XI.
DANTE
Dante maintained his grip on the portal's anchor, feeling the familiar disorientation as they passed through spaces between realms—places where neither life nor death held dominion, where existence itself became negotiable.
Most mortals didn't handle travel well. The tribute before her had spent an hour vomiting. The one before that had collapsed entirely.
The thief handled it like she'd been born to it.
Her eyes widened as reality twisted, but she didn't lose her footing when the world reformed. No nausea, no disorientation. Just sharp awareness as she took in their new surroundings.
Adaptable. Dangerously so.
"How often do you do this?" she asked, voice even.
"As little as possible."
They had emerged at the crest of a hill in the neutral realm. The Bone Temple rose before them, its soaring spires carved from ivory that gleamed with light in the night.
This was where the Death Lords met when business affected all five domains. A place built before any of them had claimed their thrones, when the barriers between realms were still being negotiated by powers whose names had been lost to time.
The air here tasted of nothing. Not the metallic tang of hisdomain or the sweetness of Caelum's realm. Just space waiting to be filled with whatever the assembled Death Lords brought to it.
"It's..." The thief paused, searching for words. "It feels like a cathedral. But one built for darker prayers."
The observation was more accurate than she knew. His shadows shifted with approval—or what would have been approval, if he allowed such things.
Other portals were opening around the temple's perimeter. Caelum's arrival came with silver light and the sound of wind through gardens. Seraphina's portal brought the clash of weapons and the scent of spilled blood. Vex materialized in wine-colored mist, while Thessa faded into view as if she'd been there all along.
Each entrance was designed to announce its maker. A display of power and personality, serving as both a greeting and a warning.
"Stay close," Dante murmured as they began their descent. "But not too close. Six feet, no closer."
She glanced at him with questions in her eyes, but didn't ask them aloud.
Learning when to stay silent. Good.
"Say nothing unless directly addressed," he continued. "When they look at you, look back. Show no fear, but no challenge either."
"Understood."
As they descended the steps, he was acutely aware of her presence six feet behind him. Could hear her breathing. Could sense her attention taking in their surroundings.
The central chamber opened before them—vast, circular, with a vaulted ceiling. At the center, a five-pointed star was inlaid in different metals on the floor. Each point held one of the thrones.
His throne was black marble, naturally. Polished to a mirror finish that reflected twilight. Caelum's was white, veined with silver, warm and somehow comforting even from a distance. Seraphina's chair was weapons forged together with silver wire. Vex's throne looked like crystallized wine, deep purple-red shifting between solid and liquid. Thessa's seat was apparently made of solid moonlight, casting no shadow while absorbing the darkness around it.
The other Death Lords were taking their positions. But Dante noticed how they watched him approach.
No. How they watched her.
Every eye tracked the mortal who walked six feet behind him instead of maintaining the customary twelve-foot boundary.
She walked with her chin up and shoulders straight, projecting confidence without arrogance. To anyone watching, she looked like exactly what she was supposed to be. A useful tool being brought to assist with realm business.
But Dante caught the subtle signs. The way her gaze swept the arena, noting exits. How she positioned herself to keep all the Death Lords in her line of sight while appearing to look straight ahead. The tension in her stance spoke of readiness.
His shadows stirred with pride. Uncomfortable, unwanted pride.
