Chapter Forty-One Samuel

Chapter Forty-One

Samuel

A fter the Eternal King's announcement at the Council of Lords, Shan had spirited Samuel away to the LeClaire townhouse, keeping him sequestered in her study.

Part of him resented that she kept him so close, as if she didn't trust him not to do anything foolish if he was left unsupervised. But he had to admit that it was smart of her—if he'd been left alone, he might have tried to take to the streets, to mitigate what damage he could.

She knew him too well.

So she held him fast, keeping him safe as terror swept through the streets. The Guards were out there in full force, breaking up riots and filling the jail cells, using Blood Working where simple force was not enough. Despite the calm—the peace—he felt in Shan's study, Samuel knew that the rest of the city was embroiled in a battle he couldn't even imagine.

And worst of all? He didn't even want to know the details. He was happy in his ignorance, focusing on the one thing they could control. He stood above her, watching as she took all the information they had—and didn't have—and laid them along the floor, searching for hints and patterns they had missed. Everything they had on Isaac's life, reducing it to nothing more than scraps of paper.

"Are we sure we should be doing this?" Samuel asked, finally voicing the question that had been hanging unspoken between them for hours.

Shan stopped what she was doing, the pen in her hand going limp as she stared ahead. "Because it's Isaac or because you agree with him?"

"I don't know." Samuel pressed his thumbs into his temples, trying to ease the dull headache that had been building all day. "Both? He wants the same thing that we do, doesn't he?"

"We don't know what he wants, precisely," Shan said, carefully.

She always spoke so carefully. Normally, Samuel admired that about her, but in this moment, it drove him mad. How could she be so calm through all this when here he was, seconds away from falling apart?

And for someone who had spent his whole life carefully keeping all of his emotions and dreams on the shortest leash possible, Samuel wasn't sure how he was supposed to be handling all of this. He hadn't allowed himself so much for so long, but now that he had a taste, he didn't want to let it go.

"He wants the Eternal King gone," Samuel whispered, even though they were safe in her study. He would never feel fully safe speaking treason.

"Yes, but…"

"But what, Shan?"

"But people are dying!" Shan snapped the pen in her hand in half, her expression twisted into something ugly, something fearful, and Samuel sank to his knees beside her. "He started a riot , and now…" Turning her face to the window, she sighed at the darkened night sky. "Now it's curfew."

He had been wrong. She wasn't calm—she was furious. The same kind of fury that he had felt that morning, that all-consuming peace that was far more dangerous that any fire could ever be.

They were more alike than he realized.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking her against him. She didn't fight him, leaning into his embrace, and he could feel the minute tremors that ran through her. "Then he has to die?"

"He has to be brought in," Shan murmured, so softly against him. "It's the only way we can temper the Eternal King's wrath. If we cannot stop that, then…"

"Dammit." He reached up, wiping his eyes with one hand, and Shan just sighed.

"I know. But we bring him in, alive, and then we will see what we can do."

It wasn't much—it wasn't a promise, it wasn't the future he had started to hope for. But it was a chance.

And he'd take it over nothing.

Hells, Samuel hated himself for even hoping. He wasn't a child to believe in such foolish things—in life, there were no truly happy endings.

She pulled out of his arms, and he let her go. He would always let her go when she needed it—she was too strong and free to be caged. "It's late, Samuel. We should get some rest. Tomorrow we pick up the pieces."

"What is the plan?"

"We wait for calm. I check with my birds—they are everywhere. He can't hide forever."

Samuel licked his lips. "And me?"

"For now? Prepare yourself." She looked at him, with such kindness in her dark eyes that it felt like a knife. "You'll have to be the one to bring him in, Samuel. If he won't listen to reason, then you'll have to force him."

"I see." Her hand came to rest on his arm, comforting, and he didn't fight it. Not her touch or the pain that lanced through him. It made sense, he understood that. If Isaac was going to live, it would be the only way.

"I'm sorry," Shan said, "to ask this of you."

"Don't be." Samuel knew that eventually he'd have to embrace the monster within. Better to do it for Isaac than for the Eternal King. Better to bring him in alive than to murder him with a word. "I'll be fine."

It was a lie, and he knew that Shan knew it was a lie, but she didn't press him. She just brushed her lips against his, a ghost of a kiss.

"We'll get through this," she promised. "One way or another."

Samuel didn't recognize his city. The riots were over, the Unblooded driven back to their homes—or worse—and Guards patrolled the streets, riding horses down the cobblestoned streets, holding lanterns of witch light high as they kept curfew. They nodded as they passed him, taking in his clothes, his hair, the Blood Worker's dagger that Shan had strapped around his waist—marking him as one of their own in a glance—before continuing on.

Fear hung heavy in the air, driving even the bravest of Blood Workers into their homes, leaving the streets empty and cold. Come morning, most of Dameral's elite would flee the city, taking unplanned vacations to their country homes and estates. Those who didn't have the option would likely lock themselves in their houses, not leaving at all. In one day, everything had changed, and no one knew where the pieces would fall.

It gave his city a new shape and texture, so different from the bustle and life he was used to. Aeravin was a city of flaws, and a city of blood, a city of tragedy, but it had still been so alive . Now he felt exposed and alone, a stranger in the only home he had ever known.

