Page 46 of Mistress of Lies

This was where his only living relative was, after all.

“You can see sense!” Isaac quipped. Rising to his feet, Isaac stepped over to the line in the floor he had pointed out earlier. A small dagger—fine and sharp—was in his hand, and he sliced his finger open, letting blood drip slowly onto the floor.

The ward sizzled to life around them, invisible to the naked eye, but Samuel could feel it as it rose. All the hairs on his arms stood up, as if a rush of electricity was washing over him, and he stared as Isaac licked the blood from his own wound.

“There.” Isaac slid the knife back into a tiny sheath at his waist. “Now we can talk.”

Samuel’s smile was forced. “And we weren’t talking before?”

“Well, yes,” Isaac said, coming to sit next to him, instead of across from him. They were too close for Samuel’s comfort—not even a foot separated them. “But there are a few things I am to update you on privately.”

“Afraid of spies in the library?”

This time, when Isaac laughed, there was no humor in it. “There’s always someone listening, Samuel. You need to learn that. The only question is how they’ll use it against you.” His hand hung from the edge of the armrest, his fingers just close enough to touch. “I recommend you be careful.”

“And you?” Samuel asked. “Are you going to use this against me?”

Isaac’s gaze sharpened, and Samuel noticed just how striking his eyes were. Not simply brown, but so dark one could lose themselves in them. “No, I won’t.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“You’re cleverer than you let on,” Isaac said, inclining his head. “I like you, Samuel. You don’t belong here, that’s clear.” He bit his lip. “And without help you’ll be eaten alive.”

“Charity, then.” Samuel clenched his jaw. It was barely a step up from pity, but Isaac wasn’t wrong.

He was as helpless as a lamb led to the slaughter.

“Vested self-interest,” Isaac countered. “You’re the last Aberforth. Having your friendship could be very helpful.” The brush of his fingers, clearly intentional, against Samuel’s helped to temper some of the unease. “Besides, I meant what I said.”

“Thank you.”

Isaac grinned. “Anything for a friend. So, first things first, I know about this power you have.”

Samuel wrenched his hand away, sending his chair skittering back. “You what?” he gasped, his throat tightening as fear gripped him hard. His breath was coming in short, hard bursts, a slightly off-putting wheeze, as he stared at Isaac imploringly.

“Don’t be so afraid,” Isaac said, soothingly. “I am the Royal Blood Worker—the King himself asked me to help you. He’s a very busy man,” he paused, his expression hardening, “and then there are the deaths. He doesn’t want your training to be put on hold, so I will be stepping in.”

Samuel shook his head, gasping turning to trembling as the fear radiated outwards. It was too many people. First the slip-up with the Guard. Then Shan. The Eternal King.

Now Isaac.

A noose was slipping around his neck, and Samuel didn’t know what to do.

“Hey, hey,” Isaac was moving closer, his hand sinking onto Samuel’s back, rubbing soft, soothing circles on it. It was tender, comforting, and Isaac kept repeating the motion until the tension started to ebb away, whispering gentle words of comfort in his ear.

“It’s fine, you’re fine,” Isaac whispered, as the last of the panic melted away.

Samuel looked up to him, Isaac’s face close as he leaned in. “And you’re not… afraid?”

“Of what?” Isaac asked, so genuinely earnest that Samuel almost believed him. “Of the Aberforth curse?” He laughed. “Even if the power itself is frightening—and it is—that means I’d have to be afraid of you.”

“You’re not?”

“Please, Samuel.” Isaac smiled at him, flashing a dimple he hadn’t realized had been there. “You collect books and pine over romance novels. You get flustered when someone curtsies to you. I think I’m fine.”

Samuel tried to force a smirk. “You don’t know. I could have a dark side.”

Isaac’s snort was enough to prove him wrong.