Chapter Twenty-Three Shan

Chapter Twenty-Three

Shan

S han directed her guests with a gracious smile, her entire expression and posture that of a woman who knew that she was being granted a second chance. It sickened her to have to pretend to do so—that she couldn't be the proud, strong woman that she was. But no one wanted that of the Lady LeClaire. Not yet. The Royal Blood Worker and the Lost Aberforth might favor her, might have earned her a spot back in this world, but she was still what she was.

Stained. Foreign. Inferior.

And she would be reminded of that for years to come. The game was a long one, Shan had known that from the start. But somehow it had been easier to be ignored completely than be welcomed but pitied.

Still, for her first salon this was turning out to be a resounding success. Samuel, of course, was here—thus securing the attention of the other nobles. Even if he never came to another one, the mere chance that the latest curiosity could show up meant that any gathering she threw for the next year would be well attended. Even if all he had done all night was sit awkwardly by the window, cup of tea in hand.

But the other guests were far livelier—Miss Lynwood and Miss Rayne had both accepted her invitation, and they had kept the conversation flowing pleasantly from topic to topic, from the balls they were the most excited about to the stunning new dresses they had commissioned. They chittered on with a larger group than she had expected to show up, all young heirs of Aeravin and their siblings, eager to see how the new Lady LeClaire presented herself.

Honestly, Shan only paid them the most superficial attention, noting instead the sly way they kept looking to Samuel. They would be the ones who spread the news of his attendance, and thus they served their entire purpose at this party.

No, the one she kept her eye on was far quieter. Young Amelia Dunn—daughter of her new secret partner. Shan had no doubt that she was here on her father's orders, but even so, her attendance helped. She was a jewel of Dameral society, despite the fact that she was a Blood Worker of only middling ability and looks, her face far too sharp and angular to be called pretty. But her father was on the Council of Lords and so everyone had sought her favor.

Though she was younger than Shan, having only been out for two Seasons, Shan's network assured her that she had already received and rejected five offers for her hand. For many it would have been a disaster, but for her it had only driven the price higher.

Amelia set her sights high, and though she was no beauty or skilled mage she was ruthless and clever enough to do everything she could to secure a stable future for herself. If Amelia hadn't been the daughter of a man she despised, Shan might have admired her.

But Kevan Dunn was everything wrong with Aeravin, and the plan that he had trapped her in only proved that. But like this salon—like her reputation—she was prepared to play the long game, even if she found it terribly distasteful in the moment. Now, she'd had to pay more attention to young Miss Dunn—and she decided to have Bart dig up what he could on her.

It would be helpful to have something on Amelia.

And Amelia, it seemed, would be kind enough to set things in motion.

"Have you heard about these dratted pamphlets?" she said during a lull in conversation. Everyone turned to her, but Amelia kept her eyes on Shan. This was the test she had been sent for—to see if Shan would keep her end of the bargain. "It's all the usual trash, but the latest ones have gotten rather incendiary."

Miss Morse leaned forward, her eyes wide. "You cannot expect me to believe you've read this nonsense?"

"I have," Amelia said gravely, raising her teacup to her lips. "If the rabble is becoming a problem, we need to know what they are plotting."

"They're not rabble. They're people."

A hushed silence fell at Samuel's words, and Amelia smiled.

"Ah, yes." She turned to him, every bit the predator who had found her prey. "You grew up amongst the Unblooded, didn't you?"

Shan watched as Samuel bristled, the anger flashing in his eyes, and weighed her options. She could jump in before things got ugly—but no. No, she'd let it play out, and then she'd swoop in with the reasonable, moderate option, swaying the crowd onto her side.

An Aberforth—especially one with as unusual a story as Samuel's—could recover from these odd beliefs. She could not.

Hopefully he would understand.

"I did," Samuel said, jutting his chin out in that way of his. So proud, so righteous. "Lived and worked as one of them."

"Fascinating," Amelia said. "So perhaps you should be the one to educate us, then, about their needs and wants. Since you know so much about them."

The crowd tittered, but she had played him expertly. Samuel was ready to fight, and the event could not have been more successful if Shan had planned it. She signaled for the maids to fetch fresh pots of tea while she waited for the perfect moment to enter the fray herself.

"It's simple," Samuel replied, throwing the words in Miss Dunn's face. "We start treating them like people instead of like cattle. Do away with the Blood Taxes, let them organize their labor unions, give them seats in the government."

"Lord Aberforth!" Amelia held her hand over her breast in a play at dramatics. "It appears that you are a radical."

"Maybe I am," Samuel admitted. "If it's considered radical to realize that those without magic aren't that different from the rest of us."

"But they're Unblooded," Miss Lynwood started, only to be cut off by Samuel slamming his hand down on the table.

