As Seraphina disappeared down a corridor, Brynn felt Dante's focus settle on her.
"She told you something."
Of course he'd noticed.
Brynn met his gaze. Seraphina's words sat in her chest like swallowed glass.
Ask him about the tribute he became attached to. Ask him what happened when she started asking the wrong questions.
She wanted to demand the truth. Wanted to ask if any of this was real or if she was just history repeating itself. If the way he looked at her meant what she thought it meant, or if someone else had stood exactly where she was standing and believed the same thing.
But the questions wouldn't come. Because asking meant hearing an answer. And she wasn't ready for what that answer might break.
"Nothing important," she said.
Dante studied her face for a long moment. His shadows reached toward her, tentative, and she stepped out of range before they could touch her.
A flicker crossed his expression. There and gone.
She turned toward the guest quarters and didn't look back.
XXXVII.
DANTE
The guest quarters Seraphina provided were luxurious in the way a gilded cage was luxurious. Stone furniture, art depicting battles, a sleeping alcove through an archway draped with silk. Everything designed to impress while reminding visitors they were surrounded by violence.
Dante's shadows spread through both spaces immediately, probing for passages, listening devices, magical surveillance. Finding nothing didn't ease him. Seraphina was too skilled for crude methods.
The stone walls still radiated heat from the day's sun. Comfortable for his kind. Punishing for mortal flesh.
"The heat's getting to you," he said, watching Brynn sink into one of the chairs with less grace than usual.
Her face was flushed. She moved stiffly, carefully, like her muscles were staging a revolt the desert crossing had cost more than she'd admit.
"I'm fine."
The deflection was automatic. So was the way she leaned back against the chair as if sitting upright had become a negotiation.
His gaze caught the tremor in her hands. The way she hadn't looked at him since they'd left Seraphina.
Whatever had shifted during that whispered conversation was worse than exhaustion.
"You're not fine." He moved to the window, positioning himself where he could watch both the courtyard below and her reflection in the glass. "And before you argue, I mean physically. The heat, the realm. Your body isn't meant for this."
"My body has handled worse."
The edge in her voice made power prickle along his shoulders. Whatever Seraphina had whispered was working through her like venom.
"What did Seraphina tell you?"
"Nothing worth repeating." She didn't meet his eyes. She focused instead on the art across from her. Cavalry charging through fallen enemies.
The woman who'd argued strategy with him this morning wouldn't even look at him now.
Seraphina had found her mark.
"Whatever she said—" He stopped. Watched her shoulders tense. "I'm not going to tell you to dismiss it. But without knowing what it was, I can't tell you which parts were true and which were designed to cause damage."
