Chapter Thirty-Three Shan

Chapter Thirty-Three

Shan

S han stared at the invitation from the King in her hand, the weight of the paper comforting despite the words that crossed the card, written in bold, clear strokes. She had been expecting it all night, ever since the last body with its gruesome message had shown up, since the details of that murder scene had leaked immediately, since the rumors had spread throughout Dameral like a wildfire, consuming everyone along the way.

Blood and steel, the reports were in the morning papers.

She should have gone directly to the King. She should have pulled Samuel more firmly into her investigations. She should have hit the streets, searching for more clues to tie these newly dead together and discover the truth behind their shadowy lies.

But instead, she had focused on her brother. She had returned home, scouring through every bit of information she had, looking for something—anything—to absolve him.

And so far she had found nothing.

Now it was time to pay the price for her mistakes. The Eternal King had summoned her and Samuel to a meeting and she was not foolish enough to assume that it would be pleasant.

Leaving the invitation on her desk, Shan retired to her rooms for a bath and a change of clothing. She had spent too much time locked away with her thoughts, avoiding the world around her as she struggled to understand where and how she and Anton had diverged so completely. Instead of focusing on the things she needed to do she had ignored the world around her, nursing her own pain like it was a fine wine.

She was slipping, and it was time to stop that.

Shan dressed soberly, demurely, a change from her normal attempts to impress. It would be useless to attempt to distract the Eternal King with her fineries and fripperies, and she was smart enough to simply take her punishment and carry on.

When she arrived at the palace she found Samuel there already, waiting in the King's study when she was shown in. He was perched on the windowsill, staring out over the ocean as the afternoon light caught his hair, tinting it an even brighter gold than usual. He looked better than she felt, his expression cool and calm, his shoulders free of tension—as if he had let go of a weight he had been carrying.

Good. He shouldn't look guilty before the King. The mistakes were hers, anyway.

Speaking of the King, he had yet to arrive, but someone had brought them a setting of tea and cakes. Her stomach was too riotous for food but she could use the boost that tea gave her. Crossing the room, she poured herself a cup and settled in to wait.

She didn't have to wait for long.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would come to me yourselves," the Eternal King said from the doorway, "but it seems that I had to summon you like the failures you are." His voice was hard as stone, all traces of the reasonable, patient man he had pretended to be for months gone. His expression was cold, his green eyes emotionless and his mouth drawn in a thin, harsh line. It might have taken her ages, but Shan was finally looking at the real King—the power that had held a throne for centuries.

And it terrified her right down to the marrow of her bones.

Shan stood, only to drop into a low curtsy. "Your Majesty." She could hear Samuel rising behind her, no doubt to bow as well, but the King only scoffed. She kept her head low as he closed the door and activated a blood ward to protect them from prying ears. She held her form until he stepped forward, catching her chin and tipping her face up.

"Rise," he commanded, and she did, the tips of his claws surprisingly gentle on her skin. "Both of you."

Shan couldn't look to see what Samuel was doing. She could only focus on the King's touch—on the pure rage and power that rolled off him. This close, she could feel the strength of his magic, the vibrancy of his blood—the blood and the lives that he had absorbed over the centuries—as he stared her down. It was like standing too close to a fire, warming and burning at the same time.

He was wrath incarnate, and she couldn't look away.

At last he let go, slipping behind his desk, where he sank into his seat as if it were his throne and they were on trial.

Perhaps they were.

"So, it seems that I have made a grave mistake in trusting you," the King said, looking over them with his steely gaze. "I had hoped that you both would have been clever enough to solve this before it became a true problem." He dragged one claw across the paper on his desk, a copy of yesterday's broadsheet that had leaked the murderer's message, moving it to reveal a pamphlet underneath.

One of the seditious pamphlets.

"The people are in an uproar about this—demanding answers. What good are the Guard if they cannot protect," he paused, picking up the paper with his claws, as if he loathed to touch it, " ‘even the lowest amongst us.' Bloody fool considers himself a poet." He tossed it aside with a snarl, digging his other hand into the desk, the metal-tipped claws leaving gouges in the wood. "Now I have a problem on two fronts. Not only do I have this murderer still unaccounted for, wreaking havoc, but a populace that is a hair's breadth away from revolt. So, if you would be so kind, please tell me what, precisely, you have been doing with your time?"

