Page 76 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Forty-Two

Shan

S han slid from the carriage into the chaos around the Blood Treasury, the first wave of Guards already spilled onto the scene. They formed an immediate perimeter around the building, herding away the onlookers, their curiosity getting the better of common sense.

Fools, the lot of them. There was a slaughter going on inside that building, and it was only fickle luck that prevented them from being the ones torn apart.

Yet they pressed as far as the Guards would allow, craning their necks to look through the grand windows, as if it was some marvelous show, as casual and innocent as the latest opera.

She clenched her jaw, lifting her head as she strode past the perimeter, the color of her robes granting her entry as the Guards immediately stepped aside.

Mel was quick on her heels, her excitement bubbling down the thread of magic that connected them, a barely contained lust curling through Shan that she knew wasn’t her own, twisting in her gut and shattering her careful control.

Pushing her towards a reckless violence that would be so, so satisfying, even if it wouldn’t be helpful.

Shan took a deep breath, ignoring the impulses, the emotions of the young woman bleeding through the magic that connected them.

The bridge holding Mel back was a tremulous affair in the back of Shan’s mind, not a full restraint on the woman’s abilities, but a hook set in place, just in case her eagerness won out over sense.

A precaution, because Shan was ever so cautious, laying traps around her, having contingencies in place, never letting herself be caught off guard or go off script.

Yet it still felt like she was being tainted in some way, corrupted by urges that should have repulsed her. But if she was being truly, desperately honest with herself—after all she had been through, she wished she could give in to such a feral joy, even if only for a moment.

But she was not an untamed creature, created for violence and vengeance.

No, she was a perfect chameleon, with her many masks and guises, always becoming whoever she needed to be in any given moment, each word calculated and every action deliberate.

Perfect, in every single way, since the world would expect no less of her, not if she wanted their respect.

And blood and steel, did she need their respect.

The King turned towards her as she approached, the corner of his mouth turning up in the slightest of smiles as they approached.

A flicker of relief before his expression smoothed over, ever the controlled professional.

But still, in that spilt second, he had crafted a message just for her, and Shan had been quick enough to receive it.

But this gathering was not for pleasure, and he turned his attention back to the Guard in front of him.

The woman was young, in her early thirties at best, though she wore the long dark uniform of the Guard like she had been born to it.

She wore shoulder-length mousy brown hair in a neat bob, her skin the kind of sallow that looked washed out in even the mildest of sunlight, her delicate features making her appear even more youthful than her years.

But she stood with her arms crossed behind her back, shoulders strong and head high, looking like a general on the field of battle.

It was only the slight twitch of her eye that gave away the stress she was under, the fractures that were spreading hairline thin as the pressure continued to build.

Shan wondered if this would be the thing to crack her, or if she would rise to the occasion like her predecessor had done, so many times over the years.

Because of the golden pin at her breast, the rose of Aeravin gilt in precious metal, this could only be one person. The new Captain of the Guard, who Shan had only ever heard of by reputation. It would be good to have a face to put to the name, even if she knew little else besides that.

The ache she felt over the loss of the Sparrow and the network she’d spent her entire life building was nothing compared to the practicalities she had yet to face. The pain, she knew, would ebb with enough time, but all her successes were built upon the mountain of information she had gathered.

And without that, how would she be best able to manipulate new players?

“Lady LeClaire,” the King said, smooth and magnanimous as ever, “this is Miss Strickland.”

“My Lady,” Strickland said, with a deep bow. “I am sorry we are not meeting upon more fortunate circumstances, but His Majesty has informed me that you will be able to help with this matter.” Her eyes flicked towards Mel, the look shrewd and cunning, but Strickland asked no questions.

She knew how the game was played. No matter how useful she proved herself to be, no matter the power that being Captain of the Guard granted her over the rest of Aeravin, at the end of the day, she was nothing compared to her betters.

And Shan was, despite all the indignities she had suffered, still counted among them.

