Page 141 of Threadbound

“Aye, in some cases,” Bran admitted. “But it remains true that I have na’ seen any human or half-breed other than Jamie in Elfhame in my lifetime.” He shrugged, his body moving against Jamie’s. “There might be some I dinna know, at the Sunlit Court or one of the settlements out in the wilds. But I’vena met them.”

“No other humans?” Jamie couldn’t help but ask.

“None but you,” Bran replied, leaning his weight a little more into Jamie’s. “Although I have heard stories of some from older days.”

“Would you know if you met a witch here?” Trixie asked, redirecting the question. “Because they’re part fae?”

Bran shook his head again. “Not unless they did magic in front of me.”

“There’s not a test or spell or something?” Rob wanted to know.

“No. Not that I can do. One of the Wyrthings would know. Or perhaps theBean Nigheherself.”

“What’s a… weirding? Or aBean Nighe?” Trixie asked.

“Wyrthing,” Bran repeated, the word sounding different when he said it from what Trixie had attempted. “They’re…” He trailed off, as though trying to figure out how to explain.

“Kind of like priests or shamans,” Jamie interrupted. “Except they’re… all the same species?”

“The Wyrthings are born with a greater connection to Fate than other fae or mortals,” Bran explained. “Because of what they are, they are more sensitive to the threads of Fate and of magic.”

Rob only looked more confused, although Trixie was nodding thoughtfully, as though what Bran said made sense. It did, of course, but Jamie didn’t know if he’d have been able to follow if he hadn’t been to Elfhame and experienced the threadbinding with Bran.

“Threads of fate?” Rob asked, when Trixie didn’t say anything more.

“We’re all bound together by these threads,” Bran told him. “They link people who are tied by bonds of family, affection, loyalty. The Wyrthings can see these threads, and make them visible, if they so choose.”

“Seethem?” Rob sounded a little dubious.

“They’re gold,” Jamie said softly. “And they shimmer like gold dust in a sunbeam.” It was a poor comparison, but it was the best he could do.

Rob gaped at him. “This is too bloody much,” he grumbled, then abruptly crossed the room, stopping to stare out the window. “Too bloody fucking much.”

“Where’s your sense ofwonder, Robbie?” Trixie asked him.

“Wonder?” Rob repeated without turning away from the window. “I think it fucking froze off somewhere out on the bloody moors. Or maybe I fucking shat it out when this one went under the loch. Or maybe,” he said, this time more slowly, his voice tense. “It got eaten by the bloody fucking wolf that’s sitting in the car park bloodystaringat me.”

Bran sat up and away from Jamie. “Wolf? Are you sure?”

“I know what a wolf looks like,” Rob retorted. “And this one’s bloody huge and fucking creepy.”

Bran left the blanket behind and padded over to the window. “That is na’ a wolf,” he said softly.

Rob tore his eyes away from the window and started down at Bran. “It looks like a bloody wolf to me.”

“It’s a wulver,” Bran replied, then crossed to the door and walked outside.

“Where are you going?” Rob asked.

“To ask it to join us,” came the response.

“We’re inviting itin?” Rob’s incredulity had a thread of fear.

“Aye,” Bran replied. “Wulvers are Sluagh—as am I. We are of the same people.”

Jamie expected either Trixie or Rob to ask questions about that, or to object to the idea of a wolf walking into their hostel room, but they just gaped as the fae padded down the hall, presumably to ask the wulver to come inside. Jamie didn’t want Bran to cause a problem with their host—so he headed down to the front to cause a distraction. What, he had no idea.

By the time he got there, he’d come up with a request for hot tea or chocolate or something else, given how cold a night it was. The host was more than happy to help Jamie put together a tray of cups and saucers, some biscuits—cookies—and milk and sugar along with a nice pot of tea.

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