Chapter Seven Shan

Chapter Seven

Shan

S han sipped her tea, wincing as she realized it had gone cold. Still, she drank it down, needing the boost of clarity it gave her. She stood, stretching, then padded across the study she had stolen from her father and rang the bell for the serving girl. She'd need another pot, and, judging by the light starting to stream through the windows, breakfast as well.

Another night without sleep, another restless day.

But she had a lot to plan for. Last night, she had brought Samuel Aberforth into her dangerous plans with a partial vision of the truth. Soon enough she'd return his title to him, but first she'd have to transform him. For now, he'd be seen as nothing more than common trash when she needed people to see a preening young lord.

Shan collapsed in her chair, tucking her feet underneath her as she settled back down. She knew that it was undignified, wearing the same clothes she had worn to sneak through Dameral the night before. Her hair was a knotted mess, curls falling in uneven strands down her back.

She didn't care. Her mind whirled with all that she had to do, but despite it all she could still taste his blood lingering on her tongue—ancient, alien, rich. Could still feel the weight of his eyes on her, hot as a brand, that bright green—Aberforth eyes. Could still feel his hand in hers—large, warm and strong.

He truly was beautiful. He was pale, yes, and soft, far more than this life should have allowed him to be. But his features were fine, almost elegant, and he had the golden hair of the Aberforths, hanging loose past his shoulders in a way that should have been unfashionable. She wondered what it would look like in the sunlight, and if it was as soft as it seemed.

He lingered with her like a dream, and she dug her nails into her skin to shock herself awake.

Returning to the paperwork she needed to finish, requestioning the next month's supply of blood for the workings of the LeClaire estate, she hardly noticed when the door opened and a tray of food was placed in front of her.

"Morning, sister."

That got her attention, and she looked up at her brother—cleanly shaven, shirt freshly pressed and cravat neatly tied. Even his hair was carefully styled back.

"What happened to you?" she asked, though she knew the how but not the why. Clearly Bart had gotten his hands on him and worked his own kind of magic.

"I should be asking you the same," Anton replied, frowning at her. "It's like you're back at the Academy, studying for exams."

She smiled, taking in the books scattered around her, bookmarks sticking out of them at odd angles and scribbled notes littering the desk. "It does look that way, doesn't it?"

Anton only hummed in response, grabbing a chair and spinning it around so he could sit facing her. "Mind telling me what this is about?"

"Planning," Shan said carefully, knowing that he didn't care a whit about the liters of blood that she needed delivered for her own Blood Working. No, this was about something deeper, something far more dangerous than invoices, and, still, Shan did not know how to address it. It used to be so easy, but things between them had been tense since the death of their father.

It seemed that he was finally starting to warm up to her again, their relationship slipping back into the ease that they used to know, back when they were both young enough to trust each other completely, to share everything.

"Clearly." Anton poured them both tea, downing his while it was still scalding. "Would it have anything to do with the rumor that you went searching for last night?"

Shan didn't answer right way, cutting into the fresh, warm pandesal so that she could fill it with eggs and tapa—a quick and dirty breakfast sandwich. "How much has Bart told you?"

"Blood and steel, why do I even bother?" He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "I might as well be talking to a wall."

Shan's smile faltered. "What? It helps to know how much you know, so I know how much I need to explain."

"Did you really find the Aberforth?" Anton ground out, then, to punish her, he snatched one of her pandesal and shoved it into his mouth whole.

"Hey!" She hit his arm as he chewed obnoxiously. "Get your own!" Smacking his lips as he finished, Anton grinned at her. "I hate you, brother."

"No, you don't." He winked. "Now tell me how it went."

Shan considered her choices. Her first instinct, even now, even with him, was to lie, to soften the blow. But she knew that she would end up telling him the truth, even if it wasn't always upfront. "It went well. I explained to him why I wanted to burn down Aeravin and asked him if he'd help us."

Anton did not disappoint. He rocked back in his chair, the whole thing groaning under his weight. "Are you insane?"

"No," she replied smoothly. "I'm proactive."

"We know nothing about him!'

