Page 115 of Mistress of Lies

Shan wrapped her arms around herself, her facade finally cracking. She prided herself on being impervious, on being so strong that she never showed a hint of weakness, but… he was her brother, and this pain was real. “I—” her breath caught in her throat, the words refusing to come. “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” Anton said, at last turning. His eyes were dark and empty. “Or won’t? Does this have anything to do with the fact that you’ve locked me out of your study? That you haven’t truly spoken to me since before you murdered our father? I thought we didn’t lie to each other, Shan.”

“I haven’t been lying,” she said, though the words felt hollow.

“No, I suppose you haven’t.” He rubbed his hand across the shorn side of his head, messing his meticulous hairstyle. “But you haven’t been truthful either.”

Shan didn’t deny it—it was true. She had only stayed faithful to their long-time vow by a technicality, though she had broken it many times over in spirit.

“So, let me begin,” Anton said, surprising her. He stepped forward, taking her hands in his. She wasn’t wearing her claws—it didn’t fit her simple disguise—and it felt strange to be holding her brother’s hand like this again. They hadn’t done this since they were children, clinging together against the darkness that was their own family. “I have not been entirely truthful either. Tonight, you met Alaric Rothe and Maia Aedlar.”

“Ah.” The names clicked into place as Shan drew upon the great family trees of Aeravin. Maia was a bastard daughter, the child of a long-time mistress, but her father had a kindly heart—he raised her in his household, with his name and his wealth. She could never inherit, especially as she had shown no skill at Blood Working, but it was better than the streets.

Alaric was a bit of a radical, though—he should have been the heir. He had no siblings and was the last of a long line but gifted with no magic. After the death of his mother, his cousins immediately started fighting each other for control of the estates, but Alaric held his ground, fighting them tooth and nail, refusing to be denied his birthright.

Or any more of it than he had already lost. The Rothe seat in the House of Lords had sat empty for nearly a decade. Lineage or not, an Unblooded couldn’t fill that spot.

It all made too much sense. “Are they your birds?”

Anton rolled his eyes. “They are my friends, Shan. Not that you would know what that is like.” He stopped her before she could counter him. “And I don’t count. I’m family.”

She bit her lip. “There is Samuel.”

“Oh, Shan,” Anton said, with a cruel little laugh that reminded her a bit too much of their father. Of herself. “Don’t believe your own lies. You’re using him just as much as you use anyone else. He’s no different than Isaac.”

He might as well have slapped her across the face. It wasn’t true—at least not in the way that he thought it was. Samuel wasn’t that different from Isaac, but Isaac wasn’t some simple tool to be used either.

Her heart aching many times over, she sighed and reached for her drink. “Alaric and Maia, then. They’re your friends.”

“Yes,” Anton said carefully. “And my… allies.”

“Allies in what?” she asked, needing to hear it. Needing to know if he’d tell her the truth, even now, or if everything between them was lost forever.

Anton looked away. “It’s complicated.”

She clenched her hand around her glass, trying to hide the trembling that started. This was the moment—the one that she had been fearing. When she forced the words past her lips, it barely sounded like her voice at all. “Try me.”

“It would be easier to show you.” He stood, offering her his hand.

And, foolishly, she took it.

Anton led her down into the basement, following the steps that Alaric and Maia had taken earlier. This place was more than a meeting spot—she had quickly figured that out—it was a headquarters and a safe house and, as they entered into the basement, a printing press.

An illegal, unsanctioned, hidden printing press.

Shan stared at the process, Maia and Alaric working in silent coordination as they took the type and set it against the paper, creating a stream for production. They did the work themselves, despite their noble upbringings. Alaric had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, ink splattered on his shirt, and Maia worked the type, setting rows of letters in order.

She crossed over to the far wall, where bundles of pamphlets and slim booklets were stacked, ready for distribution. Grabbing the first one she could, she ran her fingers on the freshly dried, slightly offset title.

A DECLARATION ON THE RIGHTS OF THE UNBLOODED

BY THE FRIEND OF THE UNBLOODED

So this was it. This was the big secret that he had been working on behind her back. It wasn’t murder, it wasn’t illegal Blood Working. It was these damn radical texts that ranged from speculative to outright seditious.

Anton was whispering behind her, and she hardly paid attention to him as he told Alaric and Maia to leave. She just stared at the amount of damning material spread before her and wondered what she was supposed to do with all of this.

It was only the closing of the door behind them that moved her to action.

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