That was a thrill that ran through her, curling low and warm in her stomach, a sharp bite of pleasure that she could get addicted to.

This is what power was, and she would wrench each and every sliver of it to herself.

“Strickland,” Shan said, not returning the bow. She pressed forward with a brisk professionalism, enjoying not having to simper. “Tell me what happened here.”

“There has been an attack,” the woman replied, “nearly a half-hour past. A… creature of some kind entered the building through the window, and its first target were the Guards in the lobby.”

Shan didn’t need to ask about the creature, knowing the truth deep within, but still, a fragile hope flickered in her. A wild and desperate hope. “What sort of creature?”

Strickland grew somehow paler, something Shan didn’t expect of a woman with her complexion, tongue darting out to wet dry lips. “The witnesses described it as some sort of monster, with dark wings like a bat. It had claws and fangs that tore through the Guards like they were made of tissue paper.”

Strickland faltered, but the King’s eyes gleamed with a kind of manic light. The kind that she had seen many times over, the hunger that had nothing to do with appetite. “Tell her the rest.”

The Guard stood up even straighter, forcing the words from her lips. “It… it had no legs, just a weeping mass of innards dripping from the gaping wound where it had been torn from… itself.”

It sounded like madness; it sounded like a nightmare. But as Shan listened, her heart stopped in her chest as something close to fear took her over. As the faint stirrings of a memory tingled in the back of her mind.

Her and her brother, clutching at her mother’s skirts as she told them stories of a land they would never have the chance to know. Anton, listening with the delight only a child could have, but Shan had kept one eye on the door, knowing how illicit the information she received was.

“Manananggal,” Shan whispered, the word clumsy on her tongue, her mother’s language stiff and uncomfortable on her lips.

Despite all their researching, every test that she had run, she had never expected this.

How long had Isaac known what he was becoming?

Why hadn’t he shared it with her, the one who could perhaps understand just a bit of what he was going through?

That slight hurt the most, another tear in the jagged wound that was her heart.

And despite every bit of rage that ran through her, righteous as it was, she couldn’t help the soft sound of pain that caught in her throat. “Oh, Isaac, what have you done?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” the King echoed, seemingly oblivious to the all too real hurt that cut at Shan. His lips curled into a smirk, that fanatical gleam in his eye matching the curiosity that burned within. “And he was kind enough to come to us.”

Strickland blanched—clearly, she was calculating the cost. The lives lost; the terror spread. The King, though, didn’t seem angered or worried. As much of a disaster as this was, the thrill of learning something new, something terrible, was too great a lure for him.

Mel bucked against the bridge, the excitement souring into impatience as the conversation dragged on. Shan plucked on the threads that bound them, a sharp yank that drew a low hiss out of Mel as Shan reminded her who was in charge.

She would hunt soon enough.

“If that is all?” Shan pressed.

“We have had no contact since,” Strickland continued with her report, “and after the first wave of witnesses escaped, no others have emerged. We are forced to conclude that the threat is still ongoing.”

“Well, that is something you won’t have to worry about much longer,” the King interjected, and oh, how Shan wished she felt as confident as he sounded. “We will handle it from here.”

Strickland swallowed any complaints or concerns, even though the situation was absurd. The Eternal King could not be contradicted, even if he was walking to his assured death. “As you say, Your Majesty. We will continue to handle things on the perimeter.”

“Good.” The King graced her with a smile, and Shan saw the ripple of dismay flutter across her expression, the kind of sensible concern that anyone should have after drawing the attention of their monarch.

The same fear that she had, once upon a time.

Shan liked this one. Strickland was smart and obliging, lacking the bluster and pride of Dabney. Perhaps Isaac had done her a favor by murdering him. This woman was a potential ally in the making, if she made it through this unscathed.

“Thank you for your work,” Shan said, the sweetness to counteract the King’s intensity. “You’ve done well.”

“Lady LeClaire is correct,” the King added, tilting his head towards her. An acknowledgment, brief as it was.