Chapter Forty-Two Shan

Chapter Forty-Two

Shan

A nton was waiting for her in the parlor, lounging on a couch with Bart curled up against him. Shan took in their expectant looks—Anton's curiosity, Bart's worry—and she pushed right past them, heading straight for the liquor cabinet. "Well, we might as well get it over with, then."

"Oh, so you're finally going to explain what's going on?" Anton drawled. "How kind of you." His smile was sharp enough to cut. "It seems that I was right about de la Cruz."

Shan didn't respond. She just slammed her hands down on the table, the echoing crash cutting through the room as an awkward silence descended.

Bart got to his feet. "I can't deal with this. You two—you talk, and when you figure things out, let me know."

"Bart…" Anton reached for him, but the young man just pulled away.

"No," he said firmly. "This is on both of you, and I refuse to be caught in the middle." To soften the blow, he pressed a kiss to Anton's forehead. "I'll be nearby, going through some correspondence."

Anton watched him leave with a frown, and Shan hid her smile behind her hand. As the Sparrow, she shouldn't tolerate him giving commands, but she had to admire the way he stood up for himself. Because he was right—this wasn't his problem. Everything between her and her brother was of their own making.

Sighing, Anton joined Shan at the liquor cabinet. "Honestly, I never thought that de la Cruz had it in him, standing up to the Eternal Bastard like that, but he has made quite a mess of things."

Pouring a glass of whisky—Anton's whisky—she turned around and sipped slowly, the burning liquid heavy on her tongue. "I thought you'd be happy. These new laws will give your… society much to print about."

He scoffed. "Perhaps. But the threat of imprisonment will not help circulation."

She hardly dared to breathe for hope. "Does this mean you'll stop?"

"Of course not. There is always the hope that making it a crime makes it more enticing." He downed his whisky, then turned to pour himself another. "Also, you all have just proved how necessary our work is."

She didn't bother correcting him—how it wasn't them, not all of them. This wasn't the will of the nobles, but the will of one man exercised over all. Because, in the end, it didn't really matter. In the end, he was the one who was most at risk.

Instead, she whispered, "I think you should take a trip, Anton. You and Bart."

He blinked at her. "What are you going on about now?"

"When we were young, you used to beg Mother to tell you stories of her home." She sank on the settee, the glass suddenly heavy in her hand. "You would sit at her feet as she'd tell you tale after tale. You remember that, don't you?"

Anton squatted in front of her so that they were at eye level. "I do."

She drank again. "Do you ever wonder what happened to her?"

"All the damned time."

"I tried not to think of her," Shan said quietly. "Trained myself to forget her. To cut out every bit of her and let her die."

"I know." Anton hung his head, surely to hide the pain that was still raw and real, even after all these years. "I was there."

"But you didn't," Shan said. "You clung to her memory, even after she abandoned us."

"Shan," Anton said, quietly. Gently. Like she was a fragile thing about to break. "You know it's not that simple."

"I know that now." Shan drained her glass. "It was different then."

"You were a child," Anton said, "and father was there, whispering poison in your ear."

"She was still my mother," Shan spat. "And I let myself be fooled." Anton's hand found hers, squeezing tightly, and she had to blink away tears. "I just let him fill me with so much hate."

"Shan… it's not that I mind this conversation, but why now?"

She pulled away, creating a deliberate amount of distance between them. "Have you considered trying to find her? We have the funds. We can get you on a ship tomorrow. You can find her, bring her back to us."

Anton stood. "I would love that one day. But I am not a fool. This timing is suspicious."

Shan followed him, filling his glass and pushing it into his hand. "Can't I just want to make you happy?"

"You can," Anton admitted. "Sometimes I think you want it too much. Sometimes I think you want it so badly you don't care about what would actually make me happy."

Shan exhaled slowly. "Sometimes I wish you didn't know me so well."

"And sometimes I wish you knew me better." He raised his glass in a mocking toast. "But I am your twin, and if you think I don't see the way you're trying to manipulate me, then you'd be dead wrong."

She wanted to lie—no, not just wanted, ached to. It was her first instinct, the words gathering on the tip of her tongue as she prepared to cover up her weaknesses. But it wouldn't do her any good. Not with Anton.

"Fine," she ground out. "I wanted to protect you, but it seems you won't have it."

Anton rolled his eyes. "Do you really expect so little of me? I cannot abandon Aeravin now. Not when it needs me."

Turning away, Shan wrapped her arms around herself, digging her nails into her own skin as she forced the truth from her lips. "It's not that."

"If it's about the new laws, do not fret. I will not let myself be caught."

"Of course," she said, tightening her grip. "But that is not it either. Remember how the King tasked us to find this murderer? Well, you can see how well that went. Samuel and I have wasted too much time, and the King has given us an ultimatum. There will be consequences for our failure."

"And that worries you?" Anton laughed. "He may be the King, but you've never let yourself be threatened before."

"He didn't threaten me!" Shan looked up at him, fighting the sudden tears in her eyes. Tears of anger, tears of frustration. Telling him hurt more than she expected. Telling him made it real . "He threatened you."

