Chapter Seventeen Samuel

Chapter Seventeen

Samuel

S amuel dragged his eyes away from the black-robed Blood Workers who lingered at the edge of the crowd—extra security pulled from the ranks of the Guard, provided for the protection of all. It was ridiculous. This murderer had not yet attacked a Blood Worker, and if the Eternal King's theory was correct, they would not anyway. Besides, who would be foolish enough to strike in the middle of a ball?

Still, he had seen the same Blood Worker who had come to his old workplace on the day he had been fired, who had been responsible, however indirectly, for all the changes that had happened in his life. Alessi's shorn blond hair made her stand out in a crowd of prim and proper Blood Workers, and she caught him staring at her. For a moment they locked eyes, and she inclined her head with a smile that chilled him. He wasn't sure that he wanted her attention, with her too sharp eyes and her cunning smile.

But there were more important things to keep track of, even if Samuel was completely lost. Hoping that his smile hadn't faltered in the brief distraction, he turned his attention back to the men Isaac had introduced him too, accepting the goblet of wine that Isaac pressed into his hand. Between the wine and the conversations he was drowning in, filled with references to people and places and things that he did not know, Samuel wasn't sure he'd be able to remember any of it come morning.

Except, perhaps, the feel of Shan's hands on him, guiding him in the steps of a dance he had never learned.

"Don't worry," Isaac was saying, and Samuel forced himself to pay attention to Sir Morse, who was looking at the both of them like they were the most fascinating thing in the room. "I'm sure we can arrange something."

Samuel didn't have the foggiest idea of what he was agreeing to, but he inclined his head just the same.

"Now, if you don't mind," Isaac said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "I need to introduce Aberforth around."

"Quite so," Morse agreed, with a smile. "But I shall see you at the club soon!"

"I am looking forward to it," Samuel added, though he would rather launch himself headfirst out the nearest window, but thankfully Isaac was already steering him away, before twisting and pulling them up some stairs and onto a private balcony, where they could speak alone while looking down on the crowd.

It was a blissful reprieve, but Samuel knew that Isaac had not done it as a kindness, but to impart a lesson. He turned his gaze on Isaac's face, though he felt the urge to look for Shan like the pull from a lodestone.

They were separated by the full length of the ballroom, and a height difference of at least ten feet besides, but he felt her presence as acutely as if she were right beside him. She stood near the windows, chatting with a group of young women.

"I'm sorry?"

Isaac laughed—no, snorted . "I was saying, Samuel, that you shouldn't look so worried." He leaned in, a conspirator's smirk turning his handsome features into something cruel. "They'll keep introducing themselves to you for the length of the Season, at least. They'll be vying for your attention, and you can have your pick of the lot."

"Joy," Samuel replied, taking a careful sip of the wine. It was bitter and dry, and Samuel nearly choked on it. Isaac had assured him it was a very fine vintage, though Samuel had no way of knowing. It didn't matter, really. No matter what he was drinking, he couldn't allow himself to have enough of it to affect him.

"Don't be like that. You've got to trust me on this. This is an opportunity."

Samuel clenched his jaw, tired of being talked to about opportunities. "I am aware."

"Then don't waste it," Isaac said, spinning him around so that they both faced the crowd once more. He began again, this time from the top. It was an endless list of names and titles, parsing out those who were truly worthy of his time and those who were simply there to fill the space. It was bad form to throw a ball of this caliber without a certain number of guests, apparently, and Isaac coldly told him that's what the fodder was for.

Samuel kept his mouth shut at Isaac's judgement, even though he would've been one of the fodder—or worse—not so long ago. One of the nameless, anonymous servants who cut through the crowd, invisible and unnoticed.

Instead he focused on committing the names to memory, wishing for parchment and pen to keep track of it all. The woman in red was Miss Lynwood, and she was the mistress of Miss Rayne, granddaughter of Lord Rayne, the Councillor of the Treasury. And there was Sir Morse, who so desperately wanted Samuel to join his favorite smoking club. But he was the second son of Lady Morse, who acted as the military strategist on the Eternal King's council, and so any connection to them would be useful.

