Chapter Twenty-Eight Samuel

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Samuel

S amuel's lessons had been proceeding well, according to Isaac, as he twisted the man round and round to obey his commands. Kneeling had only been the beginning—Samuel forced Isaac to crawl on his knees across the floor, to grovel, and once, even, to turn his own blade against his throat, the steel pressing against the soft skin until blood blossomed.

Samuel had no idea how Isaac separated it in his mind. In this room—this grim chamber of the King's—it was as if they were different people. As if what happened here couldn't touch what they were building outside. Where they met over coffee and talked books, where Isaac escorted him to balls and salons when Shan was busy, where they shared heated glances that spoke of promise.

Not the pain that the King's training put them through, honing Samuel's gifts and testing his limits—tempered by the promise that maybe, just maybe, they could take all this away.

But after the failure of the tavern experiment and the success of the Lynwood party, they were running out of options. They needed fresh subjects, new ways to push the limits of his power. He might be able to bring himself to pull some secrets from Blood Workers, but he couldn't dare risk exposure, and so Isaac did the only thing he could.

He filed his report to the Eternal King. And the Eternal King? He was curious, and so Isaac was dismissed.

So tonight, Samuel stood in front of the King and his books of notes, alone. The King had shed his fancy coat, standing there in only breeches and shirtsleeves, the cuffs tucked up almost to his elbows. Witch light highlighted the scars on his arms, the faint white lines crisscrossing their way across his skin.

He was caught staring, and the King's lips curved into a small smile. "Blood Working has come a long way in the past millennium. Our methods didn't use to be so refined."

"Can't you heal them?"

"I could," the King acknowledged, "but I want to remember where I came from, and what I learned. You should be thankful, though, that the Blood Workers of today heal clean. We wouldn't want to ruin Isaac's pretty skin."

Samuel blanched, and the King's smile turned a little bit cruel.

Speaking through a suddenly dry throat, Samuel asked, "What is today's lesson?"

The King turned to him. "You're strong, Samuel, even stronger than your father. I am proud of your successes, but we need to know just how powerful you are. If you can overcome even the strongest wills—and so we will test you."

"I see," Samuel said. "On whom?"

"Oh, I have the perfect specimen."

"Specimen?" Samuel furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."

"Yes. She's resisted all traditional forms of interrogation. Her strength of will is incredible, and if she wasn't so dangerous I'd be impressed." The King snarled. "She's a criminal, Samuel, and you're our last hope of getting the truth out of her."

Samuel took a deep breath, wondering if this was better or worse than experimenting on Isaac. At least this would be a stranger—but then again, did she deserve this? "What was her crime?"

The King cocked his head to the side, like a cat studying his prey. "Does it really matter?"

No, it didn't. It wasn't like the King would find some other person for them to practice on if Samuel wanted to spare her—Samuel had already learned that the King never spared anyone, despite his claims otherwise. "Just curious."

The King sighed, but acquiesced. "You do need to know for the purpose of this interrogation. She was a handmaiden to one of my Councillors, and she stole from her employer. Information, state secrets, anything she could sell to foreign spies."

Samuel clasped his hands behind his back to hide their shaking. Information, then.

The King continued. "We never found who she sold the information to . Your task is to get her to tell us."

This was the way they could get them back, a tangible benefit to his training. He had known that this would happen eventually, that the King would use him for justice. But this was different from hunting a murderer—that saved lives. But this?

Well, he didn't rightly know. But he didn't have a choice. "All right."

"Don't look so sad, Samuel," the King said. "It might seem unsavory, but it is an unfortunate necessity. You need to build up your talents, so that when they're needed you can use them instinctively and without fear."

Hanging his head, Samuel said, "I had hoped that I wouldn't need to use them much. That it would be control I was learning."

"With mastery comes control. But I understand." The King clasped his shoulder, squeezing tight. "But for the first time we have an opportunity to take this… power, the one that so many Aberforths used for ill, and use it for good. To protect Aeravin."

Samuel wrenched himself away, anger making him bold and foolish. "Please don't put that on me. My father was—"

"A monster," the King interrupted. "And it's not your job to atone for his sins. But you can change your legacy, restore respect to the Aberforth name."