Shan looked to Samuel, catching his eyes, and he just stared back at her with fear. They had tried, hadn't they? Or had they just been fools, getting distracted by all the other pomp and circumstance of Dameral, letting the important things slip through their fingers.

The King watched them for a full minute, the silence stretching tense and unbearable, until he pulled his lips back in a sneer. "Typical. I gave you two the chance to prove yourselves to me and you both have squandered it, not only failing to find the murderer but allowing Dameral to increasingly destabilize in the process."

Shan flinched. "Your Majesty—"

"Don't, LeClaire. Don't think I haven't kept tabs on you. The games you play are simply that, girl. Games. You have so much to learn." He leaned forward, steepling his hands in front of him. "Either you're less skilled than I thought, or you need to find the proper motivation. Listen to me now. This is your final chance—both of you. Either you find the murderer and keep order in Aeravin or face the consequences."

"That's hardly fair!" Samuel snapped, finding his voice at last. "You cannot put that turmoil on us!"

"Oh, I cannot?" The King arched one imperious eyebrow at Samuel. "Do not be so foolish. There may have been unrest, but these murders are giving them something concrete to rally around. And if you cannot deliver the murderer to them then there is no telling what they might do."

Samuel sucked in a harsh breath, preparing another argument, but Shan laid a hand on his arm. He met her gaze, pleading, but she just shook her head once. Oh, how she admired him for it, how she wished that she could join him in his righteous rage, but she knew that would not work. Instead, she remained neutral. Betrayed nothing. Allowed herself to feel nothing.

Instead she focused on what she could control. "You mentioned consequences."

"Oh, there is my girl. So focused on the mission, on the goal. How I have missed you." The King looked far too pleased with himself. "Yes, there will be consequences. But it might be more helpful to think of them as incentives . I know what both of you value the most, and if you fail I will take them away from you."

The King turned to Samuel first. "My dear boy. If nothing else, these past few months have proved to be blessing for you alone. You've grown so much in so short a time. You're an exquisite weapon, my child, and if you cannot be a useful ally I will make you a tool to be used. We both know the depths of your talents."

He left Samuel to his terror and turned his gaze on Shan. She wanted to scream, but she didn't even have air to breathe.

"And you, my precious little Sparrow," he purred. Shan startled in her seat, raising her eyes to him in shock. "Oh, I know. I've known all along. You have the capability to be the most vicious, cruel thing. But there is something holding you back and, if I wanted to, I could destroy him." His smile turned sharp. "But I haven't yet, in case I needed a bit of leverage. So, if you value your brother, you had best succeed."

The world came crashing down around her as his words echoed in her ears. Everything she had done—every death, every lie, every bit of pain that she had suffered—had been for Anton. To protect him. To save him. This had never been about power for power's sake.

It was for him.

And even if she had found a bit of joy in it, a version of herself that could fly free, even that was now threatened. The Sparrow was more than just as a mask, more than just a tool. It was the deepest, truest part of her soul.

The King had dragged it into the light, and for the first time in her life she felt stripped bare—naked and exposed and raw.

It was ironic. She had spent her life finding people's weaknesses and exploiting them to her advantage. It was only fair that someone return the favor at last.

Damn it, Bart was right. She had been the fool after all.

"So, my children," the King said. "Am I understood?"

"Yes," Shan said. What other option was there? Either find this murderer—who might very well be her brother—or lose him to the Eternal King.

Fate was a cruel mistress.

"Good." He drummed his fingers on the table. "I am a realist, and I am not entirely without mercy. There are things you should know if you are going to catch this murderer." He stood. "Follow me."

The Eternal King swept away from his desk, stalking towards the bookshelves that lined the far wall. Shan swept aside the confusion that rose in her—she didn't have time for that. Instead, she stood and followed the King, pausing only to rest her hand on Samuel's shoulder. She gave it a brief, desperate squeeze—passing on all the courage and strength that she could in that single heartbeat—then let him go.

It would have to be enough.

Shan refocused her attention on the King, watching as he ran his hand along the spines of the books, until he came to the one he was looking for. He hooked the tip of his claw onto it, glanced over his shoulder at them, then pulled it back.

There was a great groan as the entire bookshelf started to shake. The King took a quick step backwards as the floor itself shifted, the two middle shelves rotating one hundred and eighty degrees, revealing a passage behind it. The way was lit by witch light, illuminating a staircase that twisted down and down and down.

Unable to help herself, Shan stepped forward, looking up at the mechanism which allowed the shelves to spin. She had always wanted something like this, but it had been beyond the means of the LeClaires' wealth.

"Do not dawdle," the King snapped, already stepping through. "You, too, Samuel."

Shan fell into place behind the King as Samuel finally, reluctantly, rose from his chair. She waited with the King for Samuel, and when he joined them in the passageway the King pulled a lever. The bookshelf started moving again, reversing its rotation, until they were trapped on the other side of the wall.

The King simply turned on his heel and started down the stairs, and Shan and Samuel exchanged a brief look. She could see the emotions clearly in his face, free of the masks he had yet to master. Pain, indignation and so much anger it took her breath away.

But this wasn't the time for that. She just brushed her fingers against his as she passed him, following the King down into the depths.

They walked for so long that Shan lost track of where they were, only knowing that they must have gone deep, down below the ground level of the castle. The staircase just kept circling, the same pattern of stones round and round, witch light flickering above their heads. Her thighs ached from the trek, her fine shoes not meant for such a journey, but still she refused to let any of the pain show. She could hear Samuel behind her, his breath coming hard and fast, his anger fading to a fear that she could nearly taste on the air.

She might not be able to pinpoint where, precisely, in the castle they were, but she knew where they were going. The only logical outcome of such a journey.

The Eternal King's dungeons.

Finally, they reached the bottom, the staircase opening into a thin hallway, not quite wide enough for the three of them to stand abreast. A large metal door stood at the end, but there was something more here. A magic ran over her skin like a rush of static, raising all the hairs on her arms.

A ward.

She stumbled forward, one hand outstretched, only to look back at the King. He was watching her with a curious expression, but he simply nodded, granting her permission.

The intensity of his gaze on her was something that she never wanted to feel again—it was as if he was flaying her apart with only his eyes, tearing away every layer of deceit she had so carefully wrapped herself in. Yet she couldn't focus on him; no, there was something more important.

This magic called to her, and gently, tentatively, she ran her fingers across the wards, feeling them hum as they reacted to her presence. It echoed through her, wrapping around her in a familiar embrace, and she could taste the spicy, smoky flavor of his magic on her tongue.

It was Isaac's.

She'd know his magic anywhere, the scent and taste of it imprinted on her soul. Shan closed her eyes, letting the magic wash over her as she parsed through the threads of the spell. It had the strength of a heavy tapestry—each person keyed to it acting as a thread that wove it into the rest, making the overall protection stronger, not weaker.

Blood wards were a tricky business. It was easy enough if all one wanted was to ward for themselves or their families. Like knows like, and Shan could easily allow Anton access to anything she had warded for herself. In fact, she often did. Where things got tricky, though, was wards like this—where it needed to be keyed to a group of people, from different families and different blood. When it was done poorly, the spell broke down, buckling and breaking under the weight of all it had to parse.

Isaac's ward, though, showed none of these signs. It was one of the most complex pieces of magic she had ever seen.

Samuel gasped sharply, and she opened her eyes to find that the door at the end of the hallway had opened. Standing there, looking at them in shock, was the man himself. Isaac was dressed in his formal state robes, splattered and stained with what Shan could only assume was blood. But the true horror was the look on his face—the brief moment of fear, guilt, and shock—that vanished, replaced by a mask as cold as any of her own.

"De la Cruz," the King said, cutting through the silence. He walked through the ward, the magic shimmering and allowing him access. "I do apologize for interrupting your work, but there are some things that I fear I must explain to LeClaire and Aberforth. They have been aiding the investigation into the… unfortunate deaths. Would you please grant them access?"

Isaac didn't say a word, unwilling to look at her or even Samuel. He just nodded solemnly, and a flash of steel glinted in his hand, a small dagger dangling from his fingers. He sliced his palm open, a thin line of blood welling up, and pressed it to the ward.

Shan shivered as she felt the magic at work, the ward shifting and peeling back to provide them entry. Grabbing Samuel by the arm, she pulled him through quickly, knowing that each second Isaac held the ward open was only a further drain on his power.

The instant they were through, Isaac dropped his hand and the ward snapped back into place.

