"You're making it more difficult than necessary," he observed, though his tone was thoughtful rather than critical.
She glanced up. He'd leaned forward slightly, gaze fixed on the ward-frame, jaw relaxed rather than tight. "How so?"
"You're working alone." His shadows shifted around his shoulders,and suddenly she could sense their presence in a way she never had before. They weren't just the absence of light; they were entities with their own awareness. "Ward magic was designed for collaboration. The original architects worked in teams."
She met his gaze, her heartbeat quickening at the suggestion. "Are you offering to help?"
His expression tightened, mouth pressing into a harder line. The admission clearly hadn't come easily. "I'm offering to demonstrate proper technique. I can't touch the stones directly without disrupting their balance, but my shadows can provide guidance."
The shadows moved closer to the ward-frame, hovering near connection points without quite touching. She could sense their presence more clearly now. Purposeful, intelligent, waiting for direction. Waiting for his permission to touch what she was working on.
"Let them guide you," he said, command threading through his words. "Don't fight their suggestions."
She relaxed her control over the energy flows and waited. The shadows moved with purpose, positioning themselves at specific points of connection—subtle pressure encouraging the magic to flow more efficiently.
They anticipated her intentions and provided support exactly where needed. The energy flows became smoother, more balanced, creating harmonies far more sophisticated than her solo efforts.
"The shadows can sense magical patterns beyond physical perception," he explained, his voice closer than she'd expected.When had he moved?"They're extending your awareness."
One shadow brushed against her wrist as it adjusted a connection point. The cool touch lingered a moment longer than strictly necessary. Or maybe she was imagining that.
Great. Now she was over-analyzing what his magical appendages were doing.
"This feels different," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "Like the magic is eager to work this way."
"Because this is how it was meant to function."
The ward-frame shone more brightly now, the stones singing in harmony. She could feel the system's satisfaction in achievingbalance, the way each component supported the others. Rightness hummed through the connections, settling into her bones.
"What happens next?" she asked.
His shadows stilled for just a moment before resuming their work. She could feel his gaze on her.
"Next," he said, the command in his voice making her pulse jump, "we see what you can accomplish when you stop holding back."
Right. No pressure or anything. Just casually unlock long-lost magic in front of the scariest Death Lord while his shadows held her hand.
This was fine. Everything was fine.
XXI.
BRYNN
Brynn's hands still tingled hours after training, white traces shimmering across her knuckles before fading. The ward-magic left marks. Temporary proof she was changing into something that shouldn't have been possible.
She needed answers. And the library had become her refuge.
She'd found this place by accident a couple of nights ago, trying to understand the power humming beneath her skin. Unlike the formal spaces of the palace—the skull-lined throne room, the ribcage corridors, the chambers where death stared from every wall—this room felt different. Softer, somehow. As if whoever had designed it understood that even the inhabitants of a death realm needed somewhere simply to be.
The space curved like the inside of a giant skull, the domed ceiling arching overhead in smooth bone polished to a warm ivory glow. Bookshelves lined the curved walls, built directly into the architecture—each shelf carved from bone, books nestled between them like treasured secrets. The shelves spiraled upward in impossible configurations, some floating in mid-air, suspended by magic that hummed contentedly when she passed.
But it was the details that made it feel like a sanctuary.
Thick rugs covered the bone-tile floor. Deep purples and silversthat muffled footsteps and invited bare feet. The reading chairs were upholstered in worn velvet, the color of twilight, their frames carved from dark wood with only the subtlest bone accents: armrests that curved like cradling palms, feet shaped like curled toes. Someone had chosen comfort over intimidation.
The fireplace dominated one wall. Not the cold blue flames that lit the rest of the palace, but actual fire. Warm. Orange and gold, crackling softly, casting dancing shadows that felt natural rather than alive. The mantel was a single massive jawbone, but it had been carved with climbing roses, the teeth transformed into delicate petals. Death made beautiful. Death made gentle.
Candles floated at reading height throughout the space, their flames steady and warm, responding to her presence, drifting closer when she sat down, hovering over whatever page she was studying. The pale-blue sconces along the walls cast ambient light, but these golden candles felt personal. Attentive.
