Page 157 of Threadbound

“Yes, lord.”

“It will wait until tomorrow’s eve,” the king continued. “Tonight we nurse our injured and grieve our dead.”

Cairn almost looked as though he wanted to object, but then bowed his head. “Yes, lord.”

It was Cairn who had tended Bran, humming softly as he ran his hands over his son’s body, his brow furrowed in concentration or worry, Jamie couldn’t quite tell. Probably both.

Trixie had brought Jamie food—bread and cheese and a bowl of hot stewed vegetables that tasted kind of—but not exactly—like potatoes. Jamie was still too tired to really care what it tasted like. Patch had snuggled against the back of his neck as he ate, allowing Trixie to ruffle her fur and coo at her, but not willing to leave Jamie’s shoulders.

When he finished his meal, Maigdeann had promised him a tea to help him sleep—but he’d fallen unconscious before she’d had a chance to bring it to him.

He awakened sore and stiff, grit in his eyes and a revolting taste on the back of his tongue. He grimaced as he sat up, both from pain and at the fuzzy feeling in his throat. There were two cups and a pitcher of water beside him, beads of moisture on the ceramic telling him that it was cold. Patch shifted as he sat up straighter, letting out a sleepy sound.

Jamie gratefully poured himself a cup-full, then drank it and poured another. He drank this one, as well, then blinked around the room. Bran still slept, his breathing steady, if not as deep and even as Jamie would have liked. A gentle press of his fingers against Bran’s throat told him the fae’s pulse was strong andsteady, which went a long way to reassuring Jamie that Bran was in no danger of death tonight.

A glance out one of the infirmary windows told Jamie it was either dawn or dusk—he wasn’t sure if he’d slept only a few hours or the full seven that made up daylight this close to the solstice. Yule.

The first Yule War had been between the Oak King and the Holly King at this exact same time of year—the Holly King had sought to end daylight and keep perpetual winter, or so the legend went. Jamie had the distinct impression that Bran might have learned a different version of the story than Jamie had. This war—this battle—had been because the Oak King sought the opposite. Or so Bran and Mad Ally had said.

Would this end the war? Or was this simply a war that went on for all eternity, no matter what anyone did? Light and darkness, day and night, summer and winter, life and death. It seemed ridiculous from Jamie’s perspective that both sides didn’t see that there was no battle to fight—they needed each other. You needed the darkness to give meaning to the light, and light to bring illumination to the darkness. Death to create the shape of life. Winter to prepare for coming summer, and summer to provide for the following winter.

Patch let out a soft chirp, and Jamie stroked her soft ears. Outside the window, the light deepened, sinking into purple. Night, then.

Jamie wondered where Rob and Trixie were. Maigdeann was asleep in a chair by the fireplace they’d been using to boil water—a practice that the fae fortunately already practiced. Some of their methods might have been medieval, but Maigdeann and Eadar understood the importance of cleanliness to avoid infection. Jamie’s hands were raw from the number of times he’d washed them over the last… He wasn’t sure how many days. Three? Four?

Had Yule already passed? Jamie felt a stab of regret at the thought that this would be the first year he missed lighting the yule log in honor of his momma. He missed sharing his first one with Bran, because this definitely didn’t count.

Jamie twitched a little as a cold hand settled on his shoulder.

“Be at ease, Jamie,” Cairn said softly, his voice gentle and tired. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Jamie had to swallow a couple of times before he felt like he had control of his own voice. “How—How are you feeling, sir?”

“Tired,” Bran’s father replied, settling on a stool he set near Bran’s feet. “But I think so are we all.”

Jamie nodded. He felt almost human—or half-human, or whatever he was—after having slept through the day, but his whole body was still exhausted.

“But I do not think that is quite what you meant, is it?” the Sluagh prince continued.

Jamie shook his head. “I—Do you think the antidote worked… fully?”

Cairn’s cracked lips smiled. “Aye, I do.” He paused a moment, then spoke again. “The Sluagh—and I, personally—owe you a great deal, Jamie Weaver.”

“Oh, I?—”

“I know you were not looking for praise,” Cairn interrupted Jamie’s stammer. “But you deserve it nonetheless.”

Jamie felt his cheeks heat, and had to remind himself not to saythank you. “I just?—”

“Found an antidote that we have not been able to find in two thousand years,” the Sluagh prince finished.

Jamie’s cheeks heated even further. “I mean—I just read it. In a book.”

“More importantly,” Cairn replied. “You knew what it was you had found.”

“Not really,” Jamie admitted. “TheBean Nigheis the one who told me to use it.”

“Oh?”

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