Page 113 of Mistress of Lies

“No.” Erik flinched. “They didn’t.”

“So why did you do it?”

“Because they were complicit,” Erik snarled. “Because it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to the King. Any cost was acceptable.”

The King wrapped the gag around Erik’s throat, pulling it back until he started to choke. “It was a foolish plan, ill-thought-out. Erik and his compatriots had no idea what to do once I was gone—they just wanted me dead and did not care who got in the way.”

“What happened to the others?”

“They died in the attempt,” the King said, relaxing his hold. Erik sputtered for air; it seemed that death would not come to him so soon. “Our friend here was the only one unlucky enough to survive. But now he can join his allies. All you have to do is say the word.”

Samuel looked Erik in the eyes. “Do you regret? Their deaths?”

The answer was immediate. Erik didn’t even try to fight it. “No.”

The darkness stirred in his veins, and a single word fell from his lips.

“Die.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Shan

Shan swept through the streets of Dameral, her slate-colored cloak fluttering behind her as she trailed after her brother, just another body in the crowd. She hated that she had sunk to this, but she knew she couldn’t plead ignorance, not anymore. The solstice was the next day, and she had yet to find proof to exonerate her only lead. If anything, the proof only further damned him.

So Shan did the only thing she could: she followed her own brother.

She kept one eye on the back of his head as he moved with purpose, heading towards his destination. But this time, when he left home, he didn’t take the carriage or a hack to one of his favorite gambling hells, theatres, or taverns.

No, he was going on foot, leaving no trace of where he was heading, almost as if he didn’t want to be found. He had also discarded his normal trappings, leaving behind his noble outfits for something far more plain, far more simple. Whatever he was planning, it was something he needed a disguise for.

Shan clenched her hand at her side, digging her nails into her palm, using the sharp bite of pain to dispel the paranoia that ran through her, that hadn’t left her for hours. She couldn’t ignore the fact that her brother had been acting strange lately—distant and different—but to even contemplate this of him felt like the worst kind of betrayal. He had always been the better of them, the reason she had accepted the darkness within.

When had he followed her down? When had he changed, and what had she been doing that she missed it? Her brother might have become a murderer, and she had refused to see the signs. It had been easier to pretend but now the blindfold was gone, and each step she took felt like a knife in her heart.

But she never lost sight of him.

He led her on a circuitous path through Dameral, descending from the lush noble sector where they made their home into the bustling warmth of the middle-class district. As they slipped between sectors, Shan found it more difficult to remain inconspicuous as the crowds grew thinner. The Unblooded, even those with the relative safety of money, were still retiring to their homes early, unwilling to risk even the slightest chance of being caught by this murderer.

Those who had to venture the streets did so in groups, moving as quickly as possible, their heads ducked low and their eyes on the streets before them. The Blood Workers around them, though, with their daggers and their claws, acted as if nothing had changed. The dissonance was disorienting.

Finally, Anton slipped down a small side street, and Shan hurried after him. By the time she had rounded the corner, he had already vanished, but there was the brief flash of a door closing.

There. That must be it.

Glancing round, she found that that street was completely empty—it was still the middle-class district, but he had led them away from the main streets and the shops. No, this was far more residential, where the shops catered to locals, not the broad spectrum of society. And at this hour, this twilight hour when fear ruled Dameral, there was not a soul to be found.

Shan slipped down the street, pressing her ear up against the door and listening for something—anything. She could make out the faint sound of voices, but nothing distinct, and even that was fading as they made their way deeper inside.

She could use her Blood Working, if she wanted—enhance her senses and maybe pick up on what they were saying. But she’d still be standing there, out in the open, completely vulnerable to whoever happened to pass by. No, that would never work. And these buildings were pressed so tightly against each other, with no spaces between, no gaps in which she could press herself.

Her brother had done a good job when he had picked this place. He might not have the ability to protect it with wards and traps like she did, but given his limitations it was a fine setup indeed.

Laying her hand against the doorknob, she made her choice. There wasn’t enough time to waste with a slow and careful reconnaissance—and he was her brother, still.

She had safety in that.

Biting down on her tongue, she let her mouth fill with blood and strength infused her body. It was always a rush when she did this—though it wasn’t something she often needed—to push her body to the limit, to find the strength she shouldn’t have.

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