Page 83 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Forty-Six

Isaac

T he room was completely bare, Isaac noted dispassionately.

No chairs to sit on, no table to gather around, just the undressed windows on the far wall and the winter’s night dim outside.

It felt fitting, as empty as he was inside, a pit that grew as the hours went on, knowing that Samuel had sacrificed himself so that he had the chance to escape.

He shouldn’t have taken it; he shouldn’t have left Samuel behind. He knew the King’s cruelties, and there wasn’t anything he could do to save the man he loved.

“Why are we here?” Isaac asked, impatience growing. “We should be doing something—”

“Bart said this was important,” Anton interrupted him, not harshly. Kindly, gently, like he was afraid Isaac was about to shatter.

He was wrong. Isaac wouldn’t shatter. He was as strong as ever; he had proven that this very morning as he ripped that vampire’s head clean from her shoulders. All he needed was a target, a direction, something or someone to kill. Not this interminable waiting .

The door opened, Bart slipping through with a cloaked figure behind him, the dark velvet shielding their visitor from view.

Isaac didn’t need his enhanced senses to pierce her disguise, didn’t need to listen for the beat of a heart all too familiar, didn’t need to scent the faint traces of perfume that she had not been able to scrub clean.

He could have claimed it was his manananggal nature that told him the visitor was Shan before she even removed her hood, but the truth was altogether worse.

He knew her as well as he knew himself, and she would never be able to hide from him.

But she wasn’t hiding—she had reached out to them , had come to them. Here she stood with shoulders drawn in, her head hung low, twisting her bare hands in front of her, no claws to be seen. Just her slight form, looking suddenly so small, not a Lady at all.

Where was her pride and surety? The very things that had pulled them apart, gone. She just watched the three of them, a unified force standing against her, and Isaac saw the exact moment her heart broke.

“Why are you here, Shan?” Anton asked, direct and blunt as a club.

Shan didn’t hide the wince, her dark eyes flicking to her brother, and Isaac swore he saw the shine of tears in her eyes.

That’s what felt off. This wasn’t Lady Shan LeClaire, Royal Blood Worker.

This wasn’t the industrious and clever Sparrow.

This was the truth behind all the masks, the scared and lonely woman who had nothing left to lose.

Once, he would have been moved. Once, he would have given anything to see her this open and honest with him. But now, he wasn’t sure he could stand to be in the same room as her.

“I know I owe you, all of you, an apology,” Shan began, “but I’m not here for me. I’m here for Samuel.”

Samuel, the one he had left behind. The one she had doomed. The one they needed to save. He shared a quick glance with Anton, who clenched his jaw but nodded. None of them liked this, but they would use it.

They would use whatever they had.

“Fine,” Isaac said, “talk.”

Shan blinked away the sorrow, her voice coming out strong and steady.

“The King has taken the Aberforth Gift from Samuel, along with his Blood Working. You saw the vampire he created—” her eyes focused right on his, and Isaac could taste the pungent wave of fear that came from her “—and in addition to creating an army of vampires to fight you, he will be one himself.”

Isaac closed his eyes as he processed it, ignoring the way that Anton pressed his sister for details.

This was worse than he feared, the step he had been so sure the King wouldn’t take.

His entire empire of blood had been built on carefully calculated decisions and the utmost control, so Isaac figured the King would never let himself become a slave to the hunger that haunted his every breath.

He had, once again, been wrong.

“And in the morning,” Shan said, drawing his attention back to the very real problems in front of them, “Samuel will be executed. I will have to execute Samuel. Unless you step in.”

“Anton—” Isaac was already turning to the man for permission, but he just held up his hand.

“We will, Isaac,” Anton said. “Don’t you worry about that. But first, what else do you know about these vampires? What is the King planning?”

“I don’t know any more,” Shan said. “But as soon as I do, I will let you know.”

Silence fell, so complete that Isaac could hear his own heartbeat.

But it was Bart who stepped forward, who spoke, who threw acid in Shan’s face.

There was hurt between them, too much for Isaac to fully understand, even if he did empathize, even if he had known his own kind of suffering under Shan’s cruel mercies.