"And that doesn't matter!" Samuel said, and Shan felt the stirrings of something dark and familiar in his voice. "The majority of these people are living in conditions that you cannot even begin to understand. The food you waste on a daily basis can feed a family for a week, and that is not even getting into all the other things you waste so much coin on. Maybe before you go deciding what's best you should—"

"Lord Aberforth does have a point," Shan said, catching the moment before it slipped past. Before the darkness that she recognized in Samuel slipped into his words into a command he couldn't take back. The memory of the previous day and the single word he had whispered in her ear still lingered with her, no matter what she did. It had been dark and terrifying and just a tiny bit appealing, not that she would dare admit that deviant thought aloud.

And she couldn't risk anyone else discovering that gift.

"Of course," she said, once she had everyone's attention, "it would be foolish to go as far as he's suggesting. But we are the noble families of Aeravin, the best of the Blood Workers, and it is our duty to take care of country and lead it into prosperity. And to do that we must take care of all our citizens, including the Unblooded."

"Don't we already do that?" Miss Morse asked. "We give them a home, protect their livelihoods, their streets, and all we ask is for a few pints of blood a year."

"Naturally," Shan said, "but our efforts are outdated."

Amelia leaned forward. Though her expression was concerned, Shan saw the sparkle in her eye. "Yes, what do you mean by that?"

"I'm curious as well," Samuel said, and the harshness in his tone cut like a knife.

She couldn't show any reaction to that, though. No matter how much it hurt. They might be friendly, but as far as everyone else knew, they weren't allies in this. Still, the pain and confusion in Samuel's eyes was real.

He was too good for their world, and sometimes Shan hated the game.

"It's simple," she began, looking everywhere but at Samuel. "The landscape of our country has changed in the past millennium, and what started out as a haven for Blood Workers has grown into so much more. While the laws and structures that were put in place then made sense at the time, the demographics have flipped. Instead of there being almost one Unblooded to every three Blood Workers, there is something like…"

"One Blood Worker to every ten Unblooded, according to the most recent census," Amelia supplied. "Like rats, they are outbreeding us."

There was a harsh sound from Samuel's direction, but Shan cast a warning glare in his direction before he could get a word out.

"Yes, and because of that we need to re-evaluate our position," Shan said smoothly. "While we are very powerful, we cannot discount that the Unblooded have the numbers. It would be the height of foolishness to forget that."

"We can take them still," Sir Morse said, speaking up for the first time as he drew up his shoulders. Oh, he looked so much like his grandmother, the fierce Councillor of the Military, ready to solve any problem that presented itself with force.

Shan didn't even have to argue his point, however. Miss Rayne did that for her, turning to Sir Morse with a frown. "Perhaps, Edward, but wouldn't there be losses on both sides?"

He blanched at the thought of loss—such a brave young fool he was—and conceded the point. "It is a possibility. But they would lose far more than we would."

"There are other options beside force that could be tried first," Shan said, softly.

Miss Lynwood tapped the edge of her teacup as she thought. "So because there are more of them, we should give in to their demands."

"Oh, no," Shan said, with a cruel little smile. "When negotiating, one does not simply give in to the first round of demands. No, we should put something else forward, a compromise. A way of letting them think they have power, that they are getting what they want, without giving them too much."

"It doesn't sound like that's a compromise you are proposing."

Shan could feel the burn of Samuel's eyes on her skin, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. "I suggest allowing them to unionize under the guidance of Lady Holland. She is the Councillor of Industry, and she understands their specific needs and requests more than we can."

"I don't think," Samuel said, slowly, "that if the union is under the organization of the government, that is still a union."

"No, but this is brilliant," Amelia said. "This will give them a place to air their grievances, and if they are legitimate, to move on them."

"And it will let them know they are being heard," Miss Rayne added in, "and hopefully will stop things before they turn to bloodshed."

"They are just Unblooded," Morse said, crushing a biscuit in his hand. "They would not be that much trouble."

"I understand your drive, my friend," Shan said, "but society runs smoother when there is peace, does it not? Should the Unblooded prove to be unreasonable, we will need bold souls like you."

That seemed to appease him, and the group, and Amelia leaned forward, capturing her hand as if they were good friends. "You should draft a bill for the House, Shan—this is too good of an idea to simply let it pass."

"Oh, I don't know," Shan demurred, "it's only my first session in the House, after all."

"No, Amelia is right," Miss Lynwood said. "We might be young, frankly, but it is our duty to put forth solutions to problems that we find, and you can do that. And I think we can all agree that the Unblooded are becoming a problem."

"Perhaps you're right." Shan twisted her hands in her lap—just a moment's worth of calculated dithering—then lifted her head. "No, you are right. I will get to work on drafting this bill and I'll present it myself. Thank you all for your support."

Amelia smiled. "Excellent. It's always good to have another bright young mind join us, especially one who does sit in the House." She squeezed her hand. "I think we'll be good friends, you and I."

Shan returned her smile, letting the conversation slide away from this dreary bit of politics to the latest opera. Yes, this salon was indeed a success in every conceivable way. Except for the way that she felt Samuel's gaze linger on her—confused, angry, and full of judgement.

