Page 101 of Threadbound

Feeling annoyed and petulant, Jamie had asked to go during the daytime, arguing that it would be safer then—although the Court of Shades was active at night, and Bran certainly seemed more energetic after dark, Jamielikedsunlight. He wanted to see it dappled through the leaves of the Court, to see the forest around the Court by daylight. And instinct told him that it would be safer.

Bran had agreed, albeit grudgingly, and now that they were out, it was clear that the Sluagh fae was on edge, his eyes constantly moving, the muscles between his shoulder blades tense. Jamie had awakened around midday—Jamie was normally more than happy to be a morning person, but too many consecutive nights of staying awake until dawn had thrown off his circadian rhythm like nobody’s business. Midday had been a few hours before he’d needed to be awake, so Jamie had taken advantage of the fact that everyone else was sleeping to more fully investigate the Court of Shades.

The halls were mostly the same—stone and wood and thick leaves overhead—but there were places throughout the Court where flowers hung down in cascades, gleaming in the moonlight, a faint phosphorescent glow providing gentle ambient light, and those flowers were shuttered in the brightness of the day, dusky green or brown pods instead of white or purple or teal. It seemed that even the plants slept during the daytime. Patch, too, was sleepy, but thegealach marcaichewas content enough to snooze while riding Jamie’s shoulders while he explored.

Bran came and found him in the middle of the afternoon. He’d suggested that Jamie leave Patch to sleep inside, and thegealachhad only grumbled a little as Jamie encouraged it tosettle on his bed. Then Bran had led the way through a side gate and out toward the forest.

Outside, the grasses that surrounded the Court’s keep—if you could call it that—were similarly changed. Fields of swaying grasses that were dotted with splashes of white or blue under the moonlight had been washed green and gold, the blossoms seemingly burned away by the sun.

Jamie had asked Bran about that part—whether they shared the same sun, since the stars were so obviously different.

Bran had given him a smile that seemed nervous, flashing into and out of existence far more quickly than Jamie would have liked. “Aye, it’s the same. It’s just the way you’re looking at it that’s changed.”

Jamie thought about that as the dust of the path made soft crunching sounds beneath the leather boots on his feet. Jamie was yet again wearing a pair of ‘his’ jeans, hands stuffed comfortably in his pockets, but he found he liked the fae boots better, so he wore those instead of his old loafers. He’d also opted for a fae vest over his plain t-shirt, this one a deep brown that had been embroidered with white and blue threads.

What Bran said—that it was the same sun, he was just looking at it differently—made sense, he supposed, but Jamie still felt like there was something he was missing. One could look at the sun from anywhere on earth—the same sun from a different perspective. And he knew that in different parts of the world, you also saw different stars, but the stars in Elfhame were evenmoredifferent. It wasn’t just that the patterns they made were unfamiliar, it was something about thewaythey made them.

Jamie knew that made no sense, but he didn’t have a better explanation.

He looked up as the shadows of the forest blocked out some of the sun’s heat and light. Jamie missed the woods—he’d runtrails back in Tennessee, and the sounds of dirt and leaves underfoot were familiar and comforting. Except that they—like everything else in Elfhame—weren’t quite right. The crunch was just a little too soft, or maybe a little too sharp, the dirt too powdery, or maybe too sticky? Jamie couldn’t tell. But he could tell that it was just notright.

Well. It wasdifferent. He supposed it was rather anthropocentric of him to assume that the differences between Elfhame and Dunehame meant that the things here werewrongand the things he was used to wereright.Bran probably thought exactly the opposite.

Which brought Jamie’s mind back to the crux of the problem that had been bothering him the most over the past several days—that he and Bran didn’t seem to be responding to the threadbond in the same way. Jamie had expected… anything. Any sort of change in the way he felt. Any sort of shift in perspective or sensation.

But he still just felt like the same old self-conscious, slightly-anxious Jamie. The only thing that was different was that now he was even more stupidly falling in love with Bran, that he knew exactly what it felt like to have Bran naked under his hands, and that made him even more awkward and self-conscious, especially around Bran.

Annoyingly, Bran seemed completely unafflicted by the same problem, and the fact that Bran didn’t seem to be affected bothered Jamie even more. Because that meant that what they’d shared meant little to nothing to him. Shared pleasure, and nothing more. Jamie tried to convince himself that was fine, that they were both consenting adults, and so on.

But it wasn’t fine. Jamie wasn’t interested in casual sex with Bran. Not that he wasn’t interested in sex with Bran—because the erection he woke up with literally every morning saidotherwise—but because he wanted it to be more than just sex, and he was pretty sure that’s all Bran wanted it to be.

The combination of anxiety about the state of his relationship with Bran and the fact that no one would tell him anything aboutanythingmade Jamie short-tempered. Bran’s continued silence—he hadn’t said a word since suggesting that Jamie should leave Patch inside—wasn’t helping.

In fact, every step they took in silence churned in Jamie’s stomach, the pressure building until he couldn’t stand it any more and stopped.

Bran immediately turned to look at him, his expression a combination of frustration and confusion.

“What war?” Jamie demanded.

“This isna?—”

“The time or place,” Jamie replied. “Yeah, I know. But there is no time or place, so you might as well just tell me here and now.”

Now Bran’s face showed worry and consternation. “Jamie?—”

“I am getting really sick of no one telling meanything,” Jamie snapped. “Except that multiple people have mentioned a war, and I feel like that’s a pretty big thing to not tell me about.”

Bran simply looked at him. That did not make Jamie feel any better.

“Are you involved in this war?” Jamie demanded.

Bran sighed, then ran a hand down his face, the dark skin of his fingers stark against the fairness of his facial features. “Aye,” he answered, finally.

“And is this war the reason people are trying to kill us?” Jamie wanted to know.

“Probably,” came the answer.

“And you didn’t think I should know about thatwhy?” Jamie knew he was raising his voice. He didn’t particularly care. It’s not like there was anyone else around to hear, anyway.

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