It was past midnight by the time he arrived back at his home—though it still felt wrong to call it that, even after all these months. He let himself in the servants' entrance, not wanting to disturb his staff, who should all be abed by this point.

Except for dear old Jacobs, who he found fast asleep in a chair in the foyer, where he must have been waiting for him. Samuel woke him gently, thanking him for his diligence, and sent him up to bed, insisting he did not need a valet that night.

It took surprisingly little convincing, and Samuel let out a sigh of relief, climbing the wide staircase to his bedchamber. He wanted to shed his skin, to tear away all these pieces of him that didn't feel like they belonged, and then crawl into his bed and sleep for a year.

But when he opened the door to his rooms he found them occupied. It was dark, and the figure had his back to the window, the moonlight spilling over his shoulders and hiding his face in the shadows. Yet Samuel would recognize that exhausted slouch anywhere, the hand holding the burning cigarette, the shape of the silhouette.

"Isaac," he whispered, the name almost like a prayer on his lips.

Isaac moved, flicking the cigarette out the window. The meager light caught his face, drawing Samuel's attention to the scraggly almost-beard, the even worse circles under his eyes, the sheer exhaustion that was writ into his skin. Hells, the man was falling apart before his very eyes.

And Samuel should have seen it coming.

Stepping into the room, he closed the door behind him. "I'm surprised to find you here."

Isaac smiled—but it was a false thing. "What? Never had a fugitive in your bed before?"

"No, don't," Samuel said. He crossed to him, his steps loud on the floor, but he had to touch him, catch him, prove that Isaac wasn't some figment of his imagination. A ghost here to haunt him. "Please don't hide. Not now."

Samuel's hand found its way to Isaac's cheek, and he leaned into the touch like he was starved. "I didn't know what you would do," Isaac said, "when you found me here."

"Honestly? I don't know what I am going to do either," Samuel whispered, and Isaac just leaned his forehead against his. "I know what I should do, what's expected of me. But now that you're here…"

Isaac twisted, fisting his hands in Samuel's jacket, yanking him forward so he could crash his mouth against his. Samuel let him take command of the kiss, let Isaac shove him hard against the wall, his back cracking against the wood as Isaac ran his tongue along the seam of his lips, coaxing him open.

Samuel gasped as Isaac dropped a hand to his waist, nails digging into his skin as he pulled him flush against him, taking and plundering, and hells , biting. Isaac's teeth sank hard on his lower lip, and Samuel groaned as the blood welled and spilled, Isaac sucking lightly on the wound.

Clasping his hands around Isaac's shoulders, Samuel could feel the flex of the muscles under his hands, could hear the flutter of Isaac's heart in his chest, could taste the desperation on his lips. Something like magic was thrumming between them—blood spilt and mingled in a way that pulled the tension beyond them as taut as a wire, and Samuel felt like he was about to burn right out of his skin.

"Isaac," Samuel said, his voice weak and shaky. "Isaac, we… I…"

Isaac pressed a gentle kiss to his bloody lip, more soothing than inflaming, and stepped back. "You're right. We should talk."

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Samuel cleared away the blood and the spit. He hated himself for stopping… whatever this was, but he knew if he hadn't done it then, he never would have. "Why are you here?"

"Why?" Isaac blinked. "Why else? For you."

"For me?"

The air in the room suddenly cooled as Isaac took a step back, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand. "Yes. I thought—given your reaction—that you would want to join me?"

Samuel closed his eyes, unable to look at him. "Isaac—"

"I thought you'd understand!" Isaac said, the words pouring from him madly, raw and unchecked. "You've seen it. The King—everything he is, he's shown you!"

"I do understand," Samuel said. "But."

"But what?" Isaac shouted. "But fucking what?"

"The riots. The consequences." Isaac stilled, turning so cold that he might as well have been made of ice. "The martial law the King has enacted. Yes, you've exposed the horrors of Aeravin—but now what?"

"Now," Isaac said, "we take him down."

"How?" Samuel begged, and Isaac just eyed him with disgust, his lips curving into a sneer.

"Join me and I will show you." He held out a hand, but Samuel didn't take it. "Revolution does not come easy. I thought that you of all people would have the courage to see that."

Samuel stared at the hand still offered to him. "But what about the price? Shan has her—"

Isaac laughed, unhinged and breathless. "Fuck Shan. Fuck Shan and her schemes and her plans. Aeravin doesn't need a Sparrow—it needs to be burned to the ground. Cleansed. And I will prove that to you."

Before Samuel could even do anything, before he could breathe or think or speak, Isaac was surging forward, dragging his mouth against Samuel's wounded lips, halting his words with teeth and tongue.

Blood filled his mouth, and despite himself, Samuel groaned with pleasure.

And then he couldn't move. He tried to push himself off the wall, to scream, to beg, to do anything at all, but it was like his body refused to respond, the very blood in his veins holding him still.

Hells, was this what his powers were like? Was this what he was planning to do to Isaac, only turned on him first by the power of blood and stupidity?

He had been a fool to ever hope at all.

Isaac stepped back, blood trickling down his chin. "I'm so sorry, but you will understand."

His vision started to fade around the edges, the room spinning as the very beat of his heart dimmed and slowed. Samuel fought it for as long as he could, but Isaac was relentless.

At last, Isaac turned away and Samuel knew no more.