Page 78 of Mistress of Lies
Shan swallowed hard. “Yes, but it’s only a draft.”
“Send it to me,” Belrose said. “I’ll look it over.” When Shan hesitated, she smiled. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to steal your idea from you. Dunn has overheard all of this anyway, so even if I tried, he could vouch for you.”
“No, it isn’t that. It’s just—thank you,” Shan said, dropping into a curtsy. “I am in your debt.”
Belrose waved her hand. “Nonsense. We might be on the Royal Council, but it’s still our duty to ensure that the next generation of nobility is ready to take the lead. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long week and I’m going to see if they have anything stronger than wine.”
She took her leave of them, and Dunn leaned close enough to whisper, “You’re doing well, LeClaire.”
Then he too was gone, leaving Shan alone with the strangely bitter taste of success. Everything was proceeding exactly as it should. So why did she feel so used?
Stepping back out onto the balcony, Shan let the warm afternoon air wash over her. Below, protesters continued their chants, and she tilted her head back and let their voices wash over her—a strangely soothing rhythm.
“Shan.”
She opened her eyes to find the Royal Blood Worker standing next to her, having slipped to her side while she was waiting. He, too, looked hopeless and bedraggled, and Shan realized that was the new normal of their lives. For once the nobles faced true tension and fear—and a deep, dark part of her relished it. “Hello, Isaac.”
His lips quirked into the briefest of smiles, but it faltered as the chants rose. “I didn’t expect you to be here today.”
“Honestly, I didn’t expect to be here either.” She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the crowd, but it looked like they had all gathered in small groups around tables. It was easier to ignore the truth of the situation if one didn’t have to look at it. “But there are a lot of things happening this Season that I didn’t expect.”
“I’m sure.” His hand drifted towards hers, barely a brush, but she felt it anyway. “I’ve heard rumors about you, my dear.”
“Only good things, I hope.”
“Only the best. But we need to talk. I never had the chance to thank you for those notes you sent me.”
Ah, the notes on Samuel. She wondered when they would come back around to her. But they had both been busy. “All right. Tonight?”
“My, my, Lady LeClaire. Are you inviting me to dinner?” He bared his teeth in a smile that sent chills down her spine.
“If you’ll deign to join me.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
It took her longer than she wanted to get out of the club. The protest had been broken up peacefully—a miracle, in Shan’s opinion, but Lady Belrose took a great risk. She put herself out there in front of the crowd, swearing that she would increase their efforts to find this killer. There would be extra Guard patrols, a drop point for them to share information anonymously and a vague hint of new legislation to come.
It had appeased them for now, but Shan knew the truth—if they didn’t find this killer, and soon, nothing the Blood Workers did would keep them in line.
But Lady Belrose had bought them time and Shan knew better than to waste it. Her first task when she finally made it back home was finish up the last of the changes on her draft of Dunn’s bill then to send it off to Lady Belrose. After that, she had an important meeting with the Royal Blood Worker.
She considered her options—as hostess, there were many things expected of her. A certain type of menu, a level of decorum. But Anton’s words from the other night still grated on her, and if there was anyone who’d understand, it was Isaac.
She still remembered that night, once, when she had sneaked to the flat he shared with his parents at his insistence, had sampled the rich flavors of their food in an atmosphere she had never known before. It was the anniversary of the de la Cruzs’ move to Aeravin, and they had made lechon, a whole roasted suckling pig in the Tagalan tradition, to celebrate, complete with a rich wealth of side dishes. It had been the most delicious dinner, and one of the few times she had felt at home somewhere since her mother left.
Perhaps it was time she returned the favor.
She ducked into the kitchen to speak with the Tagalan cook whom Anton had hired after the death of their father; despite his misgivings about her methods, he had quickly taken advantage of the change in status.
That settled, she went to change and wait. Evening came quicker than she expected, and she was shamefully relieved when she realized that her brother wasn’t home. He still wasn’t pleased by her rekindled association with Isaac, and though she had done everything she could to keep them apart, she wasn’t sure what would happen should their paths cross.
It wasn’t that she was more forgiving than her brother, it was just that she knew when to let things go for political reasons. And this was one of them.
Her past relationship with Isaac had no bearing on it.
It was harder to believe her own lie when the footman escorted Isaac into the parlor. He, too, had changed, trading his formal robes of office for a simple suit, finely made but without any ostentatious bits. Somewhere along the way he had shed some of the roughness from before. No, that wasn’t quite right. Isaac hadn’t done away with the pain and exhaustion that seemed to plague him lately, but it seemed that he had been soothed in some gentle, unknown way.
“My darling Lady LeClaire.” He took her hand in his, bowing over it as he placed a kiss on the back of it. “Thank you for your invitation.”