Brandon Ashveil's Arc

Chapter 15 of 18

The queen did not step past the garden wall. Brandon understood why. The salt line still held around the four bamboo posts, and the wards Dayna's grandmother had cut into the wood were older than the queen's patience. But the working was open. The thread in his chest still hummed north. If he closed the working now, he lost his only chance to finish the bargain with Thornweave tonight. If he did not close it, the queen would wait until the salt scuffed or the dog tired, and she would walk in. Dayna crouched at the edge of the plank floor. Her satchel was open. Her hands shook once, then stopped. "How long will the wards hold her?" Brandon asked. "Long enough for one more sentence through the bond. Not two." Brandon looked at the tall figure between the trees. The fae queen watched him the way a hawk watches a rabbit that has not yet run. Thornweave's kin. She wanted her cousin alive and Brandon dead, in that order. He made the choice fast. He could not fight her. He could not outrun her. But she wanted something from him, and that was a lever. "Give me the salt," he said. Dayna passed the jar. Brandon stepped off the plank floor. The red dog moved with him, shoulder against his knee, teeth showing. Dayna hissed his name. He did not turn. He stopped ten paces from the garden wall and set the jar down in the wet grass. "Your kin is dying," Brandon said. "One thread left. He won't cut it. He wants me to come to him." The queen's eyes moved to the jar, then back to his face. "I'll come," Brandon said. "Walk in with you. No iron. If he lives, you let the herbalist go. If he dies before I reach him, you've lost him for nothing." She was quiet a long moment. The braided antlers caught the grey light. "You are not in a place to bargain," she said. Her voice was low and even. "But you are in a place to be useful. Walk. Now. Leave the mortal and the dog." "The mortal stays alive," Brandon said. "That's the price of my feet moving." Another pause. Then a small nod, once. Behind him, Dayna said, "Brandon." "Close the working," he said, without turning. "Burn the bark. He'll feel me coming anyway." Brandon stepped over the low garden wall. The queen turned and walked north into the trees, and he followed at her heel like the dog had followed his. The thread in his chest pulled tight and steady now, no longer a question. He was going to Thornweave on the queen's road, unarmed, with one thread of bond left between his heart and a dying fae lord's slab, and only his own word to keep the herbalist breathing behind him.