Dante was numb.

After the dungeon, he went straight to Bronwen’s quarters. Gratefully, Scarlet didn’t follow. It was his turn to need time alone. He threw all his energy into healing his mentor. Bronwen was unconscious, and didn’t wake. Little progress was made throughout the healing session. Dante’s nudging struggled to convince Bronwen’s weakened body to heal the extensive damage.

Dante collapsed on the floor next to Bronwen’s bed. He had no energy, physical nor emotional, to lift himself back up. He felt like he should cry, but he had no energy for that, either.

He closed his eyes. He slept. He dreamt.

His visions were disorienting and unclear. Lives hung in the balance… Bronwen’s and… others, but he couldn’t tell. Scarlet’s? His own life? Jayden, if she was still out there? It could be any of them, or all.

He woke, blind, his body aching from laying on the floor. He sat himself up and stretched, waiting for his vision to return. The blindness definitely lasted for longer than it used to.

“Bronwen?” Dante croaked. There was no reply. Bronwen was still unconscious. Or worse—

Dante curled into a ball, doing his best not to assume the worst before he even got his sight back. His insides felt like they were fracturing, every piece of himself was breaking.

Death had gotten him banished. Scarlet had been right, the god twisted everything she could to serve her purposes. He had been so grateful to have his life saved, slowly becoming accustomed to the idea that he might be able to get strong enough to do something to help fight Riordan… he wanted to believe that Death wasn’t as bad as Scarlet seemed to think—he’d been a fool.

If he hadn’t been banished… he would have been there when his home burned, he could have saved Jayden from the soldiers that took her. If his parents had in fact died in that blaze like he suspected, at least they wouldn’t have died hating him. And Milo, one of his only friends… Milo hadn’t betrayed him after all.

He’d lost his life because of Death.

Was he going to lose Bronwen now, too?

His vision returned, painfully slow. It was darker now, he’d slept until sunset. Dante stood, steadying himself against Bronwen’s bed. His legs shook. He pressed his fingers against Bronwen’s neck.

There was a pulse. Bronwen was still breathing, shallowly. Tears stung Dante’s eyes. Alive. He’s alive for now.

He settled in for another healing session. Dante let his magic flow into Bronwen’s body, feeling around for the most critical damage. It was overwhelming, and he could feel infection creeping in, deep within his mentor’s body. The energy Dante provided was nothing, it was a drop when Bronwen needed an ocean to survive. Nevertheless, he didn’t stop until his own body felt useless, and he dropped back to the floor, where he twitched and convulsed.

He’d overextended. Bronwen’s words cautioning him against overusing healing on a lost cause ran through his head. I can’t push myself any farther. If I do, I could die too...

Scarlet was wrong. He wouldn’t be able to save Bronwen on his own. She believed him to be stronger than he was. He admired her strength, her determination… but he wasn’t her.

He fell unconscious. It wasn’t quite sleep, it was too restless, but at least his visions didn’t come for him. He faded in and out, it became dark, and then light outside once more.

“Dante. Wake up.”

“Scarlet?” he asked groggily, but as he came back to consciousness he realized it wasn’t her, but Death.

“Get up,” Death commanded. “Come with me.”

Dante managed to push himself upright. His stomach ached to empty itself, not that it had much in it. He looked up at Bronwen’s bed. “Wait, is he—”

“He’s still alive.”

Death’s words were barely a relief. It was only a matter of time. Death held out a hand, taking pity on him, and Dante begrudgingly accepted her help to stand up. He almost toppled back over regardless, but was able to keep his footing and follow her out to the main area of Bronwen’s quarters.

Death took a seat on one of Bronwen’s couches, and Dante followed suit, collapsing onto a chaise across from her.

“I can’t become an emissary,” he said, preempting her question while he still had the guts to say it. “I can’t… I can’t trust you.”

Death’s cold gaze was set firmly on him. “Perhaps not. But we both want Bronwen alive, and I’m sure you’ve seen by now that you cannot save him without my power. So maybe we can make a deal.”

“A deal?” Dante snorted. “What kind of deal could you give me? You got me torn away from my family, from my sister, she needed me and I couldn’t protect her—”

“What if you could protect her now?”

Dante tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve kept track of Jayden. If you become my emissary, I’ll send you to her once Bronwen is recovered.”

“Is… is she safe?”

Death flashed her teeth at him. “For now.”

Dante thought of Ange’s illusion, a girl locked away in a cell. “Is that a threat?”

