Prologue

PROLOGUE

T he wool scarf around Rosa's neck was itchy against her damp skin. Her grandmother had insisted that she wear it, the same way that she insisted Rosa wear the too hot wool-lined red gumboots on her feet.

Rosa was seven years old, and it was the first time she had been allowed to visit Grandmother Glenna Wylt on her own in Conwy.

Glenna had a habit of taking Rosa for long walks every day through the green woods and castle battlements. As they walked, she would tell Rosa stories of faeries that were tall, beautiful, and dangerous as a blade, and of a queen that stole Tam Lin away and the lass that had saved him by hanging onto him with all her might. By the streams, she spoke of the Selkies, who had a fondness for snatching away people from the banks of rivers, and the fierce Black Dog whose omen was never good. Glenna Wylt knew a lot of stories.

That day, they were up on the sea cliffs when they came to a crossroads. Glenna pulled out her pipe, her small hands cupping the bowl to protect it from the wind as she lit it.

"You see this crossroad, lass?" Glenna gestured with her pipe, and Rosa nodded.

"There was a story when I was a girl that a human fell in love with the great Gwyn ap Nudd on this very spot. He stole her heart away, and she never recovered. Ten years later, consumed by her heartbreak and despair, she flung herself into the ocean in the hope that she would be collected by the Wild Hunt."

"The Wild Hunt? Like Papa does with Mr. Eli?" Rosa asked. She didn't understand why the woman just didn't ask if she could go along. When she was grown, she would go hunting with Mr. Eli. She was sure of it.

Glenna eyed her seriously. "No, Rhosyn. The Wild Hunt is not like what your father does." She knelt down next to Rosa so that Rosa could look into her serious face.

"The Wild Hunt is the mounted legion of warriors, all following the Lord of Annwn, Gwyn ap Nudd. They fly on faerie horses against sky and sea, mountain and meadow. Their banners are made of the skins of their enemies, and no army can stand against the soldiers of the Hunt. With his great hound, Dormach, running beside him, Gwyn selects the bravest and finest of the dead to join his ranks."

Her grandmother's strong hand rested on Rosa's small shoulder. "Remember, Rhosyn—heed the battle horns of the Wild Hunt. To hear them on the wind means your death or the death of someone you love. If you see the Hunt riding in the sky, look away, and hide your face so that Gwyn's black eyes will hunt someone else."

"If I met Gwyn ap Nudd, I would ask why he doesn't let more girls hunt with him," Rosa said, picking up a stick and brandishing it like a sword. "If he ever refused to let me go hunting, I'd get Mr. Eli to make him take me along. I could ride Dormach if I were too small for a faerie horse."

"Oh, my dear Rhosyn," Glenna sighed. "I do believe you would try, but even Mr. Eli doesn't have the power to force Gwyn ap Nudd to do anything."

"I would ask him, and he would say yes," Rosa said stubbornly. "He can read men's bravery in their hearts, so I'm sure he could read mine. I am brave enough. I am not afraid of the Lord of the Dead."

Strong fingers pinched her chin as Glenna fixed her with far-seeing gray eyes. "No, you aren't afraid, my Rhosyn, but maybe you should be. Heed my warning, brave one. Stay away from Gwyn ap Nudd."

That night, as a storm raged overhead, Rosa pressed her face against the cold glass of her bedroom window and looked for the stag horn helmet of the Lord of Annwn.

Lighting flashed through the clouds, and the Lord of Annwn looked back.