Chapter 46
XLVI.
brYNN
Brynn had barely slept.
She lay in the massive bed, staring up at the carved bone. Every time she'd closed her eyes, she'd seen her parents' faces. Not as she remembered them, warm and loving, but twisted with betrayal in their final moments.
They had been calling her name. Asking why she'd done it.
The memory surfaced on its own, the one she'd buried so deep she'd almost convinced herself it wasn't real.
The alley behind their house. Deep shadows stretching between buildings. She'd just returned from the market district, hours of negotiations leaving her mind racing with numbers and trade agreements. Late getting home. Her parents would be worried.
Voices from the back entrance. Harsh. Unfamiliar. Mixed with her parents' tones.
Her father's voice was trembling with fear she'd never heard before.
She'd pressed against the wall, straining to listen.
"Where is she?" A cold voice.
"She's not here." Her father, too quick, pitched too high. "She's just a girl. She wouldn't understand—"
"There has to be some mistake." Her mother’s voice cracking.
"It's already too late."
Her father let out a sound like the air had been punched out of him.
Then her mother screamed his name.
Then nothing.
Brynn had stood frozen, hand pressed over her mouth to keep from making a sound. Her mind refused to process what she'd heard. Couldn't be real. Couldn't be—
"Find the girl." The cold voice again, unhurried. "She can't have gone far."
Boots on stone. Coming toward the alley.
She ran.
She'd told herself she would circle back. Would find help. Would explain everything once she understood what was happening.
She never saw them again.
Brynn pressed her face into the pillow, fighting the sob building in her chest. She'd cried enough last night. Had broken down alone in her room, learning that her parents weren't just dead. They were caught in that accusation forever.
And she couldn't even try to reach them. Could only carry the knowledge that somewhere in this realm, they existed in eternal anguish, calling out for the daughter they believed had destroyed them.
Maybe she should have let him keep this truth from her.
No. She shook her head against the pillow. She'd needed to know. Had a right to know.
Even if it was destroying her.
And then he'd given her ward construction. She'd been reeling from the worst news of her life, and he'd pivoted to investigation strategy like she was just another item on his agenda.
Nothing between them. Just a tool for fixing wards.
She'd offered him everything. Had stood there breaking and asked him to try. And he'd looked her in the eye and told her she was nothing.
Fine.
If that's what he wanted, that's what he'd get. She could be nothing. Could be exactly the cold, professional tool he'd reduced her to.
The twilight outside had shifted from deep purple to pale lavender. Soon, servants would arrive with schedules and formalities, and she'd have to face the day.
Face him.
She rolled over, catching a faint trace of roses from the garden on her pillow.
She needed to stop. He'd made his choice perfectly clear.
A sharp knock cut through her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, grateful for the interruption.
A death knight entered, hollow eye sockets fixed on her with neutral precision. "Lady Brynn. Lord Reaper requests your presence in the transport chamber. Today's diplomatic visit to the Court of the Mourned will proceed as scheduled."
Court business. Of course.
"Tell Lord Reaper I'll be there," she said flatly. No warmth. No questions about whether he'd slept. He didn't deserve her concern.
When the door closed, Brynn moved to her dresser. The mirror showed her exactly what she expected: red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, evidence of a sleepless night written clearly on her face.
That wouldn't do.
If he wanted to pretend last night hadn't happened, fine. She could play that game better than he could. She'd been performing since she was twenty years old, fleeing into the night with nothing but the clothes on her back.
She splashed cold water on her face, working to erase the signs.
Chose her clothing with care: a deep blue dress formal enough for diplomacy but practical enough for trouble.
Secured her tools—lockpicks in hidden pockets, ward-sensing instruments strapped against her thigh where the long skirts would conceal them.
Her reflection looked composed. Professional. Like a woman who felt nothing at all.
Exactly what she needed.
A softer knock interrupted her preparations. "Brynn? May I come in?"
"Enter."
Naia slipped through the door, translucent form carrying a breakfast tray far too elaborate for the early hour. "Lord Reaper requested I bring you something to eat before your departure." She set it down with a meaningful look. "He was quite insistent about making sure you were properly prepared."
He'd sent breakfast.
A week ago, that might have meant something. Now it just felt like an obligation.
"How thoughtful," Brynn said, and let the sarcasm show.
Naia's eyes flickered with surprise at her tone. "Brynn—"
"I'm fine." The words came out sharp. She softened slightly. Naia wasn't the one she was angry at. "Sorry. Didn't sleep."
"I can see that." Naia studied her face, playfulness fading into concern. "I heard about your parents. I'm so sorry."
The sympathy almost cracked her armor. Brynn blinked hard, forcing everything back down.
"It was a long time ago," she managed.
"That doesn't make it easier." Naia moved closer, translucent hand hovering near Brynn's shoulder without quite touching. "For what it's worth, Lord Reaper looked wrecked this morning. Whatever happened between you, I don't think he's sleeping any better."
Her chest wanted to twist. Wanted to soften. Wanted to ask if he was alright.
She didn't let it.
"That's his problem," she said coolly. "We have work to do."
Naia's eyebrows rose slightly, but she didn't push. "At least eat something first. You'll be no good to anyone if you collapse."
Brynn forced down a few bites to appease her. Everything tasted like ash.
A harder knock came before she'd finished. "Lady Brynn? Lord Reaper is ready to depart. Your immediate presence is required."
Required. Not requested.
Irritation prickled through her. After everything, he still thought he could summon her like a servant.
She grabbed her travel cloak and headed for the door.
The corridors felt different today. Servants moved too quickly, glancing at shadows. The stones beneath her feet hummed with unsteady energy.
Something was wrong with the realm.
She filed it away. Not her problem. She was just here to fix wards.
When she reached the transport chamber, Dante was already there. He stood with his back to the entrance, studying reports a death knight delivered in hushed tones. Formal attire. Long sleeves covering every inch of skin.
His shadows writhed around his feet, more agitated than she'd ever seen them.
He dismissed the knight and turned.
She faltered mid-step.
He looked terrible. Shadows beneath his eyes. Jaw tight enough to crack. He looked like a battle fought and lost all night.
For one treacherous moment, she wanted to go to him. Ask if he was alright. Bridge the distance between them.
Then she remembered his voice, flat and final: Nothing happening between us.
She put her walls back up.
"Lord Reaper," she said, and watched him flinch at the formal address. He'd earned it.
His shadows reached toward her instantly, fighting his control, desperate to close the distance he wouldn't cross.
Nothing between them, he'd said. While his power betrayed him with every breath.
She ignored it.
“Thief.” His voice was neutral, but she caught the slight roughness. The way his eyes searched her face before he shuttered his expression.
"You required my presence. I'm present." She kept her voice level. Gave him nothing.
Something flickered in his eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or frustration. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
Now he knew how it felt.
"The Mourned Court awaits," he said after a pause. "Reports suggest Caelum's domain remains stable despite the ward failures. We should be able to conduct a thorough investigation."
"Then let's go." She stepped into the transport circle's outer ring without waiting for him, positioning herself as far from him as the space allowed.
He joined her after a moment, and she felt his gaze on her. She kept her eyes forward.
“About last night—” he started, voice low.
"Is there something about the investigation you need to discuss?" she cut him off, keeping her voice calm and distant, exactly like him.
His shadows surged toward her feet. She felt the cool brush of them against her ankle and stepped away.
His shoulders stiffened.
"No," he said finally. "Nothing."
"Then we should proceed."
His shadows spread around both their feet, creating the boundary for transport. He stood close enough that she could feel the hum of power rolling from him.
Her own body wanted to sway toward him. She stayed still.
He'd wanted distance. Here it was.
As power built around them, she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. But she felt his eyes on her the whole time. Felt his shadows pressing against her ankles like they were begging for contact that his hands wouldn't allow.
The circle flared, and reality dissolved around them.