Page 151 of Threadbound

Jamie met his gaze. “Enough for a second dose,” he said softly.

“Then—” Eadar didn’t finish the question.

“You should do it,” Jamie told him. He had exactly no business entering the bedchamber of the Holly King to administer an antidote. He also had no desire to do so.

But Eadar shook his head. “I have to stay here, with Maigdeann gone.”

Jamie swallowed. “I—I can’t. I?—”

“I’ll do it,” Trixie said. “If you won’t.”

Jamie felt a mingled sense of both guilt and relief. Trixie shouldn’t be doing it either—the idea that a humanora halfbreed would enter the bedchamber of the Holly King himself was absurd. Neither one of them belonged in the bedroom of a creature of legend. But if he wasn’t willing to do it, and she was…

The infirmary door opened again, and Jamie twitched.

The figure who entered this time was an old woman—or so she mostly appeared, webbed feet aside, although whatever theBean Nighewas, Jamie thought that ‘woman’ was probably not the most accurate term, even if she did consider herself to befemale. Everyone—aside from a few whimpers of pain—went absolutely silent.

Eadar stepped forward as though to greet her, and she waved him away. “Come on then, girl. Death doesn’t wait for just anyone.”

Mouth hanging open, Trixie just stared at her.

“Well?” theBean Nighedemanded, white eyes fixed on Trixie. “What are you waiting for? I issued an invitation.”

Trixie glanced around, her expression panicked, then pointed at herself.

“Yes, you, girl. Or have you changed your mind about wanting to know the ancient secrets of the world?”

Trixie’s face turned a strange, blotchy mixture of white and red. “How did?—”

TheBean Nighecackled. “My dear girl, to whom did you think your prayers and wishes went?”

“He-Hekate?” Trixie squeaked.

TheBean Nighewaved her semi-clawed hand again. “Some have called me that,” she replied dismissively. “Or Trivia, Artemis, Baba Yaga. The many names matter not.”

Jamie felt his own mouth drop open at that, blood rushing into his cheeks at the idea that he’d so casually spoken to her.

Trixie made another squeak.

“Now, are you coming, or not?” the apparent-goddess wanted to know.

Trixie was beyond speech, and simply nodded rapidly.

“Then move, girl.”

Trixie scurried across the room to follow the seeming-old woman through the door, hesitating only long enough to turn around and mouthe the wordsOh, my Godback at Jamie and Rob.

When Jamie managed to turn to face Rob, the slightly shorter man looked as though he’d seen a ghost, strangely paleunder the cocoa color of his skin. A ghost, or a pagan deity made flesh. He looked up at Jamie.

“Bloody hell,” he rasped.

Jamie just nodded. He didn’t have the capacity for anything else.

All the manyhours spent training combat meant very little, Bran discovered, when you moved from the training field to the battlefield. He’d thought he understood pain, blood, and death, but now had developed a completely different and much deeper appreciation for the path of Taranis. His hands had gone numb what felt like hours ago, or perhaps days, and the ache in his bones was now the only sensation that told Bran he was still among the breathing.

Blood clung to every pore, ran into his eyes, and weighed down his feet—not because he was soaked in it, but because the heaviness of each cut, each slice, each stab brought with it a leaden pendant that dragged him down into the mire of mud and blood that covered the ground and fed thefeur òl, the drinking grass, so named because it would absorb whatever blood or sweat fell on its narrow blades.

Thefeur òlhad drunk deep and well tonight. Too well.

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