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Fiona walks beside me.
No human has held that place in this wing. Household custom would put her several paces behind despite her title. I permit the breach because the corridor is empty.
That is the reason I choose.
Halfway along the passage, I stop.
Fiona looks back. “Are you in pain?”
“I am testing the distance.”
I allow her to continue alone. After ten paces, the warmth of her presence weakens. At twenty, it becomes difficult to distinguish from memory. She turns the corner, and the connection fades to a faint awareness that she remains nearby.
I picture the war table again.
She reappears around the corner. “You sent the ridge.”
“Clearly?”
“Only the outline. Your irritation was perfectly clear.”
“Distance weakens images faster than emotions.”
“That may explain why I felt your pain from the solarium yesterday.”
“The curse produced an extreme response.”
“So if either of us is injured, the other may know.”
“Possibly.”
“That limit is useful.”
“It is also dangerous. An enemy could exploit a visible reaction.”
“Then we learn control.”
She says it with the same certainty she brings to damaged roots and frightened servants.
We continue.
The ancestral library stands behind two iron-bound doors marked with the silver scales of the Arbiter. Fiona stops before them.
“I found a door like this near the western stairs,” she says.
“That one protects the family crypt.”
“I did not open it.”
“You could not.”
“Briar was more persuasive than the lock.”
I press the house ring into the circular hollow between the library doors. Chaos passes through the metal. Black light travels along the iron bindings and outlines the Arbiter’s scales.
Several locks release inside the stone.
The doors open.
