Chapter Fifteen Samuel

Chapter Fifteen

Samuel

S amuel was instructed to go to the Royal Library immediately following their meeting. Though he was unable to see to such matters personally, the King assured him that his Royal Blood Worker would be able to prepare him adequately for the ball the next day. And besides, it would do him well to get to know the man—he was one of the many suspects in the court, after all.

Samuel wanted to say no—that he was no spy. In the brief moment that he actually met Isaac de la Cruz, he had seemed kind, charming, funny. A little overworked, yes, but not a serial murderer. It was wrong to accept his friendship in such an underhanded manner, to use it against him in this way. But… perhaps if he befriended the man, he could prove that he was innocent of the charges laid against him.

After all, wasn't that what an investigator was supposed to do?

By the time he arrived in the library, Samuel had managed to turn himself around in knots, doubting the wisdom of his decision. He took a moment to steady himself, closing his eyes and breathing deep of the smell—the comforting scents of paper and ink and old books.

There were more books here than Samuel had seen in his lifetime, filling well-made shelves that rose from floor to ceiling. The library was arranged by subject matter—labelled by small, engraved panels on the ends of each shelf—and Samuel had to restrain himself from diving in headfirst. History, politics, philosophy, magical theory…

Even amidst such wealth, such a thing felt like coming home.

"Can I help you?" asked a soft voice at his elbow.

Samuel turned to see a woman staring at him, short of stature but firm of disposition. Her lips were drawn into a harsh frown, as if he had interrupted her sanctuary, and he realized with a jolt that this must be the librarian.

"Ah, yes, ma'am," he said, inclining his head to her. "I'm to meet with Sir de la Cruz. I was told he would be here."

She gave him a quick look-over, and after determining that he passed whatever standard she was measuring him against, nodded. "He's in his usual corner."

Smiling slightly, Samuel glanced away. "I'm not sure where that is."

"Right." Sighing, she turned sharply on her heel. "This way, Lord…?"

"Samuel Hutch—" He caught himself, biting down hard on his lip. The King had given him a clear directive—he wasn't a Hutchinson, not anymore. "Aberforth. Samuel Aberforth."

The librarian stumbled, tripping over the hem of her skirt. Samuel reached out to help her, but she had already caught herself, dropping into a deep curtsy. "My lord, I had no idea. Please forgive my impertinence."

"I… uh." He blinked down at her, utterly baffled. "It's fine, really."

The woman remained bowed, her head low. "Your charity is overwhelming, my lord."

He just stared at the back of her head, searching for the right words. What was happening?

"Samuel!" Glancing up, he saw Isaac walking his way, clearly fighting back laughter. "You made it." Coming up beside the still bowing librarian, he helped her up. "Thank you, Charlotte. I'll take it from here."

"As you say, sir." She bowed her head towards Samuel once more, then hurried off into the stacks. But he swore he could still feel the weight of her gaze upon him.

"Thank you for your help," he said quietly, and Isaac grinned. "But what the hells was that?"

"Come on, Samuel." Isaac rolled his eyes. "You're practically royalty. Such a reaction shouldn't surprise you."

Maybe it shouldn't. But it definitely disturbed him. "I'm just the same as she is," he muttered, "except for a small matter of blood."

"We both know that's not true. You are so much more than that."

Samuel shot him a sidelong glance, wondering what precisely he was referring to, but Isaac was already walking away, slipping deeper into the library. Once they were past the opening, it became so silent that Samuel felt his very breath would disturb it. Isaac, too, seemed to have the same reverence, and led him past the tables and stacks in a companionable quiet.

They rounded the last corner, coming upon what looked like a small study built right into the corner of the library. There were tables, oversized chairs with plush cushions, even a damned couch shoved up against the wall. It was out of place and homey at the same time, and Samuel turned to Isaac with a frown.

"It's the King's private corner," Isaac explained, "and the closest thing I have to my own space here." He dragged the toe of his boot across the floor, and Samuel glanced down to see what looked like an inlay of blood sketching a border around it, a thin line of glass built into the floor itself. "If he requires privacy, he can activate this ward here, protecting those inside from eavesdroppers."

"That's impressive," Samuel said, unable to stop himself from being awed by it. Blood Working was both great and terrible in equal measure.

"It is, isn't it?" There was a hungry look in Isaac's eye, and Samuel recognized it. He had seen it in himself, after all—the thirst for knowledge. It was part of why he was drawn to books in the first place, and he supposed that even the most powerful of Blood Workers felt the same.

"Anyway," Isaac said, clapping his hands together. "I know what His Majesty wants us to discuss, and we'll get to that. But I believe I promised you a tour of the library?"

s

Samuel flushed a little at the memory. It was sweet of him to offer, but— "That's not necessary."

"I believe it is," Isaac said, grinning. "As you are family of the King, you're welcome to help yourself to anything you find here—just check it out with Charlotte before you leave. Besides, I've heard the Aberforth estate's library is lacking, so hopefully this suits you better."

