Chapter XVII
XVII.
DANTE
Dante found himself reluctant to continue. His fingers traced the edge of the table, shadows coiling around his wrists. He didn't ask for help. Ever.
But the alternative was watching everything collapse.
"The ward-locks are failing," he said. "What we witnessed tonight will happen again unless someone can identify and reverse the sabotage."
She stood across from him, hands hovering above the maps. The large table between them felt both necessary and frustrating. Close enough to catch the subtle shift in her breathing, far enough that his shadows had to resist bridging the gap.
"Someone is targeting the entire system," he continued. "They know these mechanisms better than the people who built them. They know exactly how to ensure any repair attempt triggers catastrophic failure."
Her fingers traced a connection between two distant realms. "How many other locks show signs of tampering?"
He gestured to several dim pulse points scattered across the map. "At least a dozen that we've identified. Possibly more."
She looked up at him. "You want my help."
His shoulders tensed. She wasn't asking or offering, just stating a fact, forcing him to admit what they both knew.
"I need your assistance with the ward-locks."
She didn't answer immediately. She was weighing her options, preparing to bargain with a Death Lord in his own domain.
Bold. And deeply inconvenient.
"What happened tonight was mostly luck," she said slowly. "I was just trying things until something worked. How exactly do you expect me to help with an entire network?"
Training a mortal in death magic was dangerous under the best of circumstances. Training one to work with ward-locks deliberately sabotaged to kill anyone who touched them—
"With proper training—"
"Training." She stepped back from the table, crossing her arms. "From you."
"Yes."
"In exchange for what?"
His shadows shifted at the challenge in her tone. Not because he couldn't afford whatever price she named, but because it meant acknowledging she held the upper hand.
That a mortal thief had something he desperately needed.
"What do you want?" he asked.
She was quiet, her gaze moving around his study. Books, maps, shadows moving independently through the space. When she looked back, her expression had shifted to something more guarded, but he caught the way her pulse jumped when their eyes met.
His shadows noticed too. They always caught her reactions.
"Freedom," she said at last. "I'm not your prisoner, and I won't be treated like one. If I'm going to help, it's because I choose to, not because I'm trapped here."
Freedom meant she could refuse, could walk away. It meant treating her as an ally rather than a convenient asset.
But an alliance was what he needed. She'd already proven her value during the crisis.
"Within reason," he said slowly. "The timeline for this crisis doesn't allow for—"
"I understand urgency." She cut him off.
The temperature dropped several degrees.
She either didn't notice or didn't care. "But I won't be kept locked in chambers or dragged around like baggage. I need to be able to move freely in your domain, make decisions about my own safety."
He exhaled through his nose. "Agreed."
"And protection." Her chin lifted. Defiance masking vulnerability. "If I'm going to be working with magic that makes me valuable, I need guarantees that I won't end up dead because someone decides I'm a threat."
His shadows drifted toward her before he could stop them. The thought of someone targeting her triggered an unexpected surge of protective anger.
He reminded himself that she was just a necessary asset.
His shadows disagreed. They wanted to wrap around her, shield her, and ensure nothing could reach her without going through him first.
"You'll have my protection and political backing with the other courts," he said.
"What about practical details?" All business now. "What exactly are you asking me to do? How dangerous is it? What happens if I can't fix whatever's broken?"
She negotiated as if she knew her own worth, holding her ground even when facing him.
He found himself respecting that.
"You'd help me investigate other ward-lock sites," he said. "Identify sabotage, attempt repairs where possible. As for danger..." His shadows rippled. "Considerable. Ward magic at this level can kill if mishandled."
She looked down, teeth catching her lower lip.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"That's it." Her eyes met his directly. "I help because I choose to, I'm protected while I do it, and I know what I'm getting into before it tries to kill me."
Cleaner than he'd expected. She wasn't asking for things he couldn't give. Just respect her choices and acknowledge the risks.
"Agreed," he said.
The acknowledgment seemed to surprise her. Her guarded expression softened, and he caught a glimpse of relief she couldn't quite hide.
"So we have a partnership?" she asked.
"We have an alliance," he corrected. The distinction mattered. "Temporary, until the crisis is resolved."
"An alliance." She tested the word, then nodded. "What happens now?"
"Now," he said, moving toward the shelves, "your education begins."
But as he reached for a text, he reconsidered. She would be useless if she collapsed from exhaustion. The crisis was urgent, but running her into the ground served no one.
"Tomorrow," he corrected himself. "Your education begins tomorrow."
She blinked. "Tomorrow?"
"You're exhausted. Trying to absorb magical theory in your current state would be inefficient." He turned toward the door, then paused. Extending invitations wasn't something he did. Orders came naturally. Asking felt foreign. "When did you last eat?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it, apparently trying to remember.
"I'll take that as confirmation." He moved toward the door. "You need food."
She stared at him. "Are you asking me to dinner?"
"I'm stating that you require sustenance, and we might as well discuss our arrangement while you eat." He opened the door, shadows moving ahead into the corridor. "Unless you prefer to eat alone in your chambers."
"No," she said quickly, following him. "Dining together is practical."
His jaw clenched. His shadows reached for her before he pulled them back.
"Practical," he repeated.