Chapter Twenty-Five Shan

Chapter Twenty-Five

Shan

S han had never seen a crowd this large in her entire life—not at any social event, not at any of the annual sacrifices, not at anything at all. The streets below were filled with people—with Unblooded citizens—gathered in protest.

They filled the main square of the capital, crowding around the construction work in the central park, spilling out to fill the gardens, packed between rose bushes and standing on benches. They filled the cobblestoned streets around the square, pressing up against the windows of restaurants and shops, fully blocking access to them, a veritable sea of bodies. But Shan and a host of other Blood Workers watched from the balconies above, safe in their second-story restaurants and clubs as the Guards below struggled to keep the Unblooded in check.

As the chants rose.

No Justice! No Peace!

If we don't get justice, you don't get peace!

So far there was no violence. No threats. But their chants were loud, organized, and steady, and she wondered when they had found the means to prepare so.

And how she, as the Sparrow, had missed it.

But she couldn't ignore it any longer. Not after a fourth body in as many weeks had turned up on the street, bloody and brutalized, and fear moved the people to such lengths. Blood and steel, she had studied her history as diligently as the next student, but she had never read about anything like this. If this had happened in Aeravin before, such tales had been suppressed, wiped away like a blot against the pages of history.

And from the tension rolling off Lord Dunn, she was not sure that something like that wasn't about to happen now. He had invited her to his favorite club when word of the protest had started to spread, along with a handful of others from the House of Lords, and she had readily accepted.

How else would she have gotten such a good view?

"Absolutely unacceptable," Lord Dunn growled, low and dark, then he downed the rest of his wine. Snapping his fingers, he summoned one of the servers, who shuffled forward and refilled his goblet. "How dare they."

Shan just fiddled with her teacup. Many of her brethren had turned to wine, or worse, spirits, but it was only mid-afternoon yet and she did not want to be addled. "I am curious how they gathered so quickly," she said, taking care to be calm, composed. "It's been less than twenty-four hours."

Dunn huffed in response. "Yes, I've been considering that as well. They must have planned this in advance, but simply been looking for an excuse to gather. It's too well put together to have been done last minute."

Shan pursed her lips. "Exactly. That said, they picked a good time. This cause will earn them sympathy, at the least. They are not entirely wrong. People are still dying, and we have no leads."

"No, they're not." Dunn sipped his drink, some of the anger fading as the talk turned to politics. "That's what is the most frustrating about all this. They almost have a leg to stand on."

Lady Belrose slid up beside them, greeting Shan with nothing more than a nod. "Almost? They're dying in the streets, Kevan, and we are doing nothing about it."

"There are investigations happening," Dunn started.

"Investigations mean nothing," Belrose interrupted. "Results do. And all they see is that more bodies are appearing and we continue to go on as if nothing has changed."

"Everything is changing," Dunn muttered under his breath.

"And how is that?" Belrose sighed, and Shan noticed that the normally impeccably put together Councillor looked terrible today. Every year of her life stood out on her face in tired lines and dark circles. "As much as it pains me to say it, we are failing them. Our Guard is failing them."

Dunn cast Shan a look out of the corner of his eye, and she drew up her shoulders, already knowing what he expected of her.

"We are failing them," Shan agreed, and Belrose looked up at her in shock. "It's no surprise that they've taken to such measures, especially given the…" She trailed off, deliberately looking troubled.

"The rubbish they've been spouting?" Dunn supplied, perhaps with a bit too much vigor. "Absolute nonsense. Have you seen the latest? They want their own Parliament House."

"Yes, I've seen," Shan said demurely. One of her birds had dropped off that one the other night, and it had been an illuminating read. "But surely we can do something. They are our citizens after all, and for the Blood Taxes they pay they do deserve some protection."

"Exactly," Belrose said, straightening. She studied Shan with a new appreciation. "Perhaps I underestimated you, LeClaire. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Aside from catching this killer?" Shan said with a shrug. "The Unblooded need to feel like they have a place to go when they have issues. A safety network, a way for their needs to be addressed. Not their own Parliament, obviously, but perhaps a council of some sort. Something that is organized and recognized by the government."

Belrose nodded as she listened, turning the thought over in her mind. "Yes, like the unions their little pamphlets and books go on about, but not so… drastic."

"Precisely," Shan said. "We give them some protections, a little of what they want, and things like this," she gestured at the protest below, "won't happen again."