"It is," Samuel said. "Lacking, that is." It had been the first room he had truly explored, before even his own bedroom, and he had been filled with a crushing disappointment. It seemed that the Aberforths before him hadn't cared much for reading and they had simply purchased books by the foot, not caring about the quality or the value of the words they carried, all decorative spines and impressive titles, but drivel within. It was all style and no substance.

Isaac clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, the last few generations of your family hadn't been scholarly, from what the rumors say."

No, they had been cruel. Vicious. A long, terrible fall from grace. Their passing had been tragic, but he couldn't deny that there had been a sense of relief that had spread over Dameral afterwards.

"You are familiar with the rumors, then?" Samuel asked, and Isaac turned away. Shan had given him some of them, but he knew that she was withholding the worst. He was uncomfortable enough, and she seemed hesitant to push him. He didn't know if it was a kindness or an attempt to manipulate him—it was hard to tell with her.

"I am," Isaac said, at last. "They were not nice people, Samuel, and though I've just met you, I can already tell you are far better than them."

"Flatterer," Samuel chided, but he was smiling as he said it.

"Is it flattery if it is the truth?" Isaac asked, his dark eyes sweeping over him. It was different from the way that Charlotte had studied him—that had been reverence and fear. This was pure interest, with just a hint of heat.

Samuel sucked in a harsh breath as he realized what was happening. Hells. This wasn't some mere stranger. Not someone he could brush off with paltry excuses, like Markus had been. They were to be allies or enemies in the complicated game of cat and mouse that his life had become. This had potential—and that terrified him.

And it was bad enough that there was already attraction growing between him and Shan.

Isaac laughed softly, breaking the spell between them as he ran his hand over the back of his neck. The tension hung thick between them, and it was clear that he felt it, too. "So, books then. What are you interested in?"

"History," Samuel answered. "Politics. Philosophy. And fiction, of course."

"Of course," Isaac said. "What kind of fiction? Do you prefer the dramatic stories? Adventure tales? Sweeping tales of romance?"

Blushing fiercely, Samuel looked away. "Just fiction."

Isaac burst out laughing, and Samuel wanted to sink into the floor. "Oh, Samuel. Don't tell me. You have a soft, bleeding, romantic heart, don't you?"

"There is no need to be cruel," Samuel muttered.

"Cruel?" Isaac stepped around him, and the expression on his face was achingly fond. "I'm not being cruel. I'm delighted. The world needs more idealists, if you ask me."

Taking a deep breath, Samuel tried to force some of his embarrassment to fade. "I see."

"Unfortunately, you won't find many of those books here," Isaac said, sadly. "Or the ones that you do will be unbearably chaste. Something about decorum or whatnot. But I'll be happy to loan you some from my own collection."

Samuel stared at him.

"What? It's well known that my parents were deeply in love," Isaac said, shrugging. "It's part of what made them so unpopular. Growing up with them, well, it tends to give a boy hopes."

"Hopes?" Samuel licked his lips, and Isaac's gaze dropped briefly to them.

"Hopes," he repeated. "Even when they are foolish. Come, Samuel, let me show you where to find things. This library can satisfy your academic needs, but don't worry, I'll be sure you have your fun, too."

Isaac's smile was a wicked, brilliant thing, and when he grabbed Samuel by the hand, Samuel let himself be pulled into the stacks.

After Isaac had shown him around and explained the basic layout, Samuel devoted himself to learning the ins and outs of the library. Isaac had given him a friendly smile and retreated back to the study area, but Samuel? He explored—it was exactly what he needed after the meeting with the King and he would be eternally grateful to Isaac for giving it to him.

In the space of an hour he had brought a dozen books back to the table, books on history and Blood Working and politics, the look on Isaac's face growing more incredulous with each successive trip. By the time he added the thirteenth book to the already precarious pile, Isaac reached out and grabbed him by the wrist.

"I think you have enough for now," he said. "The rest will still be here when you're done with these."

"But what if someone checks them out?" Samuel asked, deadly serious.

"Then you can take out different books!" Isaac shook his head. "And besides, I haven't even given you the fun ones yet." His voice dropped low on the word fun , sending chills running down Samuel's spine. Isaac's voice was deeper than it had any right to be, rich and masculine, and Samuel sat so he could hide his rising blush behind the stack of books.

"Fine," Samuel reluctantly agreed. "This is a good start." Isaac did have a point, after all. There were more than enough books to keep him busy, and besides, it wasn't like the palace was far from his home. Or that he wouldn't be back here often enough.

This was where his only living relative was, after all.

"You can see sense!" Isaac quipped. Rising to his feet, Isaac stepped over to the line in the floor he had pointed out earlier. A small dagger—fine and sharp—was in his hand, and he sliced his finger open, letting blood drip slowly onto the floor.

The ward sizzled to life around them, invisible to the naked eye, but Samuel could feel it as it rose. All the hairs on his arms stood up, as if a rush of electricity was washing over him, and he stared as Isaac licked the blood from his own wound.

"There." Isaac slid the knife back into a tiny sheath at his waist. "Now we can talk."

Samuel's smile was forced. "And we weren't talking before?"

"Well, yes," Isaac said, coming to sit next to him, instead of across from him. They were too close for Samuel's comfort—not even a foot separated them. "But there are a few things I am to update you on privately."