To the King's name—it wasn't Samuel that he cared about precisely, but his own legacy. The blood of his blood, the flesh of his flesh. He could have married again, could have had another family. It had been over nine hundred years since the death of his wife, after all, but he had never sought out another.

It was a bit romantic, Samuel had to admit. But it also meant that everything he was, everything he did, was a reflection on the King. And that was a weight he didn't want to carry, even if he did want to be better than the bastard that sired him. But perhaps, in this particular case, it wouldn't be so bad to give in—to use this monstrous power for a bit of good. If he could save even one Unblooded life, it would be worth the stain on his soul.

And it would help him continue to win the King's support, and with it he could help Shan with her plans to change things. It was better than holing up in his home, never speaking to anyone or doing anything for fear of accidentally using his power. He just needed to play the game first.

Feeling resolved for the first time since the King had proposed this plan, he stood tall. "I'm ready."

The King smiled. "Good." Walking over to the door, he opened it and spoke to the guard. "Bring the girl."

Samuel took several deep breaths, closing his eyes as he reached for his gift. The King had been right about one thing, at least. It was getting easier with practice. As soon as he reached for it, it stirred to life, filling him with power and confidence—with the knowledge that while he drew on it, he was the one in control.

Most of the time.

It was addicting, this comfort. His whole life had been one of caution and fear, bowing to the whims of others, to the things he couldn't control. His place as Unblooded, mistaken though it was. His poverty. His mother's illness and death.

But now? There was nothing to fear.

The Guard had returned, escorting a young woman. She was a slight thing, pale and with a long, thick braid of dark hair. Samuel could tell that she had been pretty, though now she was wan and thin from her imprisonment, and her eyes shone bright and clever. Her arms were covered in bruises, and she moved gingerly—as if she was wounded.

The effects of the interrogations the King had mentioned. Torture, Samuel was sure.

Hopefully, his method would be less painful.

"You can take those off," Samuel said, looking at the manacles that still bound her. The Guard glanced up at the King, who nodded his assent. Only then did he unchain the woman, and she stood there rubbing her wrists. "And you can leave us now."

"As he said," the King added, and the Guard left.

The woman was staring at them both, not ducking her head in deference like most of the servants that Samuel had encountered in the palace. She was no longer cowed, and Samuel had to respect that.

"Thank you for helping us," Samuel said, stepping forward with a smile that wasn't entirely forced. He gestured towards a table set in the corner that the King had brought in for this exact purpose. "You can have a seat if you like, Miss…?"

"Kalyn," the woman replied, eyeing the chair distrustfully, as if searching its wooden frame and soft, white cushions for deception. "And what shall I call you, sir?"

She managed to make the honorific sound like an insult, and Samuel felt bad. In another context, in another life, he would have liked her a great deal, but the Eternal King hadn't brought her here so they could make friends. "My name is Samuel Aberforth, but you can just call me Samuel."

Kalyn glanced up, her dark eyes narrowed. "It's you, then."

"It is," Samuel said, biting back a frown as he slid into his seat. News spread far and fast, and he supposed that even prisoners could get their hands on the gossip rags that kept detailing his activities since his introduction to society. "Would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Depends on the questions," she said carefully, settling in the chair across from him. She glanced over at the King, who stood watching them a few feet away. "I can't promise to have the answers."

This was the time: he released just a tiny bit of power, weaving it into his words. "I'll keep it simple," he said, and she relaxed, her eyes going soft. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Not much to know," she replied. "I worked in Lady Belrose's home for years, making my way up to handmaiden." She clenched her hands in her lap. "Four weeks ago, she caught me stealing from her and she turned me over to the Guard."

Samuel felt a bit green, but he reached down into his power, pulling on it until he was steady and strong again, until he was flooded with its calming presence. "How did she catch you?"

For a second it looked like she was going to resist, but he could feel the power hanging between them, slowly sinking its claws into her and making her malleable. "I was in the wrong place," Kalyn explained, "at the wrong time. Lady Belrose was supposed to be out to lunch with her daughter. She found me in her study, going through her notes, and when she searched my chambers she found the copies I had made. I hadn't had my free day yet to drop them off."

The King shot Samuel a pointed look, but he waved him aside. He wasn't a fool. "What did you do with the notes?"

"I met a man at the docks, every Sunday at noon, and traded the notes for a bag of coin."

