She stumbled beside him as he strode through the garden. Where he pointed, things changed. The Rooted who'd grabbed her twisted tighter, their bark forms compressing until anguished faces barely showed. The moss near where she'd knelt blackened and crumbled. The marrow vines throughout pulled back into themselves, coiling into defensive knots.
"You forget yourself," he told the garden. "She serves her sentence. She is not yours to claim."
They reached the gate where her abandoned tools lay. The basket was full of the razor weeds she'd managed to clear, their sap now eating through the woven hair.
"Adequate work," he judged. "The sentence is complete."
"But dawn…"
"I decide when dawn comes in my domain." He turned that terrible focus on her, and she saw something beneath the rage. Something that might have been fear. "You survived. Many don't. Most don't."
"The Rooted—"
"Knew what they risked when they reached for what was mine." His hand curved around her throat, thumb tracing one of the new patterns beneath her skin. The thorns pulsed with his touch, sending warmth through her veins. "Just as the vines knew. Just as the moss knew. Everything here understands possession, little thief. Apparently better than you do."
Heat radiated from the mark despite his forest touch. That warmth in her chest responded, reaching toward him with recognition that transcended logic.
"I wasn't trying to…"
"To what? Die? Let something else claim you?" His grip tightened, and the thorns beneath her skin bloomed deeper, creating intricate patterns. "Do you understand what would have happened? Marrow vines don't kill quickly. They burrow deep, following bone paths, drinking slowly. You would have been aware for days. Possibly weeks."
The image made her stomach revolt. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry." He laughed, the sound sharp and dangerous. "She's sorry for nearly letting my garden eat her." His free hand pressed against one of the patterns at her collar. "These won't fade. You'll wear my thorns beneath your skin now, testament to what happens when you're careless with what belongs to me."
"You put me here. I didn't ask for this."
"No. You asked for nothing. Not even when you should have." He released her, stepping back. "Come. You need tending, and I find myself... displeased with my garden's enthusiasm."
She followed on unsteady legs, leaving the bone garden behind. But she felt it watching their retreat with something that might have been resentment. It had tasted her, just barely, and found her sweet.
At the door, Thaine waited with an expression of genuine surprise.
"Well," he said. "You lasted longer than most. Though not quite until dawn, I see."
"Dawn comes when I say it does," Eliam repeated, voice still carrying the promise of punishment to any who crossed him. "See that the garden understands this."
"Of course, my lord." Thaine's eyes tracked the patterns beneath her skin with interest. "Should I arrange for healers?"
"No. She'll wear these as a reminder." Eliam's hand settled on Briar's lower back. "Of what waits when she forgets who she belongs to."
They ascended in silence, leaving Thaine and the garden behind, but Briar could still feel phantom touches, the moss memories, Rooted hands, patient vines seeking entrance. She shivered despite the warm halls they returned to.
"You're cold," Eliam observed. "The garden does that. Steals heat along with everything else."
"Does it always... attack like that?"
"Only when it senses weakness. Division." He guided her through corridors she didn't recognize. "You were fighting them. Fighting me. Fighting yourself. The garden exploited that."
"So if I'd just accepted—"
"You'd have died differently." He laughed but it held no humor. "The bone garden doesn't offer good options, little thief. Only varied forms of suffering."
They reached a door she didn't recognize. Inside, a bath steamed. The tub wasn’t like the living wood of her quarters but something carved from dark stone. The water smelled of herbs and fresh turned earth.
"Bathe," he ordered. "The thorn-marks need sealing or they'll grow wild."
"Grow wild?"
