Page 50 of Mistress of Lies

As he walked away from her, Samuel glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes burned with a question Shan didn’t recognize, and his lips curved into a smile just for her.

It was foolish, but it felt like a balm against the jagged edges of her soul.

She turned away, biting the inside of her cheek until blood welled and burst across her tongue, ready to face the questioning throngs that were desperate for whatever gossip she could give.

With a demure smile, she allowed herself to be swarmed.

Chapter Seventeen

Samuel

Samuel dragged his eyes away from the black-robed Blood Workers who lingered at the edge of the crowd—extra security pulled from the ranks of the Guard, provided for the protection of all. It was ridiculous. This murderer had not yet attacked a Blood Worker, and if the Eternal King’s theory was correct, they would not anyway. Besides, who would be foolish enough to strike in the middle of a ball?

Still, he had seen the same Blood Worker who had come to his old workplace on the day he had been fired, who had been responsible, however indirectly, for all the changes that had happened in his life. Alessi’s shorn blond hair made her stand out in a crowd of prim and proper Blood Workers, and she caught him staring at her. For a moment they locked eyes, and she inclined her head with a smile that chilled him. He wasn’t sure that he wanted her attention, with her too sharp eyes and her cunning smile.

But there were more important things to keep track of, even if Samuel was completely lost. Hoping that his smile hadn’t faltered in the brief distraction, he turned his attention back to the men Isaac had introduced him too, accepting the goblet of wine that Isaac pressed into his hand. Between the wine and the conversations he was drowning in, filled with references to people and places and things that he did not know, Samuel wasn’t sure he’d be able to remember any of it come morning.

Except, perhaps, the feel of Shan’s hands on him, guiding him in the steps of a dance he had never learned.

“Don’t worry,” Isaac was saying, and Samuel forced himself to pay attention to Sir Morse, who was looking at the both of them like they were the most fascinating thing in the room. “I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Samuel didn’t have the foggiest idea of what he was agreeing to, but he inclined his head just the same.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Isaac said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “I need to introduce Aberforth around.”

“Quite so,” Morse agreed, with a smile. “But I shall see you at the club soon!”

“I am looking forward to it,” Samuel added, though he would rather launch himself headfirst out the nearest window, but thankfully Isaac was already steering him away, before twisting and pulling them up some stairs and onto a private balcony, where they could speak alone while looking down on the crowd.

It was a blissful reprieve, but Samuel knew that Isaac had not done it as a kindness, but to impart a lesson. He turned his gaze on Isaac’s face, though he felt the urge to look for Shan like the pull from a lodestone.

They were separated by the full length of the ballroom, and a height difference of at least ten feet besides, but he felt her presence as acutely as if she were right beside him. She stood near the windows, chatting with a group of young women.

“I’m sorry?”

Isaac laughed—no, snorted. “I was saying, Samuel, that you shouldn’t look so worried.” He leaned in, a conspirator’s smirk turning his handsome features into something cruel. “They’ll keep introducing themselves to you for the length of the Season, at least. They’ll be vying for your attention, and you can have your pick of the lot.”

“Joy,” Samuel replied, taking a careful sip of the wine. It was bitter and dry, and Samuel nearly choked on it. Isaac had assured him it was a very fine vintage, though Samuel had no way of knowing. It didn’t matter, really. No matter what he was drinking, he couldn’t allow himself to have enough of it to affect him.

“Don’t be like that. You’ve got to trust me on this. This is an opportunity.”

Samuel clenched his jaw, tired of being talked to about opportunities. “I am aware.”

“Then don’t waste it,” Isaac said, spinning him around so that they both faced the crowd once more. He began again, this time from the top. It was an endless list of names and titles, parsing out those who were truly worthy of his time and those who were simply there to fill the space. It was bad form to throw a ball of this caliber without a certain number of guests, apparently, and Isaac coldly told him that’s what the fodder was for.

Samuel kept his mouth shut at Isaac’s judgement, even though he would’ve been one of the fodder—or worse—not so long ago. One of the nameless, anonymous servants who cut through the crowd, invisible and unnoticed.

Instead he focused on committing the names to memory, wishing for parchment and pen to keep track of it all. The woman in red was Miss Lynwood, and she was the mistress of Miss Rayne, granddaughter of Lord Rayne, the Councillor of the Treasury. And there was Sir Morse, who so desperately wanted Samuel to join his favorite smoking club. But he was the second son of Lady Morse, who acted as the military strategist on the Eternal King’s council, and so any connection to them would be useful.

Samuel hadn’t even been aware that the Council contained a military strategist. The Eternal King had kept Aeravin out of the wars between other nations for centuries, despite the countless rulers who had courted them and their legions of Blood Workers.

It was funny. Every other nation—who called themselves civilized—banned and criminalized Blood Working, calling it an abomination and a perversion. But when they had need of it, they came crawling to Aeravin with their pretty words and petty bribes. For what little good it did. The Eternal King had never given in, keeping their magic free and separate.

Isaac kept going until Samuel’s head began pounding, his power pressing against the confines of his chest. He could feel the command burning at the back of his throat, and he wanted to snap. To unleash this gift and make Isaac stop his endless prattle.

It kept on pressing, and when at last he felt like his power was going to burn him from the inside out, Samuel broke.

“Please,” he said, just a whisper of magic leaking past his lips. “A moment.”