"It's all pointless," Dunn said. "A foolish fancy of youth."

"No," Belrose said. "LeClaire is right. Things are changing, Kevan, and sometimes I worry that you and I are too stuck in our ways to see the right solutions." Turning back to Shan, she added, "Do you have anything formal written up?"

Shan swallowed hard. "Yes, but it's only a draft."

"Send it to me," Belrose said. "I'll look it over." When Shan hesitated, she smiled. "Don't worry, I don't plan to steal your idea from you. Dunn has overheard all of this anyway, so even if I tried, he could vouch for you."

"No, it isn't that. It's just—thank you," Shan said, dropping into a curtsy. "I am in your debt."

Belrose waved her hand. "Nonsense. We might be on the Royal Council, but it's still our duty to ensure that the next generation of nobility is ready to take the lead. Now, if you don't mind, it's been a long week and I'm going to see if they have anything stronger than wine."

She took her leave of them, and Dunn leaned close enough to whisper, "You're doing well, LeClaire."

Then he too was gone, leaving Shan alone with the strangely bitter taste of success. Everything was proceeding exactly as it should. So why did she feel so used?

Stepping back out onto the balcony, Shan let the warm afternoon air wash over her. Below, protesters continued their chants, and she tilted her head back and let their voices wash over her—a strangely soothing rhythm.

"Shan."

She opened her eyes to find the Royal Blood Worker standing next to her, having slipped to her side while she was waiting. He, too, looked hopeless and bedraggled, and Shan realized that was the new normal of their lives. For once the nobles faced true tension and fear—and a deep, dark part of her relished it. "Hello, Isaac."

His lips quirked into the briefest of smiles, but it faltered as the chants rose. "I didn't expect you to be here today."

"Honestly, I didn't expect to be here either." She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the crowd, but it looked like they had all gathered in small groups around tables. It was easier to ignore the truth of the situation if one didn't have to look at it. "But there are a lot of things happening this Season that I didn't expect."

"I'm sure." His hand drifted towards hers, barely a brush, but she felt it anyway. "I've heard rumors about you, my dear."

"Only good things, I hope."

"Only the best. But we need to talk. I never had the chance to thank you for those notes you sent me."

Ah, the notes on Samuel. She wondered when they would come back around to her. But they had both been busy. "All right. Tonight?"

"My, my, Lady LeClaire. Are you inviting me to dinner?" He bared his teeth in a smile that sent chills down her spine.

"If you'll deign to join me."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

It took her longer than she wanted to get out of the club. The protest had been broken up peacefully—a miracle, in Shan's opinion, but Lady Belrose took a great risk. She put herself out there in front of the crowd, swearing that she would increase their efforts to find this killer. There would be extra Guard patrols, a drop point for them to share information anonymously and a vague hint of new legislation to come.

It had appeased them for now, but Shan knew the truth—if they didn't find this killer, and soon, nothing the Blood Workers did would keep them in line.

But Lady Belrose had bought them time and Shan knew better than to waste it. Her first task when she finally made it back home was finish up the last of the changes on her draft of Dunn's bill then to send it off to Lady Belrose. After that, she had an important meeting with the Royal Blood Worker.

She considered her options—as hostess, there were many things expected of her. A certain type of menu, a level of decorum. But Anton's words from the other night still grated on her, and if there was anyone who'd understand, it was Isaac.

She still remembered that night, once, when she had sneaked to the flat he shared with his parents at his insistence, had sampled the rich flavors of their food in an atmosphere she had never known before. It was the anniversary of the de la Cruzs' move to Aeravin, and they had made lechon, a whole roasted suckling pig in the Tagalan tradition, to celebrate, complete with a rich wealth of side dishes. It had been the most delicious dinner, and one of the few times she had felt at home somewhere since her mother left.

Perhaps it was time she returned the favor.

She ducked into the kitchen to speak with the Tagalan cook whom Anton had hired after the death of their father; despite his misgivings about her methods, he had quickly taken advantage of the change in status.

That settled, she went to change and wait. Evening came quicker than she expected, and she was shamefully relieved when she realized that her brother wasn't home. He still wasn't pleased by her rekindled association with Isaac, and though she had done everything she could to keep them apart, she wasn't sure what would happen should their paths cross.

It wasn't that she was more forgiving than her brother, it was just that she knew when to let things go for political reasons. And this was one of them.

Her past relationship with Isaac had no bearing on it.

