Chapter LIII
LIII.
brYNN
Days had passed since she'd walked out of Dante's chambers, and Brynn had perfected the art of avoiding him entirely.
The library had become her sanctuary. Volumes on ancient magic, death realm history, and the souls who'd built the barriers between worlds. She'd devoured them all, searching for anything about who she supposedly was, though the books on the ward architects were frustratingly scarce.
Now she sat at her dressing table while Naia worked behind her, the servant's deft fingers arranging her hair into something elegant.
Brynn could see the exhaustion in her own eyes.
Too many restless nights, too many hours reading until the words blurred together.
Too many dreams where he reached for her and she let him.
She hated those dreams most of all.
"You've been spending an awful lot of time in that library," Naia observed, her voice carrying that teasing tone she used when she wanted to pry without seeming to pry. "Find anything interesting in all those dusty tomes?"
"Research," Brynn said. "I wanted to understand what I apparently am."
"And do you? Understand, I mean?"
Brynn met Naia's eyes in the glass. "I understand that everyone knew more about my identity than I did.
Including him." She paused, swallowing past the tightness in her throat.
"I understand that my parents were murdered because of what I am.
That my entire life has been shaped by something I never knew about. "
She stopped herself, blinking back the tears that threatened.
Before Naia could respond, a firm knock echoed through the chamber.
They both went still. Brynn's servants always announced themselves with gentle taps and deferential voices. This knock held authority that made her stomach tighten with recognition.
She knew that knock. Had heard it outside her door every morning for the past couple of days, followed by his voice asking if she was well, if she needed anything, if she would please talk to him.
She'd ignored him every time. And every time, she'd pressed her hand to her chest afterward, trying to push down the ache that bloomed there at the sound of him walking away.
"Brynn," came Dante's voice through the door, formal after days of silence between them. "I need to speak with you."
Her hands clenched in her lap.
"I'm not dressed for receiving visitors," she called back.
"This concerns court business. It's urgent."
Court business. Of course. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Another decision made, another announcement delivered. Another thing he'd decided she needed to know only when it suited him.
The pattern was exhausting.
Naia raised an eyebrow at Brynn's reflection, clearly sensing the tension crackling in the air. After a moment, Brynn nodded toward the door, her jaw tight.
If he wanted to play this formally, she could do that.
"Very well. Come in."
The door opened, and Dante stepped inside.
The sight of him caught her off guard.
Dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly.
His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid beneath his dark clothing.
He looked like he hadn't slept since their confrontation.
Like he'd been holding himself together through sheer force of will, and the seams were starting to show.
Her heart clenched at the sight, and she hated it. Her body swayed toward him before she caught herself. Even now, even after everything, some part of her still wanted to go to him. Smooth the lines from his face. Let him hold her until the world made sense again.
No. She forced herself to stay seated, fingers digging into her palms.
His dark eyes found hers, and want flickered in their depths. Regret. A desperate hunger that made her pulse jump through her fury.
Then he looked away, and his expression shuttered.
"Lord Caelum has called for a Gathering of Souls," he said, his voice neutral.
Like they were strangers discussing business instead of two people who'd touched each other's faces and whispered confessions in the dark.
"Tomorrow evening. All the Death Lords will attend, along with their courts.
He believes a show of unity will help stabilize the political situation after the recent unrest."
Brynn studied him, taking in the rigid posture. His shadows shifted restlessly at his feet, straining toward her before he yanked them back.
"I see," she said coolly. "And my attendance is required?"
"As my..." He paused.
The silence stretched. Part of his court. His tribute. His partner.
None of those words fit anymore. They both knew it.
His hand came up to rub the back of his neck—the same gesture she'd seen in his chambers, when he'd been trying to hold himself together. He caught himself doing it and dropped his arm, but not before she noticed.
"Your presence would be expected."
Not as his partner. Not as someone important to him. Not even as his tribute.
Just... expected. Like any other courtier.
The dismissal stung more than it should have. And underneath the sting, the hurt grew teeth.
He'd kept her identity secret. Her parents' murder. Everything about who she was. And now he couldn't even bring himself to claim her publicly. To acknowledge what she meant to him in front of others.
"Then I'll attend," she replied, keeping her voice as neutral as his. She could feel Naia watching them both with fascination. "Whatever is required."
"The gathering begins at sunset. I'll send word about the arrangements."
"Fine."
For a moment, he lingered in the doorway. His dark eyes met hers again, and she watched his control waver, saw the raw ache beneath the mask. His hands clenched at his sides. His shadows strained toward her one more time, desperate tendrils reaching across the floor.
His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something. Something real. Something that mattered.
Say it. She stared at him, willing the words out of him. Say something that isn't court business or duty or decisions you've already made without me.
Then the moment passed.
He pulled back. Straightened his shoulders. Rebuilt the walls she'd watched crumble just seconds before.
"Thank you," he said quietly, and left without another word.
The door closed behind him with a click that sounded like defeat.
The silence that followed felt thick. Brynn realized she'd been holding her breath and forced herself to exhale slowly. Her pulse was still racing, her body still warm from just being in the same room as him.
Hells, she was predictable. And furious about it.
Naia turned to look at Brynn with genuine curiosity.
"Well," Naia said finally, her translucent form settling onto the chair beside the dressing table. "What did you do to him? He looks absolutely dreadful."
"I didn't do anything to him," Brynn replied, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears. "He did it to himself."
"Hmm." Naia's expression was skeptical. "Him coming to your door every morning only to be turned away, and you looking like you haven't slept in days... Are you quite sure about that?"
Brynn turned away from the mirror, unable to look at her own reflection anymore. Unable to see the hurt and anger and longing written so clearly on her face.
"He lied to me, Naia. About everything that mattered." Her voice cracked no matter how she fought it. "How am I supposed to trust that?"
"I'm not saying you should," Naia said gently. "I'm just observing that you're both miserable. And that perhaps misery isn't the punishment you think it is."
Brynn shrugged. She wasn't going to think about that right now.
Her mind shifted to the gathering. A political event. All the Death Lords in attendance, along with their courts. A place where appearances mattered, where every gesture would be scrutinized and interpreted.
An idea began to form. Petty and vindictive and deeply satisfying.
He wanted to keep her at arm's length? Fine. Let him try to ignore her when she made herself impossible to overlook.
"Naia," she said slowly, her voice gaining strength as the plan came together. "How quickly could the palace tailors work? If I needed something made by tomorrow evening?"
Naia's eyebrows rose with interest, her translucent form brightening. "That would depend on what you had in mind. Something simple could be managed, but anything elaborate..."
"Not simple," Brynn interrupted, turning to face her fully.
Her heart was beating faster now, adrenaline chasing away the exhaustion.
"Elaborate. Beautiful." She met Naia's eyes.
"I want everyone at that gathering to see exactly who I am.
Not his tribute. Not someone to be managed and kept in the dark. An Architect."
Naia's smile turned positively wicked. "Oh, my dear. Now you're speaking my language."
"Can you arrange it?"
"Leave it to me," Naia said, rising gracefully. "I know exactly who to speak to. And I have some ideas that I think you'll find... satisfactory." She paused at the threshold, glancing back. "This is going to be absolutely delicious."
As Naia slipped out, Brynn turned back to the mirror.
She was done being managed. Done being protected. Done being kept in the dark while he decided what she could and couldn't handle.
At the Gathering of Souls, everyone would see exactly who she was.
Including him.