14. Malrec
MALREC
The replacement is efficient, I'll give her that.
She moves through the stable walkways with careful precision, checking latches and clearing debris without hesitation.
But her movements lack the fluidity I've grown accustomed to watching.
She treats each task as a separate action rather than part of a continuous flow.
She's not Lenna.
The thought arrives unbidden, unwelcome. I force it down and continue my inspection of Vexris's containment barriers, checking the rune sequences for degradation. The replacement passes behind me, keeping a respectful distance that Lenna never bothered with.
"The feed stores are organized?" I ask without turning.
"Yes, Beast Master. Exactly as specified in the protocols."
Her voice carries the appropriate deference, no trace of the barely-suppressed hostility I've grown used to hearing. No challenge. No spark.
I dismiss her with a curt nod and move toward Azhrael's enclosure, already feeling the familiar tension that's been building since I authorized Lenna's reassignment three days ago.
The beast hasn't cooperated worth a damn since she stopped appearing for morning duties.
His mood has deteriorated from reluctant compliance to outright refusal, and I'm running out of patience with both him and my own inability to fix it.
"Malrec."
Damiros's voice echoes through the stable corridor, perfectly timed as always. My brother has an uncanny ability to appear exactly when I least want company.
I don't turn from Azhrael's enclosure. "I'm busy."
"I can see that." His footsteps approach with measured calm, stopping just close enough to be conversational without crowding. "How's the new rotation working out?"
"Fine."
"That's not what the morning reports indicate.
" A pause, weighted with the particular brand of concern Damiros wields like a surgical instrument.
"Azhrael refused to bridle this morning.
Sythrak destroyed two feeding mechanisms. Even Vexris has been unusually aggressive during containment transfers. "
I grip the observation rail harder than necessary, watching Azhrael shift restlessly in his volcanic basin. The beast's attention keeps drifting toward the stable entrance, toward the corridors where Lenna used to appear each morning.
"They're adjusting to the schedule change."
"Are they?" Damiros moves closer, positioning himself where I can't avoid acknowledging his presence. "Or are they reacting to something else?"
I finally turn to face him, finding his expression carefully neutral in that way that always precedes manipulation. "What do you want, Dam?"
"I want to make sure you understand that rotating workers through the stables is the correct decision." His green-gold eyes hold mine with steady certainty. "For the beasts' welfare and for your own."
"You were the one who suggested I use Lenna specifically." The words come out sharper than intended. "You said Azhrael's trust in her was valuable. That I should utilize it."
"And it was. For a time." Damiros doesn't flinch from the accusation in my tone. "But relying too heavily on a single human creates dependency. The beasts become unstable when that human is unavailable. You become unstable when your routines are disrupted."
The accuracy of that observation makes my jaw tighten. "I'm not unstable."
"You haven't slept properly in weeks. You've been distracted during estate meetings.
Your temper has been progressively shorter.
" He gestures toward Azhrael's enclosure.
"And your beasts are reflecting that stress because they're too attuned to one worker who clearly has other effects on your focus. "
I want to argue. Want to point out that his logic doesn't account for the way Azhrael specifically responds to Lenna, or the fact that the replacement worker—efficient as she is—will never have the same instinctive understanding. But Damiros isn't wrong about my distraction, and we both know it.
"The reassignment stands," I say instead. "Lenna will adjust to kitchen work."
"And you'll adjust to her absence from the stables." Damiros's voice carries that gentle firmness he uses when he thinks he's protecting me from myself. "This is better for everyone involved, Mal. Trust me."
I turn back to Azhrael's enclosure, dismissing him without words. After a moment, I hear his footsteps recede down the corridor, leaving me alone with my beasts and the hollow feeling that's been expanding in my chest since Lenna stopped appearing for morning duties.
She hasn't fought the reassignment. Hasn't shown up demanding to be returned to stable work. Which means Damiros was right about that too—she's probably relieved to be away from here. Away from me.
The thought shouldn't bother me as much as it does.