“She is a mage living in a land of mage hunters. I do not need to threaten her.” Death leaned back in her seat. “Join me, save Bronwen, and then I’ll send you on a mission that will also take you to your sister. Or choose to let Bronwen die, and I will not be kind in choosing where to leave you. That is a threat. For Scarlet’s sake, I have let you stay, even though you are not an emissary. But no longer.”

Jayden. He could go to Jayden. “What about Scarlet? Would she come, too?”

“No. She must stay here.”

Dante ground his teeth. Death was bewildering. “Why keep her here?”

“Become my emissary and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“How do I know that’s true? That any of this is true?”

Death shrugged. “My word is all I can give you. You will have to decide for yourself if that means anything.”

How could I do it? How could I bind myself to her, commit myself to being trapped in this crossfire between gods? He ran his fingers through his hair. But if I don’t, Bronwen will die, and how could I let that happen, either? How could I give up a chance to get back to Jayden, if Death is telling the truth?

Hope and fear were tearing him into two. He didn’t know what to do.

“I will hold vigil over Bronwen,” said Death. “Your efforts have been enough that I can help hold him here, for now. But I doubt he will last another night, so you’d best decide by the end of the day.”

#

Dante took a walk. He needed fresh air, even if it was murky swamp air. He needed to move, even if his body protested every step. He paced around until he found a semi-dry area with a gnarled tree that had low branches that were easy to climb onto. He perched on a branch, remembering Jayden and her reckless love of climbing trees much too high.

He missed her. How long had he been in the Crossworld, now? Months? It was hard to keep track here, no seasons came and went, each day passing in monotonous routine, until recently.

Bronwen would die if he didn’t accept Death’s offer, there was no question about it now. Plus Death would throw him out somewhere dangerous, and he’d be abandoning Scarlet. And, if he became an emissary, he would get to see his sister. If Death was telling the truth, anyway. He would find out why Death kept Scarlet here, and maybe he could use that knowledge to help Scarlet get out, sooner rather than later.

But he would be at risk of being controlled by Death. Two of her emissaries had warned him against becoming one—or, ex-emissary, in Ange’s case, he supposed. Could Dante really commit his life to serving Death? Could he come to terms that he would likely die fighting against Riordan? There would be no backing out, no changing his mind about leaving if he became an emissary, unless he managed to find a way to break the bond as Ange had.

His mind turned the conundrum over and over, like a rough stone that perhaps would become smooth in time with his touch. He sat in the tree for so long that the sun rose to full height above him. It didn’t quite feel warm, they never seemed to get the full effect of the sun here, but it was still nicer than being in the stuffy castle. He didn’t know how he would ever get up from his perch, to go back inside and give Death his decision. It would be too final. He was hungry and uncomfortable, but stuck.

As the sun began to descend, he saw someone coming towards him from Deianira. He thought it was Death at first, coming to collect his final decision. However, as she came closer, Dante saw curly black hair, and not the red braid of the god. Scarlet had found him.

She came to him, leaned against the twisting tree. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So… Bronwen…” She bit her lip.

“I can’t save him on my own.”

“That’s not true. You just have to dig deeper—”

“I don’t have any deeper to dig into. You have this huge store of energy in you—I don’t have that. I’m not like you.”

Scarlet looked down. “Don’t do it. Don’t become an emissary. Even if Bronwen will die. Don’t be trapped here. Please.”

The way she said it, serious and intense, Dante was sure she wouldn’t forgive him if he willingly chose the life that she had been forced into. His heart dropped. “I have to tell you something.”

“So tell me.”

“Death made me an offer.”

“No.” The word was soft, but forceful.

“She said she would tell me anything I want, Scarlet—maybe there’s something that could help us find your mother. She’ll let me go to the World, to my sister—”

He had never heard Scarlet’s voice falter as much as it did now. “She’s telling you what you want to hear, then she’ll use you however she wants to.”

“Maybe. But I might have to take that chance.”

“I was in that dungeon too, you know.”

“What?”

“Where we found Ange. Death left me down there before.”

“W-why? Why would she do that?”

“I disobeyed her.”

Dante tried to think of Scarlet, locked away in the dungeon. Anger rose in his chest at the image. “How long were you there?”

“I don’t know. Long enough. I got out the day we met.”

No wonder she hadn’t been chatty when he’d first arrived. No wonder she had no questions about why Ange had been locked away. “Scarlet. I’m so sorry.”

Scarlet was still staring at the ground, like she couldn’t bear to look at him. “So don’t do it,” she repeated. “You don’t know what she’s capable of. She goes easy on you. She hasn’t tested you like she’s tested me, because you aren’t an emissary.”