“Oh, will you, Sparrow?” The old title was a weapon, one that struck true. “Funny, how just two days ago you were ready to wash your hands of everything we built.”

“I was unkind,” she admitted, and the laugh that came out of Bart’s throat was so strangled it hurt.

“Unkind,” he repeated, just this side of hysterical. “Shan, I don’t know if you’ve ever been kind a day in your life, and I am done pretending we ever had anything even close to a friendship. Did you ever care for anyone but yourself?”

“I did,” she gasped, as the tears started to fall in earnest, her masks stripped away and leaving her bare. “I do .”

Bart rolled his eyes, but Isaac knew the truth.

She had cared, she had cared so damn much but had no healthy way to show it.

So, she did this because she thought it was love.

Because she wanted to protect all those around them, and never once stopped to ask what they wanted.

What they needed. It was twisted and hurtful, but it was honest—and that was the worst truth of all.

“You do care about us,” he said, stepping forward as she tilted her face up to his. He caught the wetness with his thumb, and she grabbed onto his wrist like he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. “But you care about control more.”

“I know,” she breathed. “I am trying to change, and that is why… why I am doing this.” Letting go of Isaac, she squared her shoulders and turned to Bart, her first friend.

Her only friend.

“Let me prove to you,” she said, presenting it like it was an offer.

A deal, not a demand, trading herself for a chance to re-earn their trust. And through it all, she wouldn’t beg, because she knew she was useful.

It was all she had left to deal in, having wasted the affection of those she once called close.

It was, as always, a masterful thing to watch.

“This is why I am here,” she explained, this time to Bart and Anton. “I am not the Sparrow anymore, but if you’ll let me, I’ll be your bird. The one we never could place, the one at the King’s side.”

Anton’s voice cracked, the anger slipping away to reveal the truth beneath it. Fear, stark and unalloyed. “You don’t want out?”

Shan shrugged, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t even a consideration. “I do want out, but that’s not the best use of me. For the King, he…”

“He what, Shan?” Isaac asked, that fear spreading to him, sour and inescapable. “Has he threatened you?”

“No, worse.” She clenched her jaw, forced the words out. “He wants me as his Queen.”

Something inside Isaac snapped, a near feral craving that shattered his control. The mere thought of it, the King’s hands on her, his mouth on her lips, his body against hers—

He could not let that happen. He did not consider himself a possessive man, not really, but this was something he could not allow. “He will not have you.”

“He will not,” Shan agreed, this time reaching out for him, taking his hand and putting it over her heart, letting him feel the steady way it beat. True and constant for him, a promise that she did not even have to put into words. “Not here. Not in any way that truly matters.”

Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she said, “Bart, Anton, can you give us a moment?”

Bart started to protest, but Anton reached out, clasping him around the shoulder. “It’s all right, Isaac can take care of himself, and we’ll be right outside.”

It was a warning, pointless as it was. If Shan wanted to leave, there was nothing either of them could do to stop her.

The only one who could stand up to her was Isaac, and he was not afraid of the woman in front of him.

She had lost her control over him long ago, just as he had lost his control over her.

Here they stood, perhaps for the first time, as equals—and it felt like everything hinged on what came next.

“I’ll be fine,” Isaac confirmed. “She’s right. We need to talk.”

“Fine. You have five minutes, then we need to figure out how we’re saving Samuel. Use it wisely.” Bart charged out of the room, Anton following behind after tossing them a jaunty salute, and they stood in silence until the door clicked shut behind them.

Five minutes. Not enough time to undo what felt like a lifetime of hurts, but it was a start, and Isaac would not waste it. He reached out, planning to grab a hold of Shan and hold her close, but she sidestepped, danced right out of his reach with a wistful smile.

“I haven’t earned that, yet.” She leaned back against the wall, the only relief in this plain, empty room.

But the distance seemed to give her strength, and he recognized what this was.

He didn’t need to go to her, she needed to come to him.

She had already started, she was here after all, but she still needed to take that final step.

If he could convince her.

“It’s not about earning,” he said, surprising himself with just how much he meant it. “I think that’s been our problem all along. Keeping score, trading favors, calling in debts. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”