Page 100 of Mistress of Lies

He left Samuel to his terror and turned his gaze on Shan. She wanted to scream, but she didn’t even have air to breathe.

“And you, my precious little Sparrow,” he purred. Shan startled in her seat, raising her eyes to him in shock. “Oh, I know. I’ve known all along. You have the capability to be the most vicious, cruel thing. But there is something holding you back and, if I wanted to, I could destroy him.” His smile turned sharp. “But I haven’t yet, in case I needed a bit of leverage. So, if you value your brother, you had best succeed.”

The world came crashing down around her as his words echoed in her ears. Everything she had done—every death, every lie, every bit of pain that she had suffered—had been for Anton. To protect him. To save him. This had never been about power for power’s sake.

It was for him.

And even if she had found a bit of joy in it, a version of herself that could fly free, even that was now threatened. The Sparrow was more than just as a mask, more than just a tool. It was the deepest, truest part of her soul.

The King had dragged it into the light, and for the first time in her life she felt stripped bare—naked and exposed and raw.

It was ironic. She had spent her life finding people’s weaknesses and exploiting them to her advantage. It was only fair that someone return the favor at last.

Damn it, Bart was right. She had been the fool after all.

“So, my children,” the King said. “Am I understood?”

“Yes,” Shan said. What other option was there? Either find this murderer—who might very well be her brother—or lose him to the Eternal King.

Fate was a cruel mistress.

“Good.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I am a realist, and I am not entirely without mercy. There are things you should know if you are going to catch this murderer.” He stood. “Follow me.”

The Eternal King swept away from his desk, stalking towards the bookshelves that lined the far wall. Shan swept aside the confusion that rose in her—she didn’t have time for that. Instead, she stood and followed the King, pausing only to rest her hand on Samuel’s shoulder. She gave it a brief, desperate squeeze—passing on all the courage and strength that she could in that single heartbeat—then let him go.

It would have to be enough.

Shan refocused her attention on the King, watching as he ran his hand along the spines of the books, until he came to the one he was looking for. He hooked the tip of his claw onto it, glanced over his shoulder at them, then pulled it back.

There was a great groan as the entire bookshelf started to shake. The King took a quick step backwards as the floor itself shifted, the two middle shelves rotating one hundred and eighty degrees, revealing a passage behind it. The way was lit by witch light, illuminating a staircase that twisted down and down and down.

Unable to help herself, Shan stepped forward, looking up at the mechanism which allowed the shelves to spin. She had always wanted something like this, but it had been beyond the means of the LeClaires’ wealth.

“Do not dawdle,” the King snapped, already stepping through. “You, too, Samuel.”

Shan fell into place behind the King as Samuel finally, reluctantly, rose from his chair. She waited with the King for Samuel, and when he joined them in the passageway the King pulled a lever. The bookshelf started moving again, reversing its rotation, until they were trapped on the other side of the wall.

The King simply turned on his heel and started down the stairs, and Shan and Samuel exchanged a brief look. She could see the emotions clearly in his face, free of the masks he had yet to master. Pain, indignation and so much anger it took her breath away.

But this wasn’t the time for that. She just brushed her fingers against his as she passed him, following the King down into the depths.

They walked for so long that Shan lost track of where they were, only knowing that they must have gone deep, down below the ground level of the castle. The staircase just kept circling, the same pattern of stones round and round, witch light flickering above their heads. Her thighs ached from the trek, her fine shoes not meant for such a journey, but still she refused to let any of the pain show. She could hear Samuel behind her, his breath coming hard and fast, his anger fading to a fear that she could nearly taste on the air.

She might not be able to pinpoint where, precisely, in the castle they were, but she knew where they were going. The only logical outcome of such a journey.

The Eternal King’s dungeons.

Finally, they reached the bottom, the staircase opening into a thin hallway, not quite wide enough for the three of them to stand abreast. A large metal door stood at the end, but there was something more here. A magic ran over her skin like a rush of static, raising all the hairs on her arms.

A ward.

She stumbled forward, one hand outstretched, only to look back at the King. He was watching her with a curious expression, but he simply nodded, granting her permission.

The intensity of his gaze on her was something that she never wanted to feel again—it was as if he was flaying her apart with only his eyes, tearing away every layer of deceit she had so carefully wrapped herself in. Yet she couldn’t focus on him; no, there was something more important.

This magic called to her, and gently, tentatively, she ran her fingers across the wards, feeling them hum as they reacted to her presence. It echoed through her, wrapping around her in a familiar embrace, and she could taste the spicy, smoky flavor of his magic on her tongue.

It was Isaac’s.

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