Page 33 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
I ate yet more obscenely delicious food while he listened, nodding and exclaiming and offering a soft laugh in all the right places. Every so often, he’d turn to me and explain who so-and-so was and what history there was between them and such-and-such that made this latest occurrence so amusing for Sylvie and Hil.
The food and drink ran as freely as the conversation, and my head buzzed with the chaos of it all. Under the table, my leg bounced. I usually ate alone in my cottage. Once a fortnight, I had dinner with Rose and her family and this was achingly like that—full of laughter and inside jokes, with plenty of gentle mockery.
Rose was the eldest of thirteen and the locals joked that they were “a baker’s dozen.” Although there were fewer people here, it felt like more. But I’d known Rose and her siblings all my life, while this was new and strange.
I distracted myself from the noise by building a picture of the tangled web of relationships that connected them all. Hil was like Rose’s Mama, warm, checking on everyone, ready with a stern word if the ribbing overstepped a line.
Rose would like Sylvie. She took the part of Lysander’s younger sister—teasing and bubbly. On the road, he’d told me he had no siblings, just a couple of cousins. I hadn’t asked about his parents, but I noted their absence. Were they dead or simply away travelling? No one’s behaviour gave the impression of an element missing from the group and there were no empty chairs.
Sallis and Hobb were harder to read—quiet and private. Whenever I caught them speaking Albionic, they were discussing plants, soil, and the creepy crawlies that lived amongst them. Although, at one point Sallis teased Hobb for getting their antlers tangled in some branches this morning.
Boyd, who I’d thought was the butler turned out to be Lysander’s secretary. He remained silent, and the only time he engaged with me was to watch across the table with fingers steepled.
One-by-one, everyone retired, whether it was to bed or to play games or whatever else fae did, I had no idea. Sylvie checked whether I wanted her to guide me to my room, but Lysander turned the stem of his absurdly large wine glass between finger and thumb and cleared his throat. “I’ll show you, Ari. I’d like a word first, if you’re not too tired?” The way his head tilted turned it into a question.
“Not as tired as I was last night.” I flashed him a grin, less fazed now fewer people remained.
He scoffed, steaming his glass, and took a sip.
Sylvie watched the exchange, then shared a look with Hil, one eyebrow arched. “Isee.”
“Well, we’d better leave them to it.” A lilt ran through Hil’s words, and she gave me a knowing nod.
My cheeks burned. “Not like that!” But they were already gone, the door clicking shut in their wake. “Oh, gods, they think…”
“I dare say they do.” The grin he gave me was wolfish, displaying his sharp canines.
Though I was going to become his bride at some point, so that meant it was only a matter of time before wedidwhat they assumed we’d already done. The burning spread across every inch of skin, and I squirmed, pressing my thighs together. “Is this about our marriage?”
He went very still, blinked. “Our…?”
“Marriage. That’s why you take women in the Tithe, isn’t it?”
“Oh. I see.” Clearing his throat, he rubbed his face. “So you think I’m going to make you marry me. And you don’t want that, which is why you were determined to escape.”
I still am.
“Obviously.”
He nodded, resuming the slow turn of his glass. “How about instead of marrying me, you do me a favour? I can’t break the Tithe, but I can bend it that much.”
A favour? And a chance to avoid a forced marriage? “I thought the fae didn’t do favours, only strike bargains?” That was what the stories said.
His eyes glinted as he grinned. “So youdoknow about us.”
“Hmpf. I know enough to know you’re obsessed with deals.” I rolled my eyes. “Everything has to be a bargain with your kind.”
“My blood is bound in bargains.” He no longer grinned. Gaze fixed on the glass, that thoughtful frown pulled his brows together. “We only have our power because my ancestors made a bargain with the land.” He gave a short exhale, almost a sigh, like he wasn’t happy about the fact. The shadow of sadness upon him made me think of the yew tree outside. “But a bargain can be for a boon, a favour, an object… a promise.”
In the stories that rarely went well for humans, but if I could get the terms right… “So what willourbargain be?”
“I will never force you to marry me, if you make me a suit to my specifications.”
The breath burst from me. “You don’t want a wife. You want a threadwitch. That was why you went to the Hawthorne girl…” The way his nostrils had flared that night—he must’ve scented my magic on her and asked who’d made the bodice.
A tension I didn’t realise I’d been carrying ebbed from my shoulders and back. He didn’t want me, only my gift. That was safer, but for some reason my heart sank. “What are these specifications?”
“Stealth. I need to go unnoticed.”
