“It [i]could[/i] be Bella,” Redana lies to herself.

It looks like a tomb, and that’s freaky. It looks so much like a tomb of steel that even Redana, sheltered from the signifiers of death save in the iconography of Hades himself, recognizes its shape. But the glories etched into it, the prayers written on slender ribbons and attached with wax, the symbol of the thousand eyes and the circle of arrows— this is a holy sarcophagus of Artemis. When she runs her fingers over it, it should tremble and thrum with barely-contained power. It doesn’t, though. It just lies here, in the depths of the Third Shrine, sealed shut.

Is it so hard to believe that maybe Bella’s curled up inside, the same way that her— that Dany used to, when she was overwhelmed by her responsibilities and duties as the Imperial Heir? It would be nice. Redana could undo the seal, give Bella a wry smile, tell her she was looking for one Bella, have you happened to see her about? There isn’t room inside that coffin for two, but she could wait, she could take a seat, she could sing songs from back home. Anything to get Bella to sit down and [i]talk[/i] to her.

The brass knuckles are heavy in her coat pocket.

Because it’s not Bella in there, and Redana knows that. She can feign surprise when she opens it up and reveals the other assassin. Not Bella, not Mynx, not even Beljani-Epistia. (She feels guilt when she thinks about that; she hasn’t mustered up the courage to ask Beljani-Epistia if she regrets what happened, or if she would have preferred to stay dead in that shining refuge within the Eater of Worlds.) The [i]other[/i] one.

[i]”I really think she loves you.”[/i] A taunt. Trying to get under Redana’s skin. An assassin too clever for the world trying to slip a knife somewhere soft. She hadn’t heard the things that Bella had said that night; she hadn’t heard Bella’s disgust after being kissed on Sahar. She hadn’t even seen Bella run off after everything Dany did, so what did she know?

Dany slips one hand into that pocket, curls her fingers around the knuckle. An intuitive weapon. Not hard to understand at all; a layer even harder than human bone, designed to add heft to a blow, to spread the force evenly. A weapon for a blunt instrument.

When she pulls her hand out of her pocket, she’s got a knuckle on one hand. After all, it’ll take both hands to break the seal; it’s designed to avoid accidental opening. An assassin, loosed without preparation, without a target? Very dangerous indeed. Inauspicious, besides. But maybe it is somehow, impossibly, Bella in there, and Dany will laugh and think herself so silly for being ready to toss out a challenge.

The sarcophagus opens with a hiss of pressurized air. The inside is white, white, white; the blankness that approaches the infinite. And inside, her neck still faintly bruised, her eyes sightless yet open, her breath achingly slow, is the assassin. Her hair is loose, a shining halo around her beautiful head. Redana’s fist clenches tighter until the brass bites into her palm.

Come on. Get up. It’s not a fair challenge if you don’t get up. Who proves a challenge against someone lying down in their bed? All that would prove is that Dany’s a brute, violent and ignorant. So it has to be on the level. Then she’ll show you. Then she’ll win. Then she’ll… then Bella will be able to see that her Dany cares. Cares enough to make a stupid, stupid challenge on her behalf.

Come on, then! Get up!