Page 103 of Threadbound

“And they’re at war.”

“Aye.”

“Since the beginning of time.”

Bran shook his head. “For many years, more than the lifetime of most of my siblings, there was no war. The peace was cautious, but we saw no reason it would not last. And then the Sidhe attacked us.” His expression grew dark and angry. “They killed my sister Corraich.” Jamie’s mind was reeling. This was so much more… so muchbiggerthan anything he’d ever been a part of. And Bran was right in the middle of it—which meant that now, so was he. Jamie forced himself to refocus on what Bran had just said. “They killed your sister? Why?”

“I dinna know. None of us do.” Bran’s voice was heavy, sadness and anger painting the words. “But thegeàrd soillierhave attacked and killed a handful more since.”

“The same people who attacked you?” Jamie asked. “These…geàrd?” The word sounded funny in his mouth.

“Aye,” Bran replied. “And I canna tell you why. Only that the Sidhe King wishes my death. And my father’s.”

“What did your father do? Why does the Sidhe King want to kill him?”

The laugh that came out of Bran’s lips was bitter. “My father is his least favorite son,” came the answer.

“Wait. Your father is the Sidhe King’sson? But…” Jamie bit his lip. “Isn’t your father Sluagh?”

“His mother was Sluagh,” Bran replied. “My mother is Sidhe. Half my siblings are Sidhe. We are what we are because of our magic—which we draw from our parents. My father takes after his mother. Darach mac Craobh-na-Beatha canna forgive him for that.”

“So this is one great big family feud?”

“In a way, aye.”

“That’s ludicrous.”

“It is what it is,” Bran replied. “And that’s why it’s dangerous for you to ‘take a walk in the woods’ at a time of day when the Sidhe are at their greatest strength.” That last was said with annoyance.

“Well, I might not have asked to do it if anyone had explained to mewhy,” Jamie retorted.

Bran sighed. “Fair enough,” he acknowledged.

“Should we go back?” Jamie asked, even though he didn’t want to. What Bran had told him was definitely alarming, but the woods were quiet—not too quiet, the way they might be if there were predators stalking through them—and it had been too long since Jamie’d been able to walk through trees.

“We shouldna stay out too long,” came Bran’s response, and Jamie felt a flash of gratitude. He knew Bran was tired—he could see it in the lines of his face and the set of his shoulders. But the fae was willing to do this for Jamie, and Jamie couldn’t help the flash of hope that caused.

He pushed it down and told himself that Bran was simply being nice. It didn’t mean anything more.

But his heart was stubborn and beat at a slightly faster pace as they moved deeper into the dappled trees.

Bran letJamie lead them through the shadows and patchwork sunlight, and, although he didn’t say anything, Jamie could tell that the fae was tense. He supposed that made sense, given that there was supposedly a war happening, although you certainly wouldn’t have been able to tell that from the peaceful calm of the forest around them, the soft shushing sound of wind in the leaves, the occasional chirp of something that Jamie assumed was at least bird-like, if not a bird.

He’d caught a glimpse of something up in the branches at one point and had instinctively tried to identify it, but then realized it had two tails and four wings. Jamie decided that maybe he’d be happier keeping his eyes on the ground. Even though the forest was beautiful, if he paid too much attention, he noticed things that repeatedly reminded him that this wasn’t the world he knew.

Two-tailed, four-winged birds.

Insects that were the wrong size or shape or color or all three.

Leaves that matched nothing Jamie recognized, and he’d had quite a bit of experience trying to identify flora in the last few weeks.

And then he happened to glance off to his left, and froze. “Holy shit,” Jamie breathed.

“What is it?” Bran was at his side in a second, the fae’s body tense and his thick, gnarled fingers hovering over the handle of the long knife on his belt.

Jamie pointed at the plant he’d spotted.

Bran relaxed a little. “It’s ananail an duine mhairbh,” Bran told him. “Dead man’s breath. It’s quite powerful.”

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