Naia's form brightened, solidifying more fully. "That's my Lady of Death."
The leather pants fit perfectly. Someone had tailored them to her measurements while she'd been occupied with other things. Probably while she'd been screaming Dante's name into his pillows. The thought sent color flooding her cheeks again.
The silver shirt settled comfortably across her shoulders, the fabric soft but durable. Naia laced the reinforced corset over it, pulling the leather tight enough to provide real protection without restricting movement. Armor that looked decorative but could actually stop a blade if someone got too close.
Naia handed her the circlet last.
Brynn took it, feeling the weight. Heavier than it looked. Black metal, not hollow decorative work. The etchings pulsed against her fingertips, eager and alive. The shadow-work stirred, recognizing her through whatever connection Dante had woven into the metal.
She settled it across her forehead.
The metal was cool at first, then warmed rapidly, responding to her body heat and bloodline. It clicked into place like a lock turning, like it had always belonged there.
His power stirred against her skin. A caress. A reminder.
She turned to the mirror.
The woman looking back wasn't the merchant's daughter who'd lost everything to betrayal. Wasn't the tribute who'd been sent to die in the Forsaken realm as payment for crimes she'd committed.
This woman looked dangerous.
The circlet gleamed against her forehead. Symbols glowing faintly, black roses and carved bones marking her connection to death. The leather and silver made her look like a warrior instead of a noble. And her eyes...
Her eyes looked like someone who'd survived torture, opened a gateway that nearly destroyed everything, and was ready to walk into war anyway.
Lady of the Forsaken. Ward-architect. Strategic commander.
Partner to death incarnate.
The woman who was going to close the gateway she'd opened and make Caelum pay for every soul he'd harvested.
LXXII.
BRYNN
Nightfall was dying like the rest of the realm.
Brynn saw it the moment they materialized at the settlement's edge. Cracks branching across buildings that had stood for ages, ward-stones flickering, gardens withering to grey.
Caelum's sabotage had been killing this place slowly. Her gateway had ripped the wound wide open.
But even failing, she could see what Nightfall had been. What these souls had built with their freedom.
The same black stone and bone that made Dante's palace cold and imposing had been shaped into something else here. Buildings pressed shoulder to shoulder, sharing walls, the architecture of people who'd died alone and refused to live that way again. Shadow-lanterns hung between rooftops on braided wire, their pale light guttering now but clearly strung with care. Someone had decided this corner of the Forsaken realm deserved to be lit. Most of the doorways had no doors at all, just open arches, because people who'd been abandoned had chosen to never shut each other out.
Now the lanterns were dimming. Cracks climbed the shared walls. The open doorways gaped like wounds.
Dante's arm was still around her waist from shadow-travel, his chest solid against her back, and she needed to step away. Needed tostop leaning into him like he was the only solid thing in a collapsing world.
She didn't move.
His shadows trailed across her hips as they retreated, slow and reluctant. "They're already gathering." His breath stirred her hair, low and too intimate for what was coming.
She stepped out of his embrace and immediately missed it. Souls emerged from doorways across the settlement, watching. Warriors checked weapons. Parents pulled children close.
Their eyes watched Dante with wary distance—the look of people who'd served their time and earned their freedom, now watching the system that had tormented them walk back into their home.
"They won't want to hear from you," she said quietly.