She had never felt this torn—she wanted to reach for Isaac, to use her claws to tear down this wall he had thrown up between them. She wanted to turn to Samuel, to comfort him and explain away the confusion that he wore so plainly. But the King was watching them, so she did nothing at all. She just followed Isaac through the door and came to a sudden halt as she realized what she was looking at, her brain struggling to keep up with the horrors her eyes beheld.

The stone of the castle had given away to a shining, quartz room—from the floors to the walls, easy to clean and sterilize. She could smell the sharp tang of cleaning agent, the kind they used to destroy stray drops of blood lest they be gathered and used against them. It was a familiar design, like so many of the laboratories across Aeravin, in private homes and in the Academy, in clinics and hospitals, but that's where the similarities ended.

Instead of tables and simple tools, there was row upon row of harsh metal slabs, and on them were strapped people of all ages and types. There was no pattern or reasoning to them that Shan could find, but she would bet everything she had that they were Unblooded. They were stripped to just their underclothes, with needles and tubes pressed into their arms and legs as their blood was slowly, meticulously, drained from them. Under each table were large glass vats of blood, growing more full by the second, and silent Blood Workers moved between them, tending to the people in a sick mockery of a hospital.

It wasn't a dungeon. No, it was something far worse than that. Bile rose hot and sour up the back of her throat as she realized what this was—a blood factory. A place where the Unblooded were unwillingly gathered, drained until there was nothing left but a corpse.

The realization hit Samuel a second later. He pushed past her, and Isaac turned away from them both, his head ducked low in shame as he left them alone with the King.

Samuel came to a stop by the first patient, an emaciated looking man whose age was impossible to determine, his hands flexing over the needle and tube just above the elbow, as if he thought to remove it himself but caught himself at the last moment.

Shan moved quickly, catching Samuel's hands, and he gripped her tightly, so tightly that she feared she might break under the pressure of it. But his eyes—his eyes were burning—a cold fire that she nearly flinched away from.

"What is this place?" he breathed, and Shan just shook her head, helpless.

"My masterpiece," the King said, coming up beside them, glowing with pride. He looked down at the man on the table, who only stared up at them through half-lidded eyes, too drained to have any fight left. The restraints were no longer necessary. If anything, they were just there to hold him up as his died. "The secret that has kept Aeravin strong."

"Why are you showing us this?" Shan asked, surprising herself with the steadiness of her voice. "Our knowing about it would only be a liability."

"Clever girl." The King cast her that appraising look again, and Shan forced herself to not look away. "You are right, it is dangerous to show you. But you were never going to figure out the tie between the murder victims without it."

Shan turned slowly, her vision going blurry around the edges as she watched the silent Blood Workers go about their business. A pair of them were tending to a nearby patient, newly deceased, removing the tubes and wiping down the few spilled drops of blood. They moved with a practiced efficiency, and as they removed the corpse and brought out another bound, gagged prisoner, Shan finally understood. "Suppliers."

The King only nodded, but Samuel looked to her in confusion. "Suppliers of what?"

"People," Shan replied, and Samuel stared at her uncomprehending. She just looked to the King. "How much did you have to pay them to hand over their own?"

The King laughed, low and dark. "It was surprisingly less than you'd think. These are mostly criminals and outcasts, people that the Unblooded won't be missing. If you think about it, they're doing a good service. Less trash on the streets and more blood for us."

"Wait, they sold people?" Samuel said, his voice simmering with the quiet kind of rage that was so dangerous. "The people who have been killed—they were slavers?"

The King wrinkled his nose. "No, not precisely. We're not enslaving these people."

"You're killing them," Samuel said, and the King turned on him, slowly.

"Yes, I am," the King said, levelling a cool stare at Samuel. "But Blood Working demands a price, and it must be paid in blood."

"This is wrong," he snarled, stepping forward.

"Will you never cease disappointing me?" the Eternal King asked, his eyes cold and hard as he looked Samuel over with something akin to frustration. "I've tried to show you that truth—being a King, protecting a nation—is not for the faint of heart. And this is something you'll have to come to terms with. You need to learn that sometimes we must do terrible things—necessary things—for our country."

Samuel started to tremble, and the King scoffed. "If you want to survive here, be more like LeClaire, boy. She is showing true strength." Shan bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming, to ignore the terrible implications as they crashed down around her, her entire life restructured and reframed in a matter of moments. Every time they had used blood, from the days in the Academy to the very witch light that lined the streets of the capital, the blood had come from this place. Hells, every time she had requisitioned blood for her home, in her father's name or her own, she had justified the existence of this horror.

