"That's it?" she pressed, leaning forward slightly. The armrest pressed against her forearm. "Just useful?"
His eyes snapped up, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. His shadows pressed closer to his chair, restless and agitated. The flames in the ribcage chandeliers guttered.
"For now," he growled.
A warning wrapped in two syllables.
Her heart skipped. She looked down at her plate, picked up her fork, and suddenly found her vegetables fascinating. Too aware ofThe Reaper watching her, of the tapestry figures that had shifted positions, the armrests that felt closer than before.
Right. She'd pushed too far, asked too many questions. Forgotten for a moment that a friendly dinner conversation didn't exist with the Lord of the Forsaken.
They finished the rest of the meal in silence.
But this silence felt different from the beginning. Charged. Like a boundary had shifted between them that neither was willing to acknowledge.
When the last course was cleared away, he stood and left without a word. Shadows flowed after him like a cloak, and the skeletal hands on his abandoned chair slowly uncurled, releasing nothing.
Brynn sat there, alone at a table built for fifty, her heart still racing from a two-word warning.
X.
DANTE
Acouple of days later, Dante stared at the reports scattered across his desk, but the words might as well have been written in forgotten tongues for all the attention he was paying them.
Two incidents in the past week. Ward-locks going dark without explanation. Souls crossing boundaries they shouldn't be able to breach, appearing confused in domains where they didn't belong.
The archive-keepers had returned yesterday with troubling news: the original construction records of the ward-lock network had disappeared long ago. Without those records, tracking the current failures back to their root cause would be nearly impossible.
The incidents alone warranted investigation, but not necessarily his attendance at Caelum's emergency council. The other Death Lords could speculate and theorize without his input. They usually did. But the pattern bothered him. Two failures in one week after centuries of stability, and now the convenient absence of historical records, suggested either accelerating decay or something more intentional.
And if it was intentional, he needed to understand who benefited.
The emergency council meant hours away from his territory. Hours he couldn't afford to waste on speculation and theater.
Unless he brought resources.
Caelum's representative had suggested as much.Perhaps a tribute with special talents might have insights into such magical anomalies.The words had been directed at the thief, not him. The entire court had turned to appraise her like she was a curiosity on display.
He'd given a flat "perhaps" and steered the conversation elsewhere. But the suggestion lingered.
Since when did the Court of the Mourned take interest in his tribute?
He pushed back from his desk, shadows coiling tighter. The death tools had reacted to the thief in ways that defied ages of magical theory. Her composure in his court, her complete lack of fear when any sane person would have been terrified. Those traits could prove useful.
Or dangerous. Possibly both.
"She comes with me," he said aloud to the study, testing how the decision sounded.
The shadows around him settled as if even they approved. Ridiculous. He didn't need approval from his own power.
Dante left his study and made his way through the castle's corridors toward her chambers. The walk gave him time to consider what he would tell her about the meeting.
When he reached her door, he raised his hand to knock before catching himself. He'd ruled this castle since its founding without announcing his presence to anyone. He entered where he wished, when he wanted.
But he knocked anyway. Sharp. Giving her exactly one second to prepare.
"Come in," came her voice from the other side.
