Page 14 of Threadbound

He could, of course, have given her a river or pool to ease the difficulty.

He had not.

“Then find me someone who does not require water,” he growled.

“Of course, my lord.”

She half-rose, then slunk out of the throne room, leaving a wet trail behind her.

A gesture from one long-fingered hand, each digit tipped with a pointed nail of polished wood, and a handful of urisks scurried about, hooves clicking off the stone floor as their helpful hearth-magic soaked up the water. Just as quickly as they’d appeared out of the stone, they returned to it, the only trace of their passage the occasional scuff from a tiny hoof.

Darach drew in a long, measured breath, the movement slow and even, like the breathing of the world.

He had ruled here for longer than most fae could remember. Longer even than most of the Wyrthings who cast the Fates and spun the threads of life. TheBean Nigheclaimed to remember a day when he had not sat atop the Living Throne, but theBean Nighedid not always remember things in the order in which they happened.

He had never visited her with a wish, and she had not spoken to him of his death.

He liked to think that if he did, she would not be able to.

The rumors held that he was afraid that if he did, she would happily tell him otherwise.

But Darach did not give credence to those rumors, although he paid careful attention to who shared them.

One did not stay the King of the Sidhe for as long as he had by allowing rumors to circulate freely.

Chapter

Eight

“What do you mean youdidn’t get his name?” Trixie demanded, making Jamie wince.

“I didn’t ask. We don’t ever ask tourists for their names, Trixie.” The fact that he’d been half-terrified and half-turned-on the whole time had nothing to do with it, of course.

“James Weaver, what is wrong with you? You ask me to take you out to find a date, you refuse every single one, and then when this bloke struts in through the doors,again, you practically drool all over him, andyou don’t get his name?”

“You’ve made your point, Trix.” Jamie sighed, spinning his apple core between his fingers.

He and Trixie were sitting out in the courtyard eating their lunches—Jamie’s usual container of veggies, hummus, cheese, and an apple, Trixie’s turkey and chutney on white bread—after an unusually busy morning that had kept them both running tours non-stop since opening. It was a Friday in summer, but still.

“If he comes back—” she started, but Jamie cut her off.

“He’s not going to come back,” he said, sounding a good deal more depressed about that fact than he’d expected. “He didn’t get a tour the first time, and now he’s had one, so that’s that.”

“Unless he didn’t come back for the tour…” Trixie suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Nice try, Trix.”

“You’re an attractive bloke, Jamie.”

“Gee, thanks.” He knew she was half-teasing him—Trixie knew he wasn’t interested in women—but he blushed anyway.

“I’m just saying, that it’spossiblehe came back to see the nice piece of man-meat who worked in the museum again.”

“Who’s a nice piece of man-meat?” came Rob’s cheerful voice.

Jamie bent over his knees and put his face in his hands.

“Besides me, I mean,” Rob joked.

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