Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

F OR A FEW moments, Branwen could not breathe. She held Cigfa’s stone ring as though it might burn her. She did not want this; she did not want anything to do with this.

Her brooch was out there. She had tied it to a lapwing, unknowing of how much she was risking. Her life. Her loyalty. It would belong to whomever found it. She looked down at the oaken ring upon her finger—it bound her to the forest, to the Hunt. Once her own loyalty was caught, that spell would ensnare her. There would be no escaping it. Her brooch would be delivered to one of the kings, and she would be his servant for a year.

The thought made her feel ill.

“The kings divide up the hunters?” asked Pryderi in astonishment. “That’s what the Hunt is about?”

“For a year and a day,” said Cigfa, painstakingly slow. “Yes.”

Gwydion said, “Why?” His voice was oddly emotionless. Perhaps the implications had not sunk in.

“It’s a celebration,” said Cigfa.

Pryderