Page 124 of Threadbound

He fought for you, Bran reminded himself.When forced, he held his own against ageàrd soilleir, even if he isn’t a warrior by nature.It made him feel slightly better. But only very slightly.

Worry for his father sat like an acidic stone in the pit of his stomach, roiling between nausea and an aching, gnawing feeling almost—but not quite—like hunger. Bran forced himself to swallow, to keep that emotion under control.

“Bran mac Cairn,” the tallest of theNeach-Cogaidhgreeted him. The morgen was taller than Jamie, slender, and ethereally beautiful. So much so that looking at the fine porcelain of his skin, the silky black of his hair, and the grey of his eyes was almost painful.

“Gath mac Órd,” Bran replied, managing to keep his voice even and calm. The morgen had been a part of theNeach-Cogaidhfor at least a century longer than Bran—and remained so, even though Bran had been released from his own vows. Guilt and shame gathered in his throat, but he swallowed them down.

“We will escort you, and your bondmate, back to the Court of Shades.” Gath’s voice was even, emotionless, and without judgment. Bran appreciated that.

He nodded once in reply. He could feel Jamie’s eyes on him, assessing. Trying to figure out what to do. Whether or not heshould be concerned. Whether or not Bran needed help. Because Jamie was always trying to help. It was why Bran loved him.

The breath caught in his throat, although Bran wasn’t sure either Jamie or Gath noticed.

It was true—he did love Jamie. He hadn’t thought it before. Hadn’t even considered whether or not his emotions had become strong enough to be considered love. But when the idea passed through his mind, he knew it was true. He had no idea how Jamie felt—not that it mattered. Bran understood that as quickly as he’d understood that he loved Jamie—it didn’t matter what Jamie felt. Bran’s heart belonged to him.

The timing was terrible. He wasn’t foolish or impulsive enough to declare his love now—not with his father dying or in front of theNeach-Cogaidh. Not when he had no sense of whether such a declaration might frighten Jamie away.

That last was perhaps the most alarming thought. As heavy as the fear for his father sat on his shoulders, the sharp terror that lanced through him at the thought of losing Jamie made his knees feel weak. He might not need Jamie to stabilize his magic any longer, but he still needed Jamie.

Oblivious to the emotional turmoil roiling through Bran, Gath turned and led the way down the hill, two of the otherNeach-Cogaidhfalling in behind him, with the last three waiting for Bran and Jamie to walk in the center of their column. Bran felt the tension in his former comrades-in-arms, and his eyes scanned the swaying grasses for signs of unnatural movement in the waning afternoon light.

TheNeach-Cogaidhwere on edge, the daylight and the threat of violence oppressive, even though the air was cold and crisp and the sun low on the horizon. Beside him, Jamie, too, was on edge, although Bran suspected it was more because of him than because Jamie recognized the hypervigilance of the Sluagh around them.

Bran let out a long sigh of relief when they passed unmolested beneath the northern archway that led into the keep of the Court of Shades. And he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips when a large furry creature flung itself, wings flailing, at Jamie.

TheNeach-Cogaidhall turned to stare as Patch cooed and rubbed herself against Jamie’s neck and face. For his part, Jamie’s cheeks were a bright shade of red, indicating that he was embarrassed by the attention—or, at least, by the fact that agealach marcaichewas attempting to forcibly occupy the same space in a blatant display of affection.

If circumstances had been different, Bran would have found the whole thing hilarious. As it was, the people—far too many for before sundown—in the courtyard gaped at Jamie and Patch, clearly never having seen agealach marcaichehaving bonded with anyone—much less a human half-breed. There were old legends, stories that told of the luck of thegealach marcaiche, but as far as Bran knew, none of them had ever involved a human or half-breed.

Jamie managed to settle Patch on his chest, although his lowered face remained a ruddy pink, clearly self-conscious about the attention. “Sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, so softly that no one but Bran—and Patch—could possibly have heard him.

Bran wanted to comfort him, but the ache in his chest kept him curled around his own fear and worry. He didn’t know how to explain to Jamie what it meant that Cairn mac Darach was dying—that the Sidhe King had ordered the death of his own son.

The Sluagh might respect death, pray to Taranis and keep her sacred rites, but that did not mean that they mourned their own dead any less. Death was a part of the cycles of life, the warp and weft of Fate, but they missed their loved ones, mourned those they lost. They understood and accepted—but they still grieved.

Yet, Habetrot willing,Athairmight recover. Maigdeann is a skilled healer.There was very little his father had not taught his sister about the arts of healing. And Cairn had kept Cuileann mac Eug alive for centuries, so surely Maigdeann could keep him alive and conscious for just as long… It was a hope that Bran clung to, even though he knew that his sister’s skills did not match his father’s. They couldn’t, with nearly a thousand years less spent in study and practice. But he had to hope.

“Bran!” Sian, Maigdeann’s bondmate, came hurrying across the stone of the courtyard, her hooves echoing off the stones. She wrapped her long arms around him, and he inhaled the distinctive scent of sea and sweet hay that always seemed to surround her as the thick mane of hair that covered her neck and shoulders brushed against his cheek.

“Sian,” he replied.

“Come with me,” she said. “He’ll want to talk to you.” She took his hand, pulling him behind her.

He didn’t notice that Jamie wasn’t following until they reached Cairn’s sickroom. But he couldn’t turn back, instead feeling hollow as he followed Sian across the threshold.

After the dark-hairedwoman with scaled legs and webbed feet led Bran away, Jamie wandered a little aimlessly, uncertain if he was expected to go back to the room he’d stayed in the last time he’d spent time in the Court of Shades, or whether he was meant to do something else. He was worried about Bran, worried about Bran’s father—who had always been kind to him, even if Jamie didn’t really understand him—and worried about himself. Well, worried about the fact that he was back in Elfhame, and that Trixie and Rob might have to cover for him again. Worried about the lack of money if he missed more work, because thistime, he’d probably get fired. Worried about his research going nowhere.

But mostly about Bran, and what this meant about the not-quite-war that had probably now been blown wide open. Bran hadn’t said so, but Jamie wasn’t foolish enough to think that six fully-armed soldiers had shown up just because Cairn had been attacked. It meant that the attack was a precursor to something far worse.

Jamie didn’t know what a war looked like between fae, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to be a part of it. Didn’t want Bran to be a part of it. But he also knew that Bran wouldn’t be able to walk away. Not from his family. His people.

Not like I did.

Guilt was a leaden ball in his stomach. When living with Bill Eckel had become too hard, Jamie had fled. When his mother had died, he’d fled even farther. He’d left his people, his family, behind to the cruel mercies of a stepfather—their biological father—he hadn’t had the courage to stand up to.

When living in Elfhame among the fae had become too hard, he’d fled back to his own world.

But that wasn’t what you were supposed to do, if you cared about people. But that’s what Jamie did—he left the people he supposedly loved. His momma. His half-brothers and -sisters. Bran. Jamie absently fingered the beads woven into the bracelet he’d made from the trinkets Bran had brought him while in crow form.

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