Chapter Five Shan

Chapter Five

Shan

"I 'll make the rounds tonight," Shan declared, pushing away from her desk. There were notes and letters and invitations scattered all over it, the fruits of her success. In the week after the Funeral Ball, the requests had started rolling in, and she knew that this was important. As a young Blood Worker, as a new Matriarch, her social calendar was everything.

But she itched to move. Only a few days in and she was ready to shed her skin like a snake, to sink into the role she was most comfortable in—the one who controlled things from the shadows, not the woman who danced in the limelight.

The Sparrow.

"Do you want me to come along?" Bart offered, kindly. He, too, had been kept house-bound for the past few days, plotting and committing and cleaning up after a murder on her orders. Surely he felt the same restlessness that she did, but Shan was feeling too selfish. She needed this night to herself.

"No," she replied. "Stay in case anything important comes up."

Shoulders slumping, he nodded and turned away. "Be safe."

"I will." She knew that she was hurting him by leaving him behind, and she decided that she would give him the next day. But it was wiser for him to remain—he was her Hawk, her second-in-command, and if she was busy in the shadows someone had to manage the LeClaire estate. He must understand that.

She hurried to her rooms, cursing every moment that it took her to get changed. She loved her gowns and her dresses, she truly did, but such outfits did not help her move through Dameral at any kind of respectable speed. So, she slipped into her leather breeches and corset, strapped an unholy number of knives to her person, and covered it all with a dark cloak, thankful the nights were still cool enough for such an outfit. She left her claws on the dresser. If it came to it, she couldn't hesitate to use her magic. But a Blood Worker's claws were never inconspicuous, and she wouldn't risk it.

While she was the Sparrow, they would remain here.

Ready at last, she slipped from her room and down the servants' staircase, exiting the LeClaire townhouse via the back entrance, as she had done so many times before.

And, just like that, she was free.

All her life she had been terribly, uncomfortably, aware of who and what she was. A Blood Worker and a Lady, of mixed blood and lesser pedigree. Sneered at by her companions for the golden tint to her skin, for the darkness of her hair.

Shan couldn't change her appearance, but she could change what she was. She had seen how her father had broken her mother, after all, and all that he had done to break her brother. All he cared about was creating the perfect Blood Working family, the envy of Aeravin, but their mother had refused to shed the trappings of her homeland. Her brother had followed in her footsteps, but without even the gift of Blood Working to save him. So their father had locked them both away, prisoners in their own home, till their mother had fled, leaving her children behind with the man who would see them either molded in his own image or destroyed.

And so, Shan had learned to play the game. She could be the perfect, dutiful child of Aeravin with blood on her hands and a smirk on her lips. For years, she had done that, forced by her father to shed everything she had inherited from her mother—the foreign words, her favorite foods, the myths and the bedtime stories whispered in the night.

Even the brother she had loved so dearly, held at arm's length, so long as their father was watching.

It was only on nights like this, when she and Anton and Bart had sneaked out—a terrible trio—that she had learned to be comfortable in her skin. In who she was. By playing the hand that the world had dealt her in the light while crafting her own self—her own power—in darkness.

And now, though things had changed, though Anton and Bart had their own, new roles to play, she still found comfort in the ritual.

Moving away from the townhouse where she had grown up—the district her father had called home, where the noble Blood Workers lived and worked and studied—she felt the weight lift from her shoulders. She relaxed more the further away she travelled, down the cliffside that housed the homes and shops of the noble families, far from the roads that wound their slow, circuitous ways up to the Eternal King's shining palace of marble and gold. Soon she was in the merchants' district, the home of respectable but unadorned buildings, where the Unblooded with money and the Blood Workers without pedigree mixed and mingled, carving out lives of comfort if not luxury. With her dark cloak wrapped around her, and her long hair unbound and hiding her face, she wasn't a Lady but simply a woman going about her business.

But this wasn't the Dameral she was used to—there was a tension in the city, a fear in the air that hung like a cloud. Shan hadn't had the opportunity to walk amongst the people in weeks, so focused on the murder of her father and all that came afterwards, but there had been a shift in the air. It appeared the reports Bart had funneled her way were correct. Something was changing in Dameral, and it was more than a simple murder would bring. Even if, from what she had been able to gather, it was a gruesome, vile affair. This was something deeper, and she had precious little information on it. But she could fix that.

Mind made up, she turned from the main thoroughfare, slipping down a surprisingly empty street as she strode towards one of her drop points. She had several throughout the city, each dedicated to different kinds of information. One was for gossip and rumors on nobles, gathered by her birds who worked as maids and servants. Another was focused on the various Academies across Aeravin, where her birds kept an eye on the up-and-coming Blood Workers from different regions of the country. But tonight she would head for the darkest of them all—where her birds dropped notes about disappearances, deaths and other grim happenings. Normally, it was one of her least useful sources—she was a spymaster and intelligencer, not a detective—but perhaps she could find something .

