Brandon Ashveil's Arc

Chapter 14 of 18

Brandon slept two hours on the bench and woke to Dayna scraping ash from the hearth. The thread in his chest still pointed north. Stronger now. Thornweave was moving, or someone was moving him. Either way, the working had to happen tonight, and the longhall would not hold it. Too many gaps in the walls. Too much noise from the road. If the thread snapped mid-working, Dayna had told him, his heart would go with it. He said as much. Dayna set down the ash bucket. "There's a shelter my grandmother built for workings," she said. "Bamboo. Out past the garden. She warded the posts herself. Nothing crosses the floor without her say." "She's dead." "The wards aren't." They walked out through wet grass. The red dog followed at Dayna's heel, ears up. The shelter stood in a clearing behind the longhall, four pale poles under a leafy roof, a plank bench inside. Small. Open on every side. Brandon did not like it. "Anyone could walk up on us." "That's what he's for." Dayna nodded at the dog. "He hears a fae at three hundred paces. He's kept me alive twice." Brandon looked north. The pull tugged behind his ribs. He stepped onto the plank floor. The air changed. Not warmer. Quieter. Like a hand cupped over his ear. "Sit," Dayna said. He sat. She set the birch bark on the bench and drew a line of salt around the four posts. The dog took a position at the clearing's edge, facing the road, tail low. Not wagging. "Say his name into your own palm," she said. "His blood is under your skin. Your palm is the warm thing." Brandon pressed his left hand to his mouth. The thread pulled harder, as if it knew. "Collin Thornweave." The shelter went cold. Then hot. His hand burned where his lips touched it. The thread in his chest went taut, then loose, then taut again, like a fishing line with something on it. A voice came through his teeth, not his own. You opened it. Brandon kept his hand on his mouth. "I want the last thread cut. From your side. You live. I live." A pause. The dog growled, low, without turning. Come to me and ask again. The line went slack. The heat left his palm. Brandon lowered his hand. His fingers shook. "He heard me," he said. "He answered." Dayna was already gathering the salt back into her jar. "And something else heard too." The dog barked once, sharp, north. Brandon stood. Beyond the garden wall, between two trunks, a tall figure in black bark stood watching them. Antlers braided into dark hair. She did not step forward. She did not need to. The queen had followed the working home.