Brandon Ashveil's Arc

Chapter 10 of 18

Brandon kept his cut arm across Thornweave's chest and reached back for the lantern he had set on the floor. Six fireflies drifted inside the glass. Their light moved over the fae lord's white hair and yellow eyes. Thornweave watched him the way a snake watches a boot. "You mean to cut it," Thornweave whispered. "You will die." "I mean to loosen it," Brandon said. He did not know if that was true. Dayna had told him the bond was a knot, not a rope. She had told him a knot could be worked, thread by thread, if he could hold his enemy still and see the pattern. She had not told him how. She was back in the tunnel, keeping the hound asleep. He was on his own. He opened the lantern's small door. One firefly climbed onto his finger. He set it on Thornweave's sternum, above the fever heat. He set a second on his own chest, over his heart. The two lights pulsed. Then they pulsed together. Brandon felt it the way a man feels a rope go taut. A line ran from his ribs to Thornweave's ribs. He could see it now, faint and gold in the firefly glow, thin as a hair. "Do not," Thornweave said. His hand twitched toward Brandon's wrist and stopped. "Hunter. If you pull, we tear." "I am not pulling." Brandon lifted a third firefly and set it on the golden thread itself, between them. The firefly clung. The thread loosened one turn. Brandon's chest eased. Thornweave drew a full breath for the first time since Brandon had entered the chamber. Brandon set a fourth. The thread loosened again. Sweat ran into his eyes. He reached for the fifth. His hand shook. He placed it. The thread went slack in the middle and pulled tight at both ends. Pain lanced through his ribs. Thornweave arched on the slab. Blood ran from the fae lord's nose. Blood ran from Brandon's. "Stop," Thornweave gasped. "Leave one. Leave one or we die." Brandon's hand hovered over the last firefly. He understood. Five threads loosened. One thread left, holding. Cut it and the bond would snap and take them both. Leave it and the bond would stay, thin as a wire, but survivable. He could walk out of this chamber. He could not walk out free. He closed the lantern's door on the last firefly. He sat back. His nose stopped bleeding. Thornweave's did too. Brandon stood. His legs held. The pull in his chest was a whisper now, not a chain. He looked down at the fae lord on the slab, small and fevered and still alive. "I will come back for the last one," Brandon said. Thornweave's yellow eyes tracked him to the tunnel mouth. "You will not have to. I will come for you."