Well, there was no such thing as the perfect day.

Samuel was one of the first to leave, ducking out of the salon when it was just barely acceptable to do so. Shan didn't linger on it—didn't let herself linger on it—as she focused on the rest of her guests. She smiled at Miss Rayne, curtsied before Sir Morse, clasped hands with Miss Lynwood.

Last of all came Amelia Dunn, who only smiled at her knowingly. "We must meet again soon," she said, and Shan murmured in agreement.

Of course, she had to please her new handler.

But soon enough they were all gone, leaving Shan with an empty home and an even emptier heart. Despite the successes, it had been harder than she had anticipated to play that role, to fold herself into a shape that was socially acceptable as she played the part politics demanded of her.

It was easier to be the Sparrow than the Lady LeClaire, and, somehow, she thought she might get fewer enemies that way.

Turning towards the scattered remains of the party, she wanted nothing more than to tidy up, even though it wasn't her place. Even though it wasn't something any lady of quality would do. Her hands ached to do something—anything—and a restlessness filled her as she clenched them at her side.

Useless.

"Well, well," Anton said, appearing behind her as stealthily as a shadow. "That was an interesting meeting, wasn't it?"

Shan didn't even turn to her brother. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"Naturally." He slipped around her to grab a couple of biscuits off the table, shoving them both into his mouth whole. "Ugh, dry."

"They're popular."

"They're shit," Anton replied. "There is this recipe of Mother's—"

She shook her head, a quick, sharp movement. "You know I can't serve those."

His jaw clenched. "I didn't even say which ones they were."

"It doesn't matter." She crumbled a biscuit in her hand. Her brother was right. They were awful, dry things, hardly sweet at all and with no discernible flavor. "I cannot serve Tagalan food. I'd be laughed out of society."

"Oh, foolish me." He wiped the dry crumbs off his hand. "I should have remembered. We can have adobo and sinagang and pancit when it's just the two of us, but we can't let anyone else know that we dare defy expectations."

Shan just slumped into a chair, too tired to be angry. "Are you just here to fight, Anton? Don't you have better things to do?"

"Probably," Anton admitted. "But there is something I wanted to talk about." She just waved her hand, urging him on. "I didn't know you had planned to be so… political."

Ah, so that was it. Of course that would have caught his attention. "It wasn't precisely something I planned, you know. Sometimes I have no choice but to react to things as they happen."

"And you just so happened to fall into monarchist sentiments?"

"As opposed to what? This democratic nonsense that's been filling the streets?" Anton didn't respond, and Shan looked at him in shock. "Really, Anton? I expected such things from Samuel, but I thought you knew better."

A dark silence hung over them as Anton chewed on his lip. Blood and steel, but when had they grown so distant? He had always been interested in politics and frustrated that he could not actively participate in them because of his Blood, but she never would have pegged him as a democrat.

"I thought," Anton said, with more calm than she expected of him, "that we are working to change things."

"We are," Shan said, then dropped her voice low. "I haven't changed my plans."

"And what do you expect to happen, then," Anton said, "when your little coup succeeds? You're only trading one King for another."

"I'm trading that hidebound ancient fool for someone who can listen to change."

He laughed, low and dark, and he might as well have slapped her across the face. "Nothing will change, not really. Maybe you'll pass a few laws, maybe things will get better for a few decades, but once that pet Aberforth of yours is gone things will return to the same old ways."

"He's not a pet," she snapped, and Anton just stared at her, unmoved.

"Perhaps not," he said, leaning back in his chair. "After seeing you today he probably has some doubts about the validity of your claims. If you really cared so much about the Unblooded you would want to help them."

"I am helping them!" Shan shot to her feet, stomping right up to Anton's face. "I'm trying to keep them from getting killed."

"You're keeping them in their place," Anton countered. "Used and exploited by the nobility who think them nothing more than cattle."

"You are nobility yourself," Shan spat, and Anton recoiled.

"I might have LeClaire blood," he said after a moment of deliberation, "I might have their name and their money, but I am not like you." He grabbed her, entwining his hand with hers so that her claws cut into his flesh, his blood spilling to the floor. "My blood is nothing like yours, and you and your kind will never see me as anything but fuel to be used."

He shoved her back, so suddenly and forcefully that she almost fell. By the time she had caught herself, he was already gone, the echo of his words hanging over her like a weight around her neck, pulling her down and drowning her in a pit of despair.

The ice around her heart cracked just a little bit, but she caught the sob in her throat. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't show weakness. He was angry, that she could sympathize with, but he was wrong. These Unblooded fools protesting in the streets and making their wild demands wouldn't fix Aeravin. They'd only tear it apart.

Even if he didn't understand now, he would soon enough. This was the only way forward, and she would fix things for him. He was still her brother, and she'd move mountains to keep him safe.