Azhrael rumbles low, a sound I've learned to interpret as displeasure. His luminous eyes track me as I move along the observation walkway, radiating the kind of judgment I didn't know infernal beasts were capable of.
"Don't start," I tell him. "She's better off in the kitchens."
He doesn't respond, just continues watching me with that unsettling awareness that suggests he knows exactly what I'm not saying.
Three more days pass, and nothing improves.
Azhrael refuses every attempt at cooperation, forcing me to use containment protocols that damage our already-strained working relationship.
The other beasts respond to his mood, creating a cascading instability that requires constant management.
And I can't sleep without dreaming of Lenna in ways that feel less like fantasy and more like memory bleeding through barriers I can't identify.
I lie awake most nights, staring at the ceiling of my quarters and trying to convince myself that distance will eventually diminish whatever this is. That time will make her feel less essential, less present in every corner of my awareness.
It doesn't work.
By the seventh night, I give up on sleep entirely and return to the stables.
The volcanic heat wraps around me as I descend, familiar and grounding in ways the cool quiet of my quarters never manages.
At this hour, the space should be empty except for the beasts themselves, settling into whatever passes for rest among creatures bred for violence.
Azhrael is awake when I reach his enclosure, pacing his volcanic basin with restless energy that tells me he won't be calming down without intervention. The feeding pasture might help—open space, fresh air, the illusion of freedom that sometimes settles his more volatile moods.
"Alright," I mutter, keying the containment barrier down to entry level. "Let's get you out before you destroy something else."
He watches me approach but doesn't move toward the bridle point, his massive form radiating stubborn refusal. I've done this without assistance before, but it's always a risk. One wrong move, one miscalculation of his mood, and I'll be dealing with injuries that take days to heal properly.
I'm reaching for the bridle when I catch movement in my peripheral vision—a figure slipping through the stable entrance with the kind of careful quiet that suggests they shouldn't be here.
My hand drops to the binding focus at my belt before I recognize her silhouette.
Lenna freezes when she sees me, caught in the amber glow of the rune lamps.
Her work uniform has been replaced by simpler clothing—kitchen staff attire, I realize with uncomfortable awareness.
Her hair is loose rather than tied back for stable work, falling around her face in waves that make her look younger, more vulnerable.
"What are you doing here?" The question comes out harsher than I intend, sharpened by a week of restless nights and the shock of seeing her when I thought I'd successfully removed her from my proximity.
Her chin lifts in that familiar gesture of defiance, but her voice is quieter than usual. "I came to see Azhrael."
"The stables are closed to kitchen staff after hours."
"I know." She doesn't look away, doesn't make excuses. "I missed him."
The simple honesty of it hits me harder than it should. She came here—breaking rules, risking reprimand—because she missed the beast. Not because she was ordered to. Not because it served some strategic purpose. Just because she cared.
Azhrael's attention shifts from me to her, his entire posture changing in an instant. The restless aggression drains away, replaced by that particular stillness he only shows around her. His eyes track her approach with an intensity that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.
"You reassigned me," Lenna says, still not looking at me. All her focus stays on Azhrael as she moves closer to his enclosure. "Without warning. Without explanation."
"It was a promotion." The excuse sounds weak even to my own ears. "Kitchen work is safer, more stable—"
"I don't care about safer." She finally turns to face me, and the raw hurt in her expression makes something crack behind my sternum. "I cared about this. About them."
About him, she means. About Azhrael, who's watching her like she's the only thing in the entire stable that matters.
I should tell her to leave. Should enforce the rules and maintain the distance I've been trying to establish. Should do anything except stand here feeling like I've made a catastrophic mistake.
"He won't bridle for anyone else," I hear myself say instead.
Lenna's eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across her features before she masks it. "What?"
"Azhrael." I gesture toward the beast, who's moved closer to where she stands outside his barrier. "He's refused cooperation since you stopped coming. I was about to attempt taking him to the feeding pasture, but he won't let me near enough to bridle."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with things neither of us is saying. I watch her process the information, see the moment she understands what I'm asking without quite asking it.
"I could help," she offers quietly. "If you want."