Page 92 of Threadbound

“Are you?” Jamie asked him.

“It’s not quite what I expected,” Bran admitted softly.

Jamie’s expression darkened. “Do you still feel sick?” he asked, clearly concerned.

Bran shook his head, a few feathers brushing against his cheeks with the motion. “No. Tired, but not as tired as I have been.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Jamie asked, his voice low and gentle.

Bran bit his lower lip. “I dinna know that there’s anythingwrong,” he answered. “I just…”

“You wanted it to fix everything, and it didn’t?”

“No.” That wasn’t it at all. He hadn’t actually been certain the threadbinding would fix anything—either because depriving himself of magic had caused permanent damage (something that still might be true) or because it was thegeàrd soilleir’s poison causing his lingering illness. Or perhaps both.

The problem, if ‘problem’ it could be called, was that the threadbond had only increased the pull he felt in his blood andbones. He was more, not less, aware of Jamie, more drawn to him. More drawn in by him.

And he had no idea how Jamie felt about any of it.

Bran tried to offer a weak smile. “It’s just… new. And strange.”

Jamie let out a soft huff of laughter, and it made Bran’s stomach feel odd again. “It’s definitely strange,” Jamie agreed.

Bran let his head drop. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, something like acid pressing against the back of his throat.

“Bran—” Jamie’s voice sounded pained, and Bran felt himself flinch from it.

This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be… what? It wasn’t like he was afraid of Jamie. He just… didn’t want to be responsible for causing Jamie pain or distress. And it was definitely his fault that Jamie was here, in Elfhame, having just spent five days surrounded by strangers who were utterly alien to him.

And then one of Jamie’s big, warm hands reached out and took Bran’s anxious fingers, interweaving them with his own. And Bran felt something open up inside his ribcage even as his heart trembled like a frightened rabbit behind his sternum.

“Don’t apologize,” Jamie said, his voice still low and soft.

Bran dared to look up, finding Jamie’s blue eyes focused on him, his fair features kind. “You wouldna be here if not for me,” Bran pointed out.

Jamie’s fingers tightened around his own. “And I’d never have known that my mother was right about fairies—fae.”

Bran grimaced. “I am na’ entirely certain that will prove to be a benefit,” he muttered.

After all, Jamie would now be dragged into the war that was the whole reason Bran had needed to stabilize his magic to begin with.

Oh, blessed Dunatis, no.

He couldn’t bring Jamie into a war. Jamie was the complete inverse of a warrior—gentle, kind, cautious, nurturing. He wouldn’t last five seconds on a fae battlefield. Right now, neither would Bran. But Jamie…

Yet everyone in the Court of Shades would now expect to see him, either wading into the blood or helping to clean it up. And Bran had no idea if Jamie would be willing to do either.

“I don’t think I like what you’re thinking,” Jamie murmured.

“You wouldna,” Bran confirmed, his stomach roiling once again.

“You’re going to send me back to Dunehame so you can get back to your pre-Jamie life?”

Bran snapped his head up. “No, of course not.”

Jamie raised both eyebrows. “Of course not?” he echoed.

“I dinna—I am na’ going tosendyou back.”

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