It was harder to believe her own lie when the footman escorted Isaac into the parlor. He, too, had changed, trading his formal robes of office for a simple suit, finely made but without any ostentatious bits. Somewhere along the way he had shed some of the roughness from before. No, that wasn't quite right. Isaac hadn't done away with the pain and exhaustion that seemed to plague him lately, but it seemed that he had been soothed in some gentle, unknown way.

"My darling Lady LeClaire." He took her hand in his, bowing over it as he placed a kiss on the back of it. "Thank you for your invitation."

She rolled her eyes, just a bit more dramatically than usual. "Please, Isaac. Such formalities never suited us."

"No, they didn't," he agreed, as he straightened. He didn't let go of her hand, though. "Yet still I am compelled to give you the honor you deserve."

The honor that she did not yet get from others. She felt a slight blush rise to her cheeks, and she let it happen. "You've become quite charming."

His smile faltered. "It's what's expected of me," he said quietly. "I must keep them entertained, after all."

She squeezed his hand, sympathetic. They would never be good enough to be considered simply on their own merits, would they? They'd always had to be more—more entertaining, more successful, more charming—to simply be considered on the same level as the others.

"Let's have dinner," Shan said. "I've requested something I hope you'll like."

"Oh?" His mask slipped away, revealing the boy she remembered. "And what is that?"

"You'll see."

She led him to the dining room, where there was a minimalistic dining set up for two around the corner of one end of the table. It was a lot more casual—and personal—than Shan would dare with almost anyone else. Even she and her brother sat across from each other, on those occasions when they dined together, an increasingly infrequent event.

Isaac, though, seemed pleased by this turn, and settled down at the table. One of the servants entered, carrying a single large bowl, which she set down in front of them. Lifting the lid, she revealed a steaming pile of noodles, vegetables and chicken, all cooked together with spices and broth in one pot.

The girl looked between them, and Shan nodded, and she quickly served them. The wine had already been poured, so she just curtsied and left. It was much simpler than her usual work—one course, one dish.

Nothing like the normal dinners in Dameral.

"Pancit bihon," Isaac said, with just a hint of awe. "This looks—and smells—amazing." He leaned over his plate and taking a deep breath, savoring the aromas.

"I'm glad you think so," Shan said, grabbing her fork and spoon—another deviation from the normal setting.

"Thank you for sharing it with me," Isaac said sincerely, and Shan felt a burst of happiness inside her, though she'd never admit it.

She simply tucked in.

They ate in companionable silence, despite the important topics she knew that they needed to discuss. But it was nice to simply be able to enjoy a meal, to enjoy someone's easy company, without having to worry about playing word games or keeping up with a conversation that was more deception than truth, without the calculations that went into every single thing that she did.

It was relaxing, and she almost wished she didn't have this moment. Now that she knew what it was like, she knew that she would miss it. Such things could not last forever, though, and soon enough the meal was finished, and she had no choice but to usher Isaac into her study, leaving behind the fleeting moment of peace.

There, in her private study, behind the wards she erected as soon as they entered, in the safety of her magic and with a glass of strong whisky in her hand, she turned to Isaac and forced herself to be strong.

"So."

"So indeed." He had placed his drink aside right after she had poured it, resting his hands on his knees. "I…"

The words died on his tongue, but Shan didn't press him. She knew him well enough to know his process, that if she wanted to get to the real Isaac she couldn't push him.

Pushing him only led him to putting his mask back up.

She sipped her whisky, savoring the burn on her tongue, until he looked at her with sad eyes—regretful eyes. "I made Samuel a promise."

"Promises can be dangerous things." She settled down next to him on the couch, her skirts fluttering out so that they brushed, barely, against him. "What did you promise?"

"The very thing I told him from the beginning was not a guarantee." He reached for his drink then, downing a large amount of it in one go.

"You foolish man," she whispered, and he flinched.

"I thought you'd understand," he whispered. "You sent me your notes."

"I do," she replied, "believe me, I do. But this is Blood Working beyond the likes of what you and I have ever seen, beyond even what the Eternal King expected. As much as I hope that we can succeed, teasing him with the potential of success only to fail will just hurt him even more."

"I know," Isaac growled. Literally growled, and Shan looked up at him in surprise. "But we have to do something. He's getting better at controlling it, Shan. Soon there will be no reason for the King to wait. Blood and steel, he wants to see Samuel in action."