"Afraid of spies in the library?"

This time, when Isaac laughed, there was no humor in it. "There's always someone listening, Samuel. You need to learn that. The only question is how they'll use it against you." His hand hung from the edge of the armrest, his fingers just close enough to touch. "I recommend you be careful."

"And you?" Samuel asked. "Are you going to use this against me?"

Isaac's gaze sharpened, and Samuel noticed just how striking his eyes were. Not simply brown, but so dark one could lose themselves in them. "No, I won't."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"You're cleverer than you let on," Isaac said, inclining his head. "I like you, Samuel. You don't belong here, that's clear." He bit his lip. "And without help you'll be eaten alive."

"Charity, then." Samuel clenched his jaw. It was barely a step up from pity, but Isaac wasn't wrong.

He was as helpless as a lamb led to the slaughter.

"Vested self-interest," Isaac countered. "You're the last Aberforth. Having your friendship could be very helpful." The brush of his fingers, clearly intentional, against Samuel's helped to temper some of the unease. "Besides, I meant what I said."

"Thank you."

Isaac grinned. "Anything for a friend. So, first things first, I know about this power you have."

Samuel wrenched his hand away, sending his chair skittering back. "You what ?" he gasped, his throat tightening as fear gripped him hard. His breath was coming in short, hard bursts, a slightly off-putting wheeze, as he stared at Isaac imploringly.

"Don't be so afraid," Isaac said, soothingly. "I am the Royal Blood Worker—the King himself asked me to help you. He's a very busy man," he paused, his expression hardening, "and then there are the deaths. He doesn't want your training to be put on hold, so I will be stepping in."

Samuel shook his head, gasping turning to trembling as the fear radiated outwards. It was too many people. First the slip-up with the Guard. Then Shan. The Eternal King.

Now Isaac.

A noose was slipping around his neck, and Samuel didn't know what to do.

"Hey, hey," Isaac was moving closer, his hand sinking onto Samuel's back, rubbing soft, soothing circles on it. It was tender, comforting, and Isaac kept repeating the motion until the tension started to ebb away, whispering gentle words of comfort in his ear.

"It's fine, you're fine," Isaac whispered, as the last of the panic melted away.

Samuel looked up to him, Isaac's face close as he leaned in. "And you're not… afraid?"

"Of what?" Isaac asked, so genuinely earnest that Samuel almost believed him. "Of the Aberforth curse?" He laughed. "Even if the power itself is frightening—and it is—that means I'd have to be afraid of you."

"You're not?"

"Please, Samuel." Isaac smiled at him, flashing a dimple he hadn't realized had been there. "You collect books and pine over romance novels. You get flustered when someone curtsies to you. I think I'm fine."

Samuel tried to force a smirk. "You don't know. I could have a dark side."

Isaac's snort was enough to prove him wrong.

"Fine," Samuel said, though he pulled away. Isaac let him. "You know. Great."

"And we'll get the power of yours under control, I promise." He leaned in his chair. "But there is your reputation to think of as well."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Isaac said. "Did His Majesty tell you about the ball tomorrow?"

Samuel swallowed hard. "Yes, he did. I'm not entirely sure it's necessary—"

"Please, Samuel," Isaac interrupted. "The rumors of you are already spreading fast, and we have to get ahead of them."

"You sound like Shan," Samuel muttered. It always came back to this, didn't it? Image. Reputation. Power.

"Ah, yes," Isaac said, glancing away. "Shan LeClaire. I suppose I should warn you of her as well."

"Shan?"

Isaac nodded. "Yes, Shan." He raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm sure you've noticed that she's very clever, but you need to be careful. She could do amazing things for you—she's going to be a very powerful player. And yet…"

He drifted off, and Samuel leaned closer. "And yet?"

"You don't want her as an enemy, Samuel," Isaac said, sadly. "Once you lose her trust, I don't know if you can get it back."

Samuel studied him closely—Isaac wouldn't quite meet his eye. "Speaking from experience?"

"It's complicated." Isaac stood, cutting off the conversation. "Just be careful with her."

"For my sake or hers?"

Isaac hesitated, then, "Both?"

Samuel wanted to push—he knew that he could get the full story out of him, if he wanted. If he just gave into the lure of his power. But Isaac seemed so sure of his goodness that the impulse died as soon as it bloomed. He believed in him, and Samuel might not know much, but he knew that he couldn't just throw that away.

"Okay," Samuel said, and Isaac relaxed.

"Let's get these books checked out for you, and I'll call you a hack." He held up his hand, stopping Samuel straight out. "You are not carrying all this on your own."

Samuel laughed. "Oh, fine."

"Good. You go home and enjoy your ill-gotten gains." His lips curved into a too-tempting smile. "Read a bit. I'll stop by tonight with other books, and I'll give you the rest of the details about the party."

"You really don't have to—"

"I insist," Isaac said. "But I promise that I won't take up too much of your time. Now come on, let's get you over to Charlotte." Taking half the stack, he made his way back towards the entrance, the ward shattering around him as he passed through.