“I don’t know what to do. If I don’t become an emissary, she’ll make me leave. Who knows where she’ll send me, or if I’ll end up in the dungeon, or—”

“Leave, right now, on your own. Death can’t follow you out of this realm while Riordan is using his magic to confine her. So go, find Ange. Or I’ll come try to open a portal for you. But you have to get out of here, Dante, before you end up like me. Like Bronwen. Like all of the emissaries we had to leave rotting in that field. Go find your sister. Fight Riordan on your own terms, if you want to. But once Death gets a hold of you, you’re forfeiting everything to her.”

There was a lump, hard in his throat. “But I can’t go.”

“Bronwen isn’t afraid to die. He’ll forgive you.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what?”

“I can’t leave you.”

Scarlet finally looked up to where Dante was perched in the tree. Her blue eyes were as hard as any wall he’d ever faced. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be alone. With Death. No Bronwen, no anyone.”

“I don’t want you to have this life.” Suddenly, her toughness melted away, pain and sadness ringing clearly in her words. “Don’t you dare stay here because of me.”

“Scarlet.” As her walls fell, so did Dante’s. Suddenly he felt too far away from her. He stumbled his way down from the branches to stand face to face with her. He reached for her hands and she let him take them.

Scarlet’s fire, her intensity, pulsed through her hands to his. Dante’s heart burned for her, and this was his last chance. Scraps of his dreams were piecing together, bit by bit. He had to say it, before it was too late. “I could never leave you behind, Scarlet. I l—.”

“No.” In that moment, every ounce of softness left her. He saw her tense, her eyes unlocked from his. She pulled her hands back. Suddenly, she was a thousand miles away. “Don’t. Don’t say what you’re going to say.”

“Scarlet—”

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“No.”

Scarlet’s rebuff struck him to the core. He felt his heart shattering in slow motion as her rejection set in.

“You can’t feel that way about me,” she said. “I’m… nothing. I’m just the one who’s here. All we’ve had is each other. That just makes me a default, not anything real.”

Dante’s stomach dropped. “Scarlet, no. None of that is true. You’re the opposite of nothing. You’re strong. As a mage, sure, but more than that—as a person. It’s impossible to not admire you. You try to keep everyone out, but I know… I know that you care. You care so deeply about everything, everyone that it tears you apart. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to hide and you don’t have to face any of this alone.”

“You’re wrong.”

“About what?”

“All of it.”

Scarlet put her hands together, face up, and for a brief moment summoned a roaring blaze into existence. Dante flinched back.

“You’re afraid of me,” Scarlet said.

Dante’s breath was shaking. “I’m afraid of fire,” he admitted. He’d never gotten over seeing the young mage being executed by burning. His father brought him to the capital specifically to watch, after discovering Dante’s magical affinity. It was a warning he wouldn’t ever forget.

“I’m fire, Dante. It’s who I am.”

“It’s not you, it’s your magic.”

“If that’s what you think, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

All of this was going wrong, oh so wrong. Dante’s whole body was vibrating now, threatening to fall apart. “I care about you. I like being with you. The other night, falling asleep together like that, I felt so safe. It felt right. It meant a lot to me, Scarlet.”

Scarlet’s eyes were closed, her face was strained.

“You don’t have to feel the same way as I do,” he said. “But… what do you feel? Just talk to me, please.”

“Nothing. I feel nothing.”

Dante felt a dot of cold land on his cheek, then another on his forehead. It was snowing. He didn’t know that it snowed in Death’s realm. Were there seasons here after all? He thought it had to be summer back in Saridian by now.

“I’ve never even had a friend, before you,” Scarlet said. Dante wasn’t sure if the moisture on her face was from the snow melting as it hit her skin, or if tears were shedding from her closed eyes. “I don’t know how to feel. So I can’t. And I don’t think you know me well enough to truly love me.”

She had put a knife in his heart and the only thing Dante could do was twist it even deeper into his own chest by leaving her there without another word. As much as he felt awful walking away, there wasn’t anything he could think to do or say that would make either of them feel any better right now. He had to do what he needed to do, before he lost his nerve.

So he walked back to the castle, snowflakes kissing his skin the whole way back, he entered through the dark stone doors, weaved through the halls back to Bronwen’s room, where Death sat next to Bronwen, tenderly holding his pale hand. She looked up as Dante entered, her face creased with worry.

He stood tall in front of the god. “I’ve made my decision.”