Page 71 of Mistress of Lies

But, strangely, he felt no desire to get out.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Shan

Shan directed her guests with a gracious smile, her entire expression and posture that of a woman who knew that she was being granted a second chance. It sickened her to have to pretend to do so—that she couldn’t be the proud, strong woman that she was. But no one wanted that of the Lady LeClaire. Not yet. The Royal Blood Worker and the Lost Aberforth might favor her, might have earned her a spot back in this world, but she was still what she was.

Stained. Foreign. Inferior.

And she would be reminded of that for years to come. The game was a long one, Shan had known that from the start. But somehow it had been easier to be ignored completely than be welcomed but pitied.

Still, for her first salon this was turning out to be a resounding success. Samuel, of course, was here—thus securing the attention of the other nobles. Even if he never came to another one, the mere chance that the latest curiosity could show up meant that any gathering she threw for the next year would be well attended. Even if all he had done all night was sit awkwardly by the window, cup of tea in hand.

But the other guests were far livelier—Miss Lynwood and Miss Rayne had both accepted her invitation, and they had kept the conversation flowing pleasantly from topic to topic, from the balls they were the most excited about to the stunning new dresses they had commissioned. They chittered on with a larger group than she had expected to show up, all young heirs of Aeravin and their siblings, eager to see how the new Lady LeClaire presented herself.

Honestly, Shan only paid them the most superficial attention, noting instead the sly way they kept looking to Samuel. They would be the ones who spread the news of his attendance, and thus they served their entire purpose at this party.

No, the one she kept her eye on was far quieter. Young Amelia Dunn—daughter of her new secret partner. Shan had no doubt that she was here on her father’s orders, but even so, her attendance helped. She was a jewel of Dameral society, despite the fact that she was a Blood Worker of only middling ability and looks, her face far too sharp and angular to be called pretty. But her father was on the Council of Lords and so everyone had sought her favor.

Though she was younger than Shan, having only been out for two Seasons, Shan’s network assured her that she had already received and rejected five offers for her hand. For many it would have been a disaster, but for her it had only driven the price higher.

Amelia set her sights high, and though she was no beauty or skilled mage she was ruthless and clever enough to do everything she could to secure a stable future for herself. If Amelia hadn’t been the daughter of a man she despised, Shan might have admired her.

But Kevan Dunn was everything wrong with Aeravin, and the plan that he had trapped her in only proved that. But like this salon—like her reputation—she was prepared to play the long game, even if she found it terribly distasteful in the moment. Now, she’d had to pay more attention to young Miss Dunn—and she decided to have Bart dig up what he could on her.

It would be helpful to have something on Amelia.

And Amelia, it seemed, would be kind enough to set things in motion.

“Have you heard about these dratted pamphlets?” she said during a lull in conversation. Everyone turned to her, but Amelia kept her eyes on Shan. This was the test she had been sent for—to see if Shan would keep her end of the bargain. “It’s all the usual trash, but the latest ones have gotten rather incendiary.”

Miss Morse leaned forward, her eyes wide. “You cannot expect me to believe you’ve read this nonsense?”

“I have,” Amelia said gravely, raising her teacup to her lips. “If the rabble is becoming a problem, we need to know what they are plotting.”

“They’re not rabble. They’re people.”

A hushed silence fell at Samuel’s words, and Amelia smiled.

“Ah, yes.” She turned to him, every bit the predator who had found her prey. “You grew up amongst the Unblooded, didn’t you?”

Shan watched as Samuel bristled, the anger flashing in his eyes, and weighed her options. She could jump in before things got ugly—but no. No, she’d let it play out, and then she’d swoop in with the reasonable, moderate option, swaying the crowd onto her side.

An Aberforth—especially one with as unusual a story as Samuel’s—could recover from these odd beliefs. She could not.

Hopefully he would understand.

“I did,” Samuel said, jutting his chin out in that way of his. So proud, so righteous. “Lived and worked as one of them.”

“Fascinating,” Amelia said. “So perhaps you should be the one to educate us, then, about their needs and wants. Since you know so much about them.”

The crowd tittered, but she had played him expertly. Samuel was ready to fight, and the event could not have been more successful if Shan had planned it. She signaled for the maids to fetch fresh pots of tea while she waited for the perfect moment to enter the fray herself.

“It’s simple,” Samuel replied, throwing the words in Miss Dunn’s face. “We start treating them like people instead of like cattle. Do away with the Blood Taxes, let them organize their labor unions, give them seats in the government.”

“Lord Aberforth!” Amelia held her hand over her breast in a play at dramatics. “It appears that you are a radical.”

“Maybe I am,” Samuel admitted. “If it’s considered radical to realize that those without magic aren’t that different from the rest of us.”