Shan couldn't help rolling her eyes at that, but she kept her voice even. Calm, always calm, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt. "I've been following rumors of this boy for years. My file on him is nearly as thick as you are."

Anton glared, her words doing nothing to douse the fire in his eyes. "That file is rumors and gossip. It isn't real."

She placed her teacup down with exaggerated care and grace, forcing the anger aside so that he could not see how much his words cut. Rising, she held herself tall, her chin high, daring him to contradict her. "My files are very real, dear brother. They are observation and information, and, yes! Rumors and gossip. A lie can be more powerful than the truth, if applied correctly."

"Of course you'd say that," Anton replied, with no small amount of bitterness. "After all, aren't you more lies that truth yourself?"

She slapped him, hard and fast, right across the face. He reeled back, touching the reddened skin in shock. They both stared at each other for the longest moment, as something between them cracked like glass—hairline fractures nearly invisible to the eye, but still so dangerous.

"I shouldn't have hit you," Shan said, in the same breath that Anton said, "I deserved that."

Shan wanted nothing more than to run to him, to wrap her brother in her arms and beg his forgiveness. But she couldn't bring herself to do it, so she said, her voice as cool and implacable as ice, "It was beneath both of us."

Anton nodded, withdrawing further into himself, and Shan let him. "All right. But my point still stands. We don't actually know him."

No, Anton didn't. But she did, just a little. In their brief meeting, she had seen to the heart of Samuel Aberforth—the control he tried so desperately to maintain over the righteous fire that burned within. He was a man a breath away from catching on fire, and Shan wanted nothing more than to watch him blaze.

But she didn't tell her brother any of this. She couldn't. Those moments were hers , and she wasn't ready to share them. She said instead, "The only way to know was to act. And besides, I'm a wonderful judge of character. How else could I have built all this?"

Anton wasn't convinced. "Yes, fine. But you promised us—me—time. This whole plan of yours," he said, gesturing widely, as if to encompass the entirety of her life's work, "is crazy. It's one thing when you're just playing information broker, when we're talking a little blackmail, a little influence, changing a few laws. But that's not your game here."

Shan shook her head. "First of all, I'm not playing at anything, Anton. And this is an opportunity we cannot ignore. We can take down the King and replace him with someone new—someone human . Besides, it's not like he knows the full of it. Not yet. He just knows that I want to make changes to Aeravin. Make things better. Fairer. All the same things he wants."

Anton settled back in his chair, chewing his lip. "And you're sure he didn't see through that?"

She frowned. "Are you doubting my ability to lie?"

"I see through your lies all the time," Anton offered, and she huffed. "Fine, fine. I'm just saying that this is a lot."

"It's still our plan, Anton," she said, though it was one they had given up on a long time ago. They had deemed it impossible then—but it wasn't now. "Trust me."

"Trust you?" Anton shook his head. "I love you, Shan, but I don't trust you. I'm not foolish enough for that."

Shan kept her face impassive. "You trust that I love you?"

"Yes," Anton said, instantly and without hesitation. "That's the problem. I don't trust you to hold yourself back. You'll do anything for us, and that scares me."

Shan shrugged. She couldn't fault him there—she had just murdered their father, after all. "You can meet Samuel tonight, if it helps."

"Tonight?"

"I'm having him over to meet with Laurens," Shan explained. "He needs a new wardrobe. And then he'll be staying here for a couple of days, until we get things sorted."

Anton nodded. "Well, since I am quite fashionable, perhaps I can be of help—and I can keep you out of trouble. All right. But you must do something for me."

Shan narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Finish your breakfast," Anton said. "Go take a bath, take a nap if you can. Stop working for a few hours."

Shan's lips curled into a reluctant smile. "Or what?"

"Or you'll start to smell." He took a big, dramatic sniff. "Nope, too late. You've already started."

Shan laughed—a startled, sudden sound. Perhaps things weren't as bad between them as she thought if he could still make her smile. "Little brothers are the worst."

"Guilty as charged," he replied.

She bit back another laugh, grabbing her sandwich from the plate. He was right, after all. If she wanted to actually be helpful to Samuel tonight, she ought to refresh herself.

Besides, she couldn't let a breakfast like this go to waste.