Shan LeClaire was many things, but she was not one to waste an opportunity. Though she or Bart or Anton normally did a weekly sweep of the drop points, she made it a policy to adjust as needed.

Slipping past an all too familiar tavern, she counted the bricks in the wall past the kitchen window. Three to the left, two down—and there. To most, it looked like just another brick, but it slid out easily, and Shan snatched the pile of notes behind it.

Treasure acquired, she retraced her steps back into the tavern, nodding at the young man behind the bar. He smiled at her—recognizing his Sparrow—and she slipped to a table in the corner to shift through her notes.

He appeared at her table a moment later, a fresh candle in his hand and mug of the tavern's best ale in the other. Not that it was that good, really, but in her role as the Sparrow Shan couldn't turn it away. As the Sparrow she wasn't a noble lady used to the finest of wines, but simply someone who would trade useful information for coin.

There were many like the Sparrow in Aeravin, small-time information brokers who worked for both Blood Workers and Unblooded alike. But Shan was determined to make herself different, more powerful than any of them could ever be—and she did so with a simple policy. She simply turned none away, even those who didn't bring forth any useful information. She bought their loyalty with a little bit of kindness and a sympathetic ear. They were used to being overlooked, ignored, and forgotten. But for a little respect, she earned their trust. And when something did pan out, a little bit of coin only sweetened the deal.

She smiled at the young man, thanking him by name, and went back to work. Most of it was useless, a list of names of people who had gone missing, vanished into the night and never seen again. Though it tugged at her heart, she wouldn't be able to do anything about a random Unblooded who had vanished, not unless she could pin it on someone powerful. People went missing all the time and no one cared. One day, maybe, things would be different.

But before she could get there, she needed more power.

She sorted the notes into a pile, planning to dispose of them later. But just as she was about to give up hope, she found what she was looking for. It came from one of her informants in the Guard, and the girl promised her Sparrow important information if she could meet her. A familiar name, a rumor that she had long given up hope for.

A plan that she had dismissed as impossible, suddenly winking back to life.

Shooting to her feet, she dropped a coin on the table—far more than the ale was worth, but her bird would appreciate the extra—and she threw the rest of the notes into the fire. If she were to meet Alessi tonight, she had to move fast. Luckily, the Guard kept their headquarters here, in the merchants' district, not far from where she was now.

Shan hurried through the streets, folding into the crowds that started to thicken in the after-dinner rush, when Blood Workers and Unblooded alike travelled to the theatre, to salons, to gambling hells and clubs. She matched her pace to the crowd as best as she could to avoid standing out, and no one bothered her when she slipped into a building with flats for rent two blocks over from the Guard headquarters. She climbed the stairs in silence, up and up to the very top floor, and from there she slipped through an open window, leveraging herself onto the rooftop. Pulling a mask from her pocket, she tied it across her nose and mouth, hiding her features from prying eyes.

But for a moment, just a moment, she stopped to look out over Dameral, staring down the slope of the hill out towards the docks and the ocean. The closer one got to the water, the tighter the buildings grew, pressing up against each other as they fought for every inch of space. The fine trim and fancy designs faded as well, function taking precedence over style as the districts grew poorer.

Past that, Shan could see that the port was full of ships, bringing merchandise to trade for Aeravinian wealth and goods. For all that the rest of the world feared their Blood Working, calling it dark, unnatural and evil, their judgement was dropped in the face of cold, hard coin. And for those born with the gift and exiled from their homes, Aeravin would welcome them with open arms. As long as they were content with their place, filling the lower ranks of Blood Workers and doing the work that the nobles were above.

Shan turned away, biting her lip hard enough to split it. Blood filled her mouth, warm and thick, as she consumed it to tap into the latent power that flowed in all people. Instantly, she was lighter, quicker, stronger—absorbing the power from her blood and using it to push herself to the peak of physical skill. It wasn't a lot, a small hit to last a few moments, but it was enough.

Ready, she circled back around, then ran across the rooftop, springing up from the very edge and sailing over the narrow gap between the buildings. She stuck the landing, making it as soft as possible, and sprang back up, keeping her momentum strong. She flew across the rooftops, silent as a shadow, but feeling so wonderfully, vibrantly, alive.

When she leapt across the last alleyway, she burned away the remnants of blood in her mouth to give herself an extra boost. She rolled to a stop, her heartbeat pounding in her chest, savoring the moment before her bird approached her in the darkness.