Samuel hadn't even been aware that the Council contained a military strategist. The Eternal King had kept Aeravin out of the wars between other nations for centuries, despite the countless rulers who had courted them and their legions of Blood Workers.

It was funny. Every other nation—who called themselves civilized—banned and criminalized Blood Working, calling it an abomination and a perversion. But when they had need of it, they came crawling to Aeravin with their pretty words and petty bribes. For what little good it did. The Eternal King had never given in, keeping their magic free and separate.

Isaac kept going until Samuel's head began pounding, his power pressing against the confines of his chest. He could feel the command burning at the back of his throat, and he wanted to snap. To unleash this gift and make Isaac stop his endless prattle.

It kept on pressing, and when at last he felt like his power was going to burn him from the inside out, Samuel broke.

"Please," he said, just a whisper of magic leaking past his lips. "A moment."

Isaac's eyes glazed over, his expression surprisingly soft. "Yes, of course." It came and went so quickly that Samuel could almost believe that he hadn't noticed, but then Isaac's brows furrowed and his lips curved into a frown. "Blood and steel, did you just—?"

"I'm sorry!" Samuel blurted. "I tried to stop it but sometimes it just—"

Isaac shook his head, like he was trying to clear it of fog. "That was truly bizarre. I almost didn't notice it, but there was this almost imperceptible feeling of wrongness." He grinned at Samuel. "I'm looking forward to our testing—I must know how this works. Is it always so subtle?"

"I don't think so?" Samuel blinked at him, still waiting for the anger and hurt to come. "It's easier if you were already likely to do it in the first place."

"Interesting," Isaac said. "We shouldn't be talking about this here. But soon, I promise. The King and I will help you figure out this thing in your blood, and you will master it."

"Thank you?" Samuel waited for the catch, but there didn't seem to be one. Everyone wanted something from him, but perhaps all that Isaac wanted was a friend. As important as he was in court, he seemed to have shockingly few of them.

"Naturally. And I am sorry about all this as well." He gestured to the crowd. "Next time we'll go small. Just a handful of people, and I'll make sure Shan has time to prepare you properly beforehand. She's even better at this than I am."

"That would be nice."

"You understand that it had to be this way, right? It had to be a show."

Samuel didn't understand, but he was too tired to argue. "Why are you doing all this, anyway?"

"For the King," Isaac said, as if that explained it all.

Perhaps it did. The King was the most powerful man in Aeravin, and it was clear that Isaac had worked hard to put himself at his side. Samuel didn't know his story, but he could see the sacrifices writ in Isaac's face—in the bags under his eyes and the exhaustion he tried so hard to hide. In the callous way he studied the people around him, so at odds with the genuine kindness he had shown Samuel.

Isaac would do anything it took to climb in Aeravinian society, and Samuel didn't really blame him for it. They made bastards of them all.

Samuel felt a heavy gaze on him, and he turned to find Shan staring at him. Unlike the others, who kept stealing coy glances, she looked straight at him, daring.

"Is there something I should know about?" Isaac asked.

Samuel didn't look away from her. "What do you mean?"

Isaac tsked, lowly. "Already playing with fire, I see. Despite my warning." He leaned against the banister, turning so that he faced Samuel, his eyes shrewd and cold. "She could have had my place, you know. She had the skill and the mind for it. But between the disgrace that was her father and the shame of her brother everyone knew it wouldn't happen. Better to risk it on an unknown like me than a LeClaire."

"The shame of her brother?" Samuel frowned. Anton might be a bit of a walking scandal, but he wasn't that outrageous.

"Oh, yes." Isaac looked at him, surprised. "Did you not know? She has a twin, just as beautiful as her, but Unblooded."

Samuel blinked. That was the shame? "And that is a problem?"

"It doesn't help," Isaac admitted. "It's bad enough being a LeClaire, but, as Shan is proving, that is a stain that can be forgiven. Antonin, though, is a bit of a radical, and Unblooded to boot. Those things do not mix, not in polite society. Shan is the LeClaire you should be seen with, not Antonin."

Samuel scoffed. "I didn't know the court of public opinion was so fickle."

"Blood and steel, Samuel," Isaac cursed. "I know you're not stupid, so stop acting like it. You're new to the game, fine, but there is no need to pretend you don't get it."

Samuel ran his hand through his hair, knocking it from its carefully arranged queue and letting it fall around his face like a curtain. "I don't like it."

"But you do understand it?" Isaac asked sharply.

"Yes," Samuel hissed. "I do. I understand that you all lie and cheat and hide behind fake smiles as you prove—what? That you're cleverer and more powerful? That you can be crueler than the next person? That you'll sacrifice anything and anyone? And what does it gain you?"

Isaac shrugged. "Stability. Safety. Comfort." He reached out, pulling Samuel's hand into his.

Samuel did, taking in the dark circles under Isaac's eyes, the slight wrinkles in the corners of them—strange in one so young. For just a moment, he was not the Royal Blood Worker, second-in-command to the Eternal King. He was just a man, frayed to the point of near breaking.

Samuel squeezed his hand, a useless bit of comfort. Isaac clung to his fingers as if they were a lifeline, and Samuel felt a sudden fluttering in his stomach.

"Don't pity me," Isaac said. "I've got almost everything I've ever wanted."

Samuel bit his lip. He was nearly sure he knew what that "almost" meant. Or, rather, who. Apparently, it was complicated. But he didn't pry, not on that. Not when his own feelings were suspect. "Is it worth it?"

Isaac shrugged. "It's hard to say. But it's better than anything I could have had."

"I don't understand. You were already a Blood Worker. A noble."

"Not a noble," Isaac said, laughing bitterly. "A de la Cruz—an immigrant family. My parents immigrated when they were young, hoping to find a sanctuary that would embrace them for the magic that everyone else fears. And they were clever and talented and good, but still." He raised his hand, pulling Samuel's with him. Their fingers were still entwined, Isaac's burnt gold skin in stark contrast to Samuel's pale white. "They were still different, and the child they bore carried the same stain."

"I didn't realize…"

"You wouldn't," Isaac said. "Aeravin pretends it's some great haven for Blood Workers, that anyone with the gift can come here to find training and a home. And, yes, it's true, but there is a catch."

"But now you're Royal Blood Worker."

"Yes, I am. I am the King's right hand, the one he turns to, who executes his will, who stands with him and for him." Isaac's eyes blazed with fire, and Samuel recognized a bit of himself in that drive, the part of him that he had spent so long burying. "Because if they couldn't accept me, I would force them to. I would be the best so they couldn't deny me."

"And have they accepted you?"

"Yes," Isaac whispered. "As long as I don't disappoint them in any way."

If it was this close to destroying him already, Samuel wondered what he would be in ten, twenty, thirty years. Would the person he grew to be have even the barest reflection of the young man he was? Or would he become something worse?

But more importantly, why did he care so much? Isaac wasn't a friend, or an ally. He was supposed to be a suspect in his investigation, and yet, looking at him now—a hair's breadth away from being broken, Samuel couldn't imagine him as anything other than lonely.

And hells, he wanted to do something to ease that pain.

"Isaac," he whispered, "why are you telling me this?"

Isaac flinched, as if he had been slapped, and Samuel knew he had made the wrong move. "Because I didn't want to see you hurt, like my parents were. Like I was."

He pulled back, and Samuel let him draw his hand away, watching it fall to the side. Samuel wrapped his arms around himself, trying to ignore the feelings of warmth that still lingered, and the strange way that Isaac was watching him through his eyelashes, like he was waiting for a rebuke.

"Thank you," Samuel said. "I appreciate it, I really do."

"Then don't let it go to waste, Samuel." Isaac turned away. "We've been hiding long enough. Come on, there are still plenty of people left to meet."

Samuel nodded. "Then introduce me."