Shan couldn’t help herself, she leaned closer to the window as the carriage moved on, turning to see the grand house appear before her.

It truly was an estate, the home set far back with a wide stretch of manicured lawn between the wall and the house, the long path between disappearing under the steady hooves of the horses.

Rose bushes bloomed their heady fragrance, stretching off to the side in neat rows, and the sudden assault of smells made her dizzy.

But she looked past it all to the building beyond, larger than anything she had ever seen aside from the palace, a grand structure of stone and marble three stories high.

But its true magnificence was in its breadth.

Shan couldn’t even see the whole of it from her carriage window, entire wings kept from view, and even with all her knowledge and all her history, she couldn’t begin to imagine owning such a space.

Even though, one day, it would be hers by right. The ring on her finger felt so heavy, the sparkling ruby a weight that threatened to pull her under. She tucked her hand off to the side, ignoring the promise it represented, and her loyalty to one of the men she loved.

He would never forgive her for this.

The carriage came to a stop at last, and Shan took a deep breath as the coachman stepped down, coming around to open the door for her—even here, in the middle of nowhere, far from the bustle of her home, propriety and manners still reigned.

She was the Royal Blood Worker and must be treated as her station demanded.

She was so exhausted, but she schooled her expression into its usual calm mask before accepting the coachman’s hand, stepping down onto the cobblestone path.

How odd, seeing such things so far from the city, but this estate had stood proud and tall for centuries.

No doubt the Aberforths who came before had spent an obscene amount of money to bring every little luxury to themselves.

Shan wondered if she would be like that, given enough time.

Wealth like this was seductive, and after years of managing her family’s investments with a careful hand, what would it be like to simply indulge?

But she didn’t have the opportunity to think about it, dwarfed as she was by the grand structure.

It loomed over her, a colossal beast of stone and brick in a style that felt timeless, a piece of history that still lived on.

Grand windows flanked the massive wooden doors, easily twice as tall as she was, and she craned her neck to follow the rows of windows all the way to the end of the home, curtains drawn back to capitalize on the late afternoon sunshine, only to turn and repeat it for the other side.

Shan had never felt so small.

The doors opened before she could say a word, before she could even think about Mel and how to bring her inside. Shan drew herself up to her full height, folding her hands in front of her as the King stepped out, Samuel a half-step behind him.

Fear sank its claws deep in her gut, a sudden shock of shame washing as her voice caught in her throat.

The King had said nothing of Samuel, and yet here he was, looking down at her with carefully arched eyebrow.

The regal mask of Lord Aberforth firmly in place, only a flicker of doubt in his eyes before it was smoothed away.

“Beloved,” he said, stepping around the King, coming down the stairs to take her hands. He pulled her in for a kiss, a quick tease against the lips, a bit of sweet affection between a man and his fiancée.

Shan didn’t know if it was real or just part of his act—she had trained him too well. In some grand, terrible way, she had ruined him.

And any ire she earned this day would be deserved.

“Hello, love,” she said, as he stepped back. “I did not know you’d be here to today.”

“Well, His Majesty said it was time for me to see the full breadth of the Aberforth estate,” Samuel said, smoothly. “And he was right. This trip has been illuminating.”

Blood and steel, he hadn’t even seen Mel yet. What secrets had the King revealed to him? Shan had tried—truly, honestly tried—to keep him safe, protect him from the darkest parts of her work.

But the King just stepped forward with that mean little smirk of his, and Shan wondered what cruel lesson he was imparting this time. “I’m sure that Shan would love a tour, but first, we need to see to our other guest.”

There was no more hiding it, then.

Shan turned towards the carriage, focusing on the bridge that burned in the back of her mind.

She ran her fingers through the magic, pulling on it like strings on a harp, waking the girl from her slumber.

Mel’s magic still felt strange, even after all these hours connected, like Shan had dipped her hand into a still river, covered in moss and algae, catching on her skin like slime.

Despite the oddness of the magic, it was still so easy to manipulate Mel, but Shan didn’t know if that was her own skill or if Mel had simply stopped fighting.

The girl lurched out of the carriage, taking slow shuffling steps as Shan played her like a puppet.

The chains around Mel’s ankles jangling as she moved into place in front of the King, her arms still bound in front of her and her head hung low.

If Mel noticed Samuel, she made no sign of it—she made no signs of noticing anything at all.

Despite the monster that Shan knew lurked deep within, there was nothing left inside the girl to struggle or rage. She was an empty vessel for the magic the King had stoked within her, and Shan was nothing more than her jailer.

Samuel’s mask didn’t falter as he took in the poor creature, but he did turn away a shade too quickly, as if unable to look at it head-on.

The King reached out, taking Mel’s hand as the other dragged a claw against her inner wrist, the skin splitting easily. She didn’t even flinch as the blood dribbled out, dark as ink, viscous and slow. Raising her arm, the King dragged his tongue against it, lapping it like a cat.

Shan could feel the instant the King’s magic brushed hers, the overwhelming aura of power that lurked within him.

If Mel’s magic was like a dark, fetid pool, the King’s magic was a boundless wildfire held by the thinnest of strings.

Its warmth and glow were a seductive beacon, luring her in, but it would take nothing at all to set it free, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.