The bench scraped sharply against the floorboards as he rose. He did not bid farewell or ask if I would accompany him; he turned on his heel and left. I stood and was compelled to follow. The connective tether between us pulled taut the moment he stepped away, as though an invisible spool within me had been drawn forward. The tavern door groaned on its hinges as it closed behind us. Outside, night had ripened to its fullest dark.
His shoulders slumped when he noticed my presence. “You really don’t have to?—”
“I am not following you,” I said. “I am following the tether. It despises distance.”
He spun around, walking backward now, one brow raised in disbelief. “Are you a Tether?”
“No.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I am not.”
If I were a Tether, one of the higher-order magical gifts capable of connecting and contracting souls, I would not remain in my centuries-long predicament and could have freed myself by now.
The look he gave me neared pitiful. As if my lack of agency worsened our circumstances. Mav led us around the side of the Withering Whistle and through a decrepit alley where moss clung to the walls. The air smelled of soot and damp rot.
“I’m not used to being followed,” he muttered as we reached the base of a narrow tenement; three stories of slanted stone barely standing against the wind.
“You will grow accustomed to me,” I stated.
That gave him pause. He ran a hand through his hair, visibly searching for patience. “Listen, it was really…nice to meet you and everything. But this is where we part ways. I wish you all the best with your…spell, or whatever.”
“I assure you, my presence here is not from interest or affection?—”
“Sure,” he cut in, waving dismissively as he turned toward the stairs.
I remained steadfast. Mud squelched beneath my bare feet as I dug my heels into the earth and waited for the inevitable pull I knew would come. I learned long ago to anticipate the tug, the tightening of the invisible rope when distance grew too great between myself and the bonded tether. I braced myself. Mav’s footsteps thudded up the first flight of stairs, then turned sharply out of sight. I could only track him by sound, boots against stone, growing fainter.
It came sharply and suddenly. The connection yanked hard in my chest as he found the edge of the allowed distance betweenus. I gasped, body jerking forward. Above, there was a curse, and the heavy scrape of boots as Mav stumbled.
Then, as I have learned most men do when faced with an invisible force, he tested it again, ascending several steps in defiance. I leaned backward for fear the tether would pull me face-first into the mud beneath my feet.
Another groan echoed down the stairwell, strained and breathless. Then hurried steps grew louder. Mav rounded the corner.
“Saints damn it,” he hissed. He bounded down the stairs, eyes wide, hand pressed to his chest. “Why does it feel like my ribs are being ripped out through my back?”
“I tried to tell you,” I began. “The tether resists separation. It is one of the inconvenient charms of the spell. At twenty paces, the tether strains. At thirty, it wounds; beyond, the pain becomes too much to bear.”
“So, we have to stay close?”
“Yes.”
“For two weeks?”
“Well, for the next thirteen days. It took me a full day to walk to this lovely town.”
“Wonderful,” he grumbled, sarcasm dripping from the word. “I suppose that means I’ll give the neighbors something to talk about then.” Mav drummed his fingers against the railing. “This way.”
The stairs groaned beneath us as we climbed. Upon reaching the third floor, he drew a key from his pocket and unlocked a door whose decay rendered the lock laughable. I half expected the wood to crumble from the frame.
“Welcome to my palace,” he announced with a sardonic grin.
The room was small, though not in the suffocating sense of a prison or tomb. It was the kind of smallness found in a cabinet of curiosities, everything arranged to fit because nothing neededspace to live. A narrow bed sagged beneath a cracked window, its wool blanket more holes than fabric. A washroom stood nearby, little more than a nook with a basin and a mirror too tarnished for flattery. There were no tokens of memory, no clutter, no signs that this space belonged to someone.
Mav squinted, as if seeing it anew. “You can have the bed.”
I glanced at it. “The floor will suffice.”
“The lady will take the bed.” The tone was not unkind, but firm enough to allow no room for argument.
“Very well, thank you.” I lay back fully clothed, my bodice remaining laced tight around my torso.