But the King just carried on. "We've seen enough. Come, we still have more to discuss."

The walk back to the King's study seemed faster, or perhaps Shan was just in a state of shock. Once they were sequestered back in the study, the King relaxing behind his desk, she focused only on the words.

On the tangled history of the five murder victims, how they had been part of a small but effective ring that had been supplying Aeravin with bodies for generations. How the Blood Taxes had never been enough, only a thin excuse to hide the truth. How a country of Blood Workers needed far more than what a populace would freely, willingly, give. How whoever this murderer was, they had found out the truth behind Aeravin's lies and had destroyed the system from within.

"The murderer has indicated that there will be one more death," the King said, solemnly, "but all the traffickers are accounted for. I believe that the target is Isaac de la Cruz."

"Isaac?" Samuel said, finally breaking his silence of simmering, burning rage. "Why him?"

"Because the role of the Royal Blood Worker is far more than my secretary," the King said, softly. "But few realize it."

"He's the one who does all of this, isn't he?" Shan whispered. It made sense, the change that she had seen in him. The constant circles under his eyes, the pain and guilt that he carried, the fragile way he seemed ready to break. The Isaac she knew would have never accepted this, but once he was made Royal Blood Worker, what could he do about it?

He couldn't deny the Eternal King, not if he valued his life at all.

"Exactly," the King said. "I'll be doing my best to keep him safe. I doubt that this murderer is brazen or capable enough to attack within the palace itself, but there is still a chance that he could fall. Do you understand now why you need to find this murderer quickly? Not just for the country, or for your own selfish sakes, but for the life of the man you both care so much for."

Shan flinched, the first uncontrolled emotion she had shown in front of him, and the King smiled cruelly. "Oh, yes. I am not a fool. I have seen things, heard things. But what the three of you do is not my business, so long as you do not fail in your duties. The summer solstice is coming up, and we have plans in place."

Shan nodded, vaguely remembering that there was a grand celebration scheduled, a new likeness of the King to be unveiled in Dameral's central square.

"The Royal Blood Worker is going to be the one leading that ceremony," the King continued, "and I cannot pull him from it."

"Didn't you just say," Samuel began, but Shan cut him off.

"We don't want the murderer to suspect that we know their plans."

The King studied her. "There is hope for you, LeClaire. Yes. Precisely. So you have a week to find the killer, or you will risk your beloved de la Cruz. I hope I am making myself clear.

"Now get to work."

The words hung heavy between them, somehow all the worse for their truth. Samuel left first, not looking at them or saying a single word, leaving her alone with the King. She wanted to stand, to flee, but her knees were weak and her heart heavy.

"I'm disappointed," the King said, his voice soft and surprisingly tired. "I knew that wrangling Samuel would be difficult, given his foolish ideals. But I expected better from you. You've proven that you have the skill and mind to succeed, and yet… It seems that even the brightest of stars can fall to the simplest of weaknesses."

Shan bit her lip, both wanting and not wanting to ask.

But the Eternal King was not so kind as to leave it at that.

"You never should have fallen for them, for either of them," the King whispered, and when she looked up at him he only shook his head. "I had hoped that what Isaac had done to you all those years ago was lesson enough, but apparently not. If you want to succeed in Aeravin you should know better than to rely on anyone. We only betray each other in the end."

His words cut deeper than she had expected—for years she had lived in a strange space of guilt, both hating her father for what he had done to her and desperate to please. But he had never hurt her as much as this. For all that she hated the King and the world he had created, he had seen her potential, her value, and offered to nurture it.

And here he was, offering his own kind of cruel kindness.

"This isn't over yet," she swore. This battle hadn't gone at all as she had hoped, but the war was still far from over.

"Oh, I don't doubt it." The King leaned back, studying her face. "If you fail me in this, you'll still have your life. Your position. As will Samuel. I haven't got this far by wasting potential. But your brother will be dead and perhaps you will finally learn. Your attachments only hold you down."

He glanced past her, and she knew what he was looking at. The portrait of his long dead wife, hanging in a place of honor. She wanted to know what had happened there—what had driven him to denounce attachments when he had once clung to them as strongly as anyone else.

But it didn't matter. Understanding him might be interesting, but it wouldn't get her out of this bind. Only she could do that.