The moonlight from above illuminated her face, her pale skin and eyes. Her hair was shorn short as it always had been, even back in their days at the Academy, when they had been classmates and not partners in crime. Back before Shan had recruited her to her cause. It had been a good choice, one of Shan's earliest successes. Delia Alessi was driven and clever, and she could go far. But she was the daughter of an Unblooded woman and a no-name Blood Worker, with little power of her own. Everything that Alessi had, she had fought for.

And Shan respected her for it.

"You came, Sparrow," Alessi said, a lit cigarette dangling from her lip, her excuse for being up here on the roof. Nothing suspicious, just another young woman indulging in a simple, addictive vice.

"Of course, Alessi," Shan replied. "I received your note."

"You don't always check it," Alessi shot back. "Not fast enough."

Shan kept herself from inclining her head. Whatever point Alessi might have, it wouldn't do to show weakness before her. Perhaps there should be a way for Alessi to contact her directly—unlike most of her birds, Alessi already knew her identity anyway. But that was neither here nor there. "What did you find?"

Alessi rolled her eyes, dissatisfied. But she answered anyway. "A rumor come alive. A young man with a gift to bend others to his will through words alone." Alessi slipped her a piece of paper—notes copied in Alessi's hand—and Shan snatched it up.

"I had started to believe he was just a rumor," Shan said as she scanned the words. The explanation—the murder, the man, the strange power he seemed to wield over a Blood Worker. Alessi herself. And best of all, a name and an address. It was more than she had ever gotten before.

"Aren't all rumors born in a kernel of truth?" Alessi asked, parroting the words Shan had drilled into her birds. Nothing was too small for their notice. A single offhand comment could be the key to tying the whole story together.

But stories such as this? They were almost too good to be true.

"I'll investigate it personally," Shan said, and Alessi nodded. "Did you report this?"

"Only to you," Alessi replied. "Well, aside from the parts that were relevant to the investigation. But that power? No." She tossed the butt of the cigarette over the edge of the building and turned away. "Until next time."

Shan nodded, then bit into her lip again and leapt off the edge of the roof into the night.

Shan sped through the night once she reached the ground. She ripped off her mask, slipping into the crowd and blending into the masses as she moved closer to the docks. She couldn't wait—not on a lead like this. Not when he had slipped through her fingers so many times before.

Her breath came easier as the crowd around her changed, as she became less other and more home. This was the Dameral she loved. The Dameral she belonged in. The one she wanted to save. Where people of all cultures and backgrounds mixed and mingled. A blend of languages crashed over her, words that she had no hope of recognizing flowing over her as conversations melded together, some soft, some sibilant, some guttural, all flowing to their own music. The smells from people's windows floated through the air, sharp flavors that made her mouth water—rich and spicy on her tongue.

Despite the vast cultures they came from, there was something familiar about it. Though their skin ranged from the palest white to the darkest black, though they spoke different languages and came from different traditions, they all brought something here from their pasts.

And Shan ached for that level of connection, that level of comfort. The community that her father had stolen from her when he had made it so their mother could not bear to live in the home that never welcomed her.

She knew that she didn't belong here, not truly. That she had been born to privilege and wealth and power that the people could never achieve, not under the current system. And all because of the magic in her veins.

She had to fix it, even if it took her whole life. Even if she damned herself in the process. It was the only way she could live with herself.

But to do that she needed this man. It was the only way she could make this fool plan work—if she tore down the King with nothing to replace him, it wouldn't just be the system that burned. It would be the whole nation.

But with the right puppet? Well, it certainly changed things.

When she found herself standing outside the address that Alessi had given her, she looked up at the dilapidated building with a frown. It was several stories high, and it was clear that no one had cared for it in decades. It was a heartbeat away from being condemned, the lower windows boarded over, the walls washed out and faded, and Shan swore she could hear it creak in the breeze.

And it wasn't even a strong wind.

It was practically squalor, the worst of Dameral's slums. It was hard to imagine the long lost Aberforth, heir to their legacy, living here. Especially with the power he was rumored to have. If he could bend people to his will, if he could have whatever he wanted, why would he choose to live like this?

Her stomach twisted in sudden fear. The sheer breadth of rumors was one thing, but the facts weren't adding up. What if they were wrong? What if this was just some boy with no ties to the King? What if his power wasn't real? Just a simple mistake born of fear and superstition? What if he had nothing to offer her?

Shan swallowed her anxiety—she knew nothing concrete at this point, and there was only one way to find out. If he wasn't who she was looking for, she still knew how to handle him. She'd turn him into one of her birds or she'd make sure there wasn't a problem. She had plenty of knives to spare.

It would be a shame, but she had done it before. She'd do it as many times as she needed to if it kept her plan safe.

She entered the building, preparing to lay a trap. To strip this young man bare and learn the secrets from his very blood. Before this night was through, she'd have her answers—and if she was lucky, a new ally as well.