Page 87 of Threadbound

Bran had no way of knowing until it was over.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Jamie swallowed, trying to convince the lump in his throat to go back down to his stomach where it belonged. He hadn’t seen Bran for the past three days, and he’d barely seen the fae for the two before that. For the most part, it had just been Jamie and Patch—and thegealach marcaichedidn’t have much to say. At least Eadar had come to keep Jamie company on all three of those days, helping to distract him both by trying to explain everything that was happening and by providing as many supplies as Jamie needed to keep his hands occupied.

Eadar had been captivated by Jamie’s macramé, sitting rapt while Jamie tied together loop after loop of beads, branches, and heavy wool yarn. At least he assumed it was wool, although for all Jamie knew it could be fleece from some completely different fae creature. He’d been too afraid of the answer to actually ask. He’d tied the weaving off to a thin, mostly-straight branch of yew, and Eadar had found him various things to knot into it—some dried grasses, a handful of metallic threads, a few beads, and some scraps of fabric Jamie had twisted into the yarn.

Jamie was actually rather proud of the result, although he had no idea what he was going to do with it. At least it had kept him from losing his mind while justwaiting.

Tonight the ritual would be finished in some sort of public gathering that sounded an awful lot to Jamie like some horrible type of fae prom. He hadn’t wanted to go to his own prom, although after Bill Eckel had beaten his ribs into a purple mess, he’d caved and asked one of the unpopular girls at school who he knew would just be happy to go. He’d also felt terrible about it. Nobody wants to be a pity date.

It had been just as awful as he’d expected.

But, Jamie firmly reminded himself, this was different. He’d agreed to the threadbinding ritual to save Bran. And himself.

He actually did want to save Bran.

And on top of that, he was pretty sure that whatever tonight was like, it wasn’t going to be really anything like prom. For one thing, he was probably the only human there. So at least the people-watching would be interesting.

But he was also incredibly nervous because—also unlike prom—this was actually abouthim. Well, him and Bran. Doing something in public. Eadar had assured him after several questions that had made Jamie’s face flush progressively redder that sex was not something he would have to do in public. At least, not if he didn’t want to.

Apparently public sex was a non-mandatory, but fairly frequent, part of threadbinding, although Eadar had explained that some bondmates preferred privacy for that, and there were still others who weren’t lovers at all, although Eadar had added that he didn’t know any who fell into that last category. But he’d heard about them.

Jamie didnotknow what to do about that.

Did Bran expect to have sex with him? Or would he be repulsed by the idea, which was probably more likely since they hadn’t done anything more sexual or romantic than hold hands, and that had been under conditions of duress and panic and therefore probably didn’t count.

And Jamie still didn’t know what Bran was even going to look like. He really wasn’t sure how he’d feel if Bran was some sort of disgusting monster. Or an animal. He knew Bran could take raven form—but Eadar had also talked about Bran’s “boobrie form,” and Jamie had no idea what a boobrie was or if it was even remotely humanoid.

Eadar had also said that Bran would be in his ‘true’ form tonight. And Jamie had no idea what that was, other than the fact that he wasn’t going to look like a human or a raven or whatever a boobrie was. Eadar had then assured him that the bond would help him recognize Bran, no matter what form he was in. That helped. Some.

Jamie was still nervous. No, not nervous. Terrified.

Eadar had brought him a set of soft grey suede pants with black embroidery down the sides that fit like they’d been made for him, and a black leather vest somehow woven with iridescent black feathers that were unlike anything Jamie had ever seen. The buttons were black, as well, some kind of shell or horn he couldn’t identify. The vest was lined with a soft fabric, but there was no shirt for him to wear under it, and his arms felt exposed.

Jamie toyed with the blue hemp bracelet on his right wrist, the one woven around the tiny bits and beads that Bran had brought him—stone, silver, copper, and a tiny brass star. As much as he knew this was a formal occasion, Jamie just couldn’t bring himself to take it off. Having it there, being able to run his fingers over its uneven texture, brought him comfort. And he really needed something to be comforting, given the present situation.

Then the door opened, and Cairn mac Darach was standing on the other side.

The Sluagh prince wore leather head to toe, black suede that drank up the light. Rings of silver and chips of what looked like quartz shimmered in his pointed, greyish ears, bands of silverand malachite wrapping his fingers and lower arms. More loops of silver circled biceps that looked more stone than skin.

On his brow sat a heavy band of silver that appeared to have been chiseled into the stony surface of his forehead. As the band disappeared behind a heavy braid that looked like blackened moss, it seemed to turn to ribbon, woven in and out of the elaborate hairstyle set with carved quartz, labradorite, and onyx, carved faces of creatures and people or fae that seemed to peer from between braids and bands of shining silver. Jamie couldn’t tell where Cairn’s hair ended and the crown—because as strange as it was, it was clearly a crown—began.

Jamie tried to swallow again, with a similar lack of effectiveness.

Cairn’s dark eyes slid over Jamie’s form before the fae prince held out a small black velvet cloth, in which nestled two silver armbands.

Jamie stared at them.

“Put them on,” Bran’s father ordered, his voice at once commanding and gentle.

Jamie swallowed the squeak that threatened to come out of his mouth.If ever a fairy gives you a gift, Jamie, don’t thank them. Give them something in return.His mother’s voice echoed in his head. So far, his momma’s rules about fairies hadn’t led him astray.

Jamie quickly searched the room, his eyes settling on the woven wool macramé. He didn’t know what else to do with it, and this seemed as good an idea as any. So he walked across the room and picked it up, carrying it back to where Cairn waited, watching him. Hands shaking, Jamie held it out.

“In return,” he said, awkwardly, afraid to look at the Sluagh lord’s face. It felt weird to not thank him, but Jamie had paid careful attention and hadn’t heard a single person say ‘thank you’ since he’d arrived. Food or drink was received with a nod orslight bow, and Eadar had explained that those who came to the Court of Shades for healing brought something in exchange. The silver bracelets Bran’s father was offering seemed significant enough that they deserved more than a simple nod.

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