Page 81 of Mistress of Lies

“So that’s why you’re so determined to cure him,” she said instead, twisting the moment into a bit of levity, and Isaac snorted. “I can’t say I blame you then.”

Isaac threw back his head and laughed, and Shan smiled. “All right, de la Cruz. You say that you are your own man? Then prove it. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll take you back.”

“And then we can talk with Samuel?” he added, and she nodded. “Well, then, I guess I have to prove myself.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Samuel

“Is this entirely necessary?” Samuel said as he climbed into Isaac’s carriage. The door slammed shut behind him, and Isaac knocked once on the ceiling for them to get moving. “This isn’t the time for parties.”

“Samuel, it’s always the time for parties,” Isaac replied, taking a drag on his cigarette as his eyes wandered over him.

He couldn’t help feeling like he was being undressed. His outfit was perfect and incredibly fashionable—Jacobs had assured him of that while he had carefully tied his cravat—but Samuel still felt terribly uncomfortable in it. Tight breeches, starched shirt, an embroidered waistcoat for goodness’ sake. The jacket was tight across his shoulders, making him broader and more substantial than he actually was, and Samuel felt dreadfully exposed in it.

Isaac, however, seemed to approve, and he leaned closer, studying the suit. “Blood and steel. Laurens, is it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Samuel fiddled with his cufflinks, wishing he could fade back into the seat. He wasn’t used to being so seen—Isaac’s eyes looked darker, sharper, boring into him with an intensity that made him shiver. He remembered the feel of Isaac’s lips against his, quick and firm, and part of him wanted Isaac to look at him that way forever.

Another part of him hesitated, recalling the feel of Shan’s body under his, the way she had pressed into him.

Hells, he was making a mess of things, wasn’t he?

“Fuck.” Isaac shook his head, finally looking away, and Samuel felt a surge of relief. When he wasn’t looking at him Samuel could almost pretend that this thing between them wasn’t there—that they were simply friends, that they weren’t betraying Shan. Not that there was any real future with either of them, anyway, not with this gift of his hanging like an albatross around his neck.

He finally understood why people turned to drink.

“Laurens won’t even respond to my requests,” Isaac continued, blessedly oblivious to Samuel’s internal panic, “let alone dress me. Royal Blood Worker or not. Being an Aberforth has its benefits.”

“Actually, it was Shan.” He hated the way her name tasted on his lips, even when she wasn’t there, hated the way Isaac’s gaze sharped for just a second. “She’s the one who got me in with Laurens.”

“Of course she was. She can do anything, it seems.” Isaac flicked ash off the tip of his cigarette, his hand resting against the open window, his long fingers golden in the fading sunlight. “How have you been doing since…?” he drifted off, not quite mentioning the body they stumbled upon. “I know it must have been hard, seeing something like that.”

Samuel eyed him, wondering what his angle was. Isaac had been walking on eggshells around him, treating him like something fragile about to break. But now? To address it directly? There was a part of him waiting for the trap to spring.

“It… goes,” he said, since it was not like he could question Isaac about his motives. Well, he could, technically, but it would be poor form after everything Isaac had done. “It’s not like it’s my first.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Isaac said, softly. “Still, it changes you. I know from experience.”

Samuel wanted to lean forward, to ask how he had coped. What tragedies he had seen as the Royal Blood Worker, and how he managed it all. But perhaps Isaac had been right after all. Perhaps Samuel was still a bit too fragile. So he ignored the impulse, turning towards something safer. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time. Training must continue. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

The corner of Isaac’s mouth curled up. “Don’t worry, I doubt there will be anyone here you’ll feel bad testing your power against. It’s a far better plan than the one we originally had.”

“I never said thank you for that.”

Isaac waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. It was my mistake.” His eyes grew cold, distant. “Besides, just because I am the Royal Blood Worker, and the King has his orders for us, doesn’t mean we should turn our practice on the innocent. I should have never asked that of you.”

“It’s okay.” Samuel shrugged. “It’s not like we have much freedom, anyway.” Isaac looked like he wanted to press further, to dig into that statement, but the carriage rolled to a stop. “We’re here.”

“It seems we are.” Isaac’s lips twisted into a frown, and he tossed the remains of his cigarette out the window. “Remember, nothing too drastic. Keep it natural.”

Samuel stepped out of the carriage, Isaac immediately on his heels, and he looked up at the large estate before him. Unlike the townhouses at the heart of the capital, Lady Lynwood’s home was more like a manor. Three stories tall and three times as wide, the entire structure was lit up from within, music and laughter drifting out into the night air. When Isaac had showed up at his house this afternoon and demanded they attend, he swore an invitation from Lady Lynwood wasn’t to be ignored.

Apparently, she knew anybody who was anybody and she threw the best parties in Dameral. From what he had been able to gather from Isaac, she was what Shan hoped to become—the women everyone knew held all the power. A single word from her could make or break a reputation.

And besides, this was a perfect opportunity to make up for their lost session.

Still, the timing of this fête felt all wrong.