"He what?" Anton froze, all the cocky humor and brazen attitude slipping away, like water running down stone. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" She buried her face in her hands, fighting back the great sobs that shook her entire frame though she didn't utter a single sound. It was a silent sorrow that threatened to tear her apart, but through it all Anton remained by her side.

When at last it was over—minutes, hours, days later—she lifted her head, feeling spent and dry. "It's all about leverage," she explained. "Father taught me that. It's why every secret, every bit of information, was important. You never knew when it would be useful. And the King… he reminded me that I am not immune from this myself."

Anton didn't look away. "And you're saying that I am your weakness?"

Shan hung her head. "You're one of them. You're my brother. Everything I do is for you. For us."

"And that's why you want me to leave. Not because of the laws, or my work. It's so he can't get to me." He pulled at his hair. "There you go again, making decisions for me."

"I am protecting you!"

Anton stepped away from her, and she felt his absence like a physical wound. "You're protecting yourself… and diminishing me. Just because I'm not a Blood Worker doesn't mean that I don't have a few tricks up my sleeve."

She glared. "I am the head of this family."

"Even so, it's not your choice to make. I am my own person, capable of making my own choices and taking my own risks. And it's time you accepted that." He shrugged, as if it was that simple, but his mouth was drawn into a hard line and his hands were clenched at his sides.

"Anton, I was just—"

"I am not a child anymore," he said, softly, and the calmness hurt more than any amount of rage or anger could. "And I know you're just trying to take care of me in the best way you know how. But I can't —" He choked on the words, and Shan knew that everything between them had finally broken—completely, totally, irrevocably. "I can't keep living like this. We're going to spend the next few days focusing on Isaac, and you're going to bring him in. But then I am moving out."

She just closed her eyes, letting the pain wash through her. "I see."

"I'm not going to interfere with your plans," he said, softly. "I know you think it's best. And I trust that you won't interfere with mine."

Shan didn't say anything—she didn't have to. For all the ambition and darkness she held in her heart, she knew that the one person in the world she would never be able to turn against was her brother.

And, thankfully, he felt the same.

When he left her, Shan just stared down at her hands, wondering when everything had started to fall apart.

The door to the parlor slammed open, and Shan woke with a start. The faintest bit of morning light was starting to stream through the windows, and she realized that somewhere in her pain and her loneliness she must have drifted off to sleep.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she turned to find Bart there, panic on his face. "There is something you need to hear. Immediately."

"You can't go alone," Anton said, catching her outside her bedroom. She had changed remarkably fast, but her brother was just as quick. "You don't even know where they took him."

"I can track him," Shan said, shoving past. Her ears hadn't stopped ringing since Bart had told her the message—Samuel had been taken, kidnapped. Her bird in the Aberforth house had discovered it that morning when she had gone to start the fire in the Lord's chambers. A sign of a struggle. Blood on the floor.

It could only have been Isaac. The King wouldn't have resorted to kidnapping, and who else would want him? Only the man who played both their hearts.

She was the biggest fool of all, letting Samuel leave in the first place, exposed and unguarded, but she'd deal with that later. She needed to save him, first.

Anton followed. "How?"

"I have some of his blood." She still had a vial left from what she had drained from him ages ago—the last she had saved from the tests she had run. It had to be enough.

Anton arched an eyebrow, but he didn't argue the point, instead switching tactics. "You don't know what you're walking into. It could be dangerous."

"Which is exactly why you need to stay here," Shan said. "Because I can't be looking out for you, too." She saw him wince but pressed on. "If I don't make it back, you'll need to go to the King. Tell him everything—your blood or his, as long as Samuel or I live—"

"We can find you," Anton said. "But why don't you go to him now?"

"Because I don't trust him with Samuel!" She stopped, the truth that she had been avoiding hitting her hard. "I don't trust him to save Samuel."

Anton stared at her for a long moment. "He means that much to you?"

Shan didn't bother lying. "He does."

"Then go." She turned to him in shock, but he just nodded—encouraging.

She didn't say goodbye—she didn't make any promises she couldn't keep. She just pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned on her heel, her feet light and silent as she ran to her laboratory to grab the vial of blood. She didn't even stop to reset the ward afterwards, she just continued on her way.

Dragging a claw against the back of her hand, she quickly lapped at the fresh blood. As it passed her lips, everything around her stilled and sharpened, her magic reaching out to find bridges to build and bind. But she didn't want that now, so she focused her power inwards, making herself quicker and stronger. Not superhuman, but peak human. She might be slight, but she was determined, and she had years of Blood Working and training on her side.

Throwing open the trapdoor to the rooftop, she pulled herself up onto the cold tiles. The sky was an endless void above her, just starting to turn light. For a moment the panic she felt vanished, her focus crystallized into this one, vibrant thing. This freeing moment, here on the rooftops, thrumming with the power of the magic in her veins.

Grabbing the vial, she thumbed off the top and pressed it to her lips. She let Samuel's blood flow into her, filling her with power and life. And best of all, just the faintest sense of where he was. The thinnest of threads, but still.

It was enough.

The vial slipped from her fingers, and she let it fall to the roof, where it clattered and rolled off the edge. She heard it break on the cobblestones below, shattering into hundreds of pieces.

"I'm coming," she swore.

She turned west, away from the sea, and burst into motion.