Samuel couldn't help himself. She had been better off than most, having a coveted position as a handmaiden, and still she had risked it all for coin. "So you did this for money, then?"

"Of course!" Kalyn frowned at him. "I needed the money for Res's treatment."

Samuel paused. "What?"

"They don't take barter," Kalyn explained, rather unhelpfully. "Just coin. And blood—but I didn't have enough blood to pay for this."

Afraid of the truth, but desperate to hear it, Samuel released just a little more magic. "You were ill?"

"Not me," Kalyn said, staring down at her hands. "My younger brother, Res. I don't know if he's still alive." Perhaps it was the effects of his power, but she didn't seem particularly bothered. Her gaze was soft and unfocused, her voice quiet and empty of emotion.

Samuel looked away from her, his mood thunderous, but the Eternal King was unmoved. He simply rolled his hand at the wrist, signaling for him to get on with it. Samuel had to bite his lip to hold back the rush of anger that almost had him demanding to know if the King knew all along.

But he just turned to face Kalyn. "And your contact?"

"I never knew his real name," Kalyn said. "He went by Storm, but we always met at this tea shop."

"Which shop?" the King asked, finally stepping forward and joining the conversation.

Unable to take any more, Samuel just funneled a raw punch of power into his next command. "Tell him whatever he wants to know. Names. Locations. Everything." Kalyn turned her head to the side as if she had been slapped, and Samuel pushed away from the table. He left them alone, letting the King pull the information he needed from Kalyn's unresisting lips.

He pressed his hands against his face. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He turned around just in time to see a flash of steel in the King's hand, the other tangled in Kalyn's braid so that he could pull her head back and bare her throat. Before Samuel could even say a word, the King had drawn his knife through the girl's neck, cutting enough to bare the white of the bone.

Kalyn clasped her hands around her throat, as if she could hold her skin together through sheer will alone as the blood poured through her fingers. Her eyes were wide with panic as she struggled to speak, to breathe, but she was only able to make a strangled, gurgling noise—a noise that would haunt Samuel for the rest of his life.

He rushed to her side, catching her as she fell from her chair. There was nothing he could do but watch her die, holding her in his arms as she stared up at him, until she stared at nothing at all.

Samuel held her still warm body close, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to not break. He heard the King walk away, drop his knife in the sink, turn on the water to wash the blood away. Calmly cleaning away the murder he had just committed.

As if he could wipe away his inhumanity with a bit of soap and water.

"You killed her," Samuel gasped.

"I did," he said, his voice so terribly calm.

"But why?" Samuel snarled, turning to look at his King. His ancestor, standing there, a towel in his hand, wiping away the last of the blood that had splattered on his skin. "She gave us what you wanted."

"Only because you forced her," the King said. "Besides, why are you crying over her? She wasn't just an Unblooded thief—she was a traitor to our nation."

Samuel wiped his face, only then realizing that he was even crying. "Her brother was sick." She was only trying to save him, to pay for the medicine that Blood Workers could easily provide but demanded so much coin for. Was what she had done illegal? Yes.

But he couldn't call it wrong—and even if it was, he couldn't stomach this as the price for her crimes.

"That doesn't matter." He threw the towel to the side. "I am a king, Samuel. It is my job to enforce the law for the protection of all, and I cannot allow a traitor to live. But I am not without mercy—I made it quick. Clean. Now, let go of the body."

Samuel did, not caring that he was covered in blood, that he was facing the King with tears in his eyes. "She didn't deserve to die."

"That is not your choice to make," the King said, his eyes cold and hard as he looked Samuel over. "Treason is a capital crime."

Samuel started to tremble, and the King turned away. "We're done for today. Go home, rest up. Justice is hard, but you'll adjust in time. You'll see this is the only way."

Wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, Samuel turned away from his king. He didn't do as he was told, though. He left the palace, but he couldn't simply go home. He couldn't be alone with his thoughts, with the image of Kalyn's dying face burned into the back of his eyelids.

He wanted to forget about it—he wanted a friend who would treat him like a person tonight, when he felt so much like a tool. But he couldn't turn to Isaac—he had no clue where the man lived. So it would have to be Shan.

First, however, he had to return home—just for a moment. Even the Lost Aberforth couldn't wander around Dameral in bloodstained clothes.