Shan bit her lip, weighing her options. How much to sympathize, how much to demur. She had not expected to see this side of Isaac—hadn't realized that this side of him still existed—and that the thing to bring it out would be Samuel.

She had spent her whole life planning her schemes, laying out her plans, and there was a part of her that wished she could reach out to him here. But she played a very dangerous game, and in the past few weeks she had started to attract the attention of so many dangerous people. The Eternal King. Lord Dunn. Lady Belrose. And despite the yearning to open up to him—as she had so many years ago—Isaac was still the Royal Blood Worker. This Eternal King's right-hand man.

One of the most dangerous pieces she had in play.

Yet here he was, looking at her as if she could save him—as if she could save them all—and she couldn't simply turn him away.

"What you are saying," she said, carefully, "sounds almost treasonous. Even if we discovered a way to cure Samuel that doesn't mean that the King would allow it to happen."

He didn't look scared at her words; if anything, he looked even more determined. "Perhaps this shouldn't be the King's decision. After all, it's not his life at stake."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "I am only surprised that you seem… willing to defy the King. And for Samuel, no less."

"Do you think he's not worthy of protection?" Isaac asked hotly, turning on her with a sudden rage. "Or do you, like the King, find that his gift is too valuable to be wasted—morality be damned?"

Startled by his vehemence, she slid to her knees in front of him, grabbing his hands in hers. Her movement surprised him enough for him to pause in his rage, looking down at her as she seemed to kneel in supplication at his feet. "No, Isaac. You misunderstand. I cannot lie and say that I have not considered the usefulness of his gift, but I would never force him to use it."

She meant it honestly—such a tool would never be useful. He'd only grow to resent her and her schemes and eventually turn against her. She wouldn't waste an Aberforth—a king—for such a short-term asset.

Her feelings for Samuel did not play into this at all. She was ever so practical.

Isaac stared down at her, the anger replaced by a pain so sharp Shan almost couldn't bear to look at it. "So, it's me you thought a coward."

"After everything you did," she said, softly but not cruelly, "after everything you didn't do, can you blame me?"

"No, I suppose not." He was still holding her hands, brushing his thumbs against her skin. "But I am not the King's man through and through. I am still my own person. And I will prove it to you."

"And Samuel?"

"Him, too," Isaac said.

"No, I meant—" Shan trailed off, for once words failing her. She didn't know what she meant, how to put it all into a coherent thought.

"Ah." He moved his hand, stroking his thumb down her cheek. She leaned into the touch, and he cupped her face against the palm of his hand—it was large and warm, and even with the years between them it was so easy to give in. "This was also something I wanted to talk about. Last night, I kissed him."

Shan froze completely, her heart not even beating. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've kissed you, too," he said. "And I've a feeling that I wasn't the only Blood Worker to steal a kiss from Samuel."

She pushed herself away from him, too flustered to speak, and he let her go. Returning the favor from earlier when she had given him time to gather his thoughts. Eventually, she found that forced calm she had spent years perfecting, and she turned back to him. Cold, impassive, unhurt. "What is this? Are we to fight over him, like he is some prize to be won?"

"Not at all," Isaac said. "I was serious when I meant that I want to court you. But I also want to court him as well. And I think you want that, too." She sucked in a harsh breath, and he smiled. "Am I wrong?"

He wasn't. She was a lonely creature, and perhaps her heart had been so starved of love that, now that she had the option, she didn't want to give up either. And Isaac—she had suspected there being something between him and Samuel, blood and steel, she had eyes, but she had no idea that it was this strong.

And if Samuel was open as well…

Maybe she could have it all.

He was offering her everything she wanted on a silver platter, and yet. "This isn't our decision alone to make."

"I know. And Samuel doesn't feel comfortable entering a relationship as long as his power hangs over him. But it is something to think about, isn't it?"

She remembered the way his command had rung in her ears—a single, simple word. Mine . It had cut through her with a shocking, brutal pain, stripping her of all sense of self and identity for a single moment.

It was terrifying. It was thrilling.

But his fear was understandable, and she was relieved that Isaac understood it.

"So that's why you're so determined to cure him," she said instead, twisting the moment into a bit of levity, and Isaac snorted. "I can't say I blame you then."

Isaac threw back his head and laughed, and Shan smiled. "All right, de la Cruz. You say that you are your own man? Then prove it. And maybe, just maybe, I'll take you back."

"And then we can talk with Samuel?" he added, and she nodded. "Well, then, I guess I have to prove myself."