Page 50
The garden let me take one step. The court objected to the second.
The chain snapped tight around my waist and dragged me towards the sitting room. Bryony’s fingers locked around mine.
“Let go if it pulls you off balance,” I said.
She planted both boots on the silver path. “It isn’t pulling me. It’s dragging you towards the door, and the light is brightest where our palms meet. Come towards me instead of fighting it. We can test the next step without pretending this is safe.”
Her words carried no unnatural weight. I followed them because she was right.
I stepped close enough to put my free arm around her waist. Her body fitted against mine, warm and steady. The chain pulled again, but the silver light rose over our joined hands and stopped it from taking me farther.
“Keep your palm against mine,” I said. “The path is using your authority to admit me. If you feel the light change, step away and let the court pull me back.”
Bryony looked over my shoulder at the doorway. “Will it hurt you?”
“Yes. I’ve survived worse.”
Concern tightened her grip. “I don’t like knowing it will.”
“I won’t take another step if the path changes.”
She watched my face for another moment, then adjusted her grip until our palms met fully. “One step at a time.”
We moved together.
The path widened under us. My chain stretched from the sitting room and scraped over the threshold, leaving a dark line across the stone. It remained tight enough to hurt without forcing me back.
Every step took me farther from the throne than I’d been in a century.
The distance mattered. Bryony’s safety mattered more, so I kept my attention on her and the ward.
The roses leaned towards us. Their thorns stayed aimed at the outer gate.
Bryony glanced at them. “I preferred being ignored.”
“They’re guarding you now.”
“They have an aggressive way of showing affection.”
“I find it familiar.”
Her mouth twitched, and she led us around the low wall towards the basin.
Black liquid still marked her fingers. A cut crossed one knuckle, and thinner scratches showed above the collar of her torn jumper. None was deep. The sight made my hunger stir anyway.
I tightened my arm around her waist for control rather than distance. She didn’t pull away.
“How is the chain?” she asked.
“Tight, but it’s moving with us. I can breathe, and the ward is taking some of the pressure.”
“Can it drag you back while I’m holding you?”
“It can try. The garden is accepting your permission, but the throne still owns the other end. Keep your hand in mine and don’t wrap the chain around yourself. If it wins, I want it to take only me.”
Her grip tightened. “It isn’t winning yet.”
We reached the middle stone.
