Page 136 of Threadbound

“Well?” Rob asked, still a little belligerent.

Ashrays, Bran reminded himself. “An ashray is a water spirit,” Bran replied.

“Like a nymph? Or a naiad?”

“Humans have many words for water spirits,” Bran replied. “Although ashrays are less tangible than other water-fae, like the kelpie or the fideal or the finfolk.”

“Less… tangible?” It was Jamie who asked that question. “What does that mean?”

Bran shrugged. “They are elementals—formed of water and spirit rather than flesh and blood and bone. Pull an ashray from the water, and it will, if held captive, turn to water itself.”

“And they have gold?” Jamie asked.

“They are… collectors. Particularly of precious things.” Another shrug. “I dinna know why—perhaps they are drawn to what others value, or perhaps they simply like shiny things.”

“Are they dangerous?” Trixie wanted to know.

“They are of the twilight,” Bran answered.

“What does that mean?” Rob demanded.

“They’re neither Sluagh or Sidhe,” Jamie said.

“Aye,” Bran confirmed. “They can kill if they choose, but they are not violent by nature.”

“So how do we get gold from them?” Rob wanted to know, using an elastic on one wrist to tie back his thick dreadlocks.

Bran shrugged again. “The same way you ever get anything from the fae,” he replied.

“What does that mean?” Rob asked.

“A deal,” Jamie said softly. “You offer them something in return.”

Bran felt a surge of pride—perhaps it was foolish, to feel proud of Jamie for knowing the importance of bargain and balance to the fae, but Bran couldn’t help it. He wanted Jamie to learn about his people, to understand them, perhaps, one day, to feel comfortable—mostly—around them. It wasn’t wise to ever feel too comfortable around fae—whether Sluagh or Sidhe.

“What are we offering?” Rob asked, then.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward Bran, who shrugged again. “I dinna know,” he told them. “But we will ask.”

“Bloody hell,” Rob muttered.

Jamie couldn’t help the part of him that agreed—if even Bran didn’t know what an ashray might want in exchange for gold, then how were they supposed to manage a trade with them? What did water spirits want, anyway? Bran had said something precious, but it wasn’t like he had a bunch of diamonds or jewels lying around that he could give them in exchange for gold… Especially since they had to somehow save enough money for at least a few pearls to grind up.

Jamie rubbed at his temple, trying to stall the headache that had been hovering just behind his forehead for the last three days, not really there, but notnotthere.

He was worried they wouldn’t be able to get everything they needed—and he was more worried that whether they did or not, the potion or poultice or whatever this was supposed to be wouldn’t work, either because the ingredients were wrong or because it was a fool’s errand to begin with. It was one thing to speculate about the efficacy of medieval magical remedies when you wondered whether or not they understood that willow bark was a rudimentary substitute for aspirin. It was a completely different beast to use a medieval remedy to try to save the life of a fae prince who had been poisoned by assassins sent by his own father, the Oak King.

Jamie was still having trouble comprehending the fact that the Holly King and the Oak King were actual people, much less that the Oak King, who was, according to the stories, supposed to be the ‘good guy,’ had attempted to murder Bran, Jamie, and Bran’s father. Bran was still alive because Jamie happened to stumble upon his attack. Jamie was alive because the assassin had killed the wrong blond human. And unless theirharebrained plan worked, Cairn would die from the poison in his veins.

Will he try to kill me again? Will he try to kill Bran?Jamie didn’t think that Rob and Trixie were in particular danger—they were human, they had no connections to Elfhame, and they certainly weren’t anybody’s threadbondmate.

Jamie reminded himself that they had to actually find all the ingredients first—the recipe hadn’t specified fresh or dried for either the hyssop or the elderflower, and Rob muttered something about a shop near one of the entrances to the Cairngorms that he’d been to once or twice with his mum that sold crystals and herbs and that sort of thing. Jamie was hopeful they’d be able to find both there.

The bog myrtle, yew-berries, and heather they’d have to collect—the last tomorrow night under the moon. Jamie just hoped that the plant would do without flowers or leaves. It was December and bitterly cold, with a dusting of snow covering the moors that would make harvesting the flora a wet and fairly miserable experience.

Jamie wasn’t sure if he was glad to have Rob and Trixie with them, or if that simply meant that they’d all end up that much more miserable.

It was colderthan Jamie had thought it would be, and he’d been expecting to freeze his fingers, toes, and nose off traipsing through the snowy moors and marshes looking for plants. They had at least broken off several stalks of bog myrtle, a few with brownish dried berries still clinging. It was after midnight, and the full moon was high in the sky, the landscape awash with bleached-out colors of grey and black and white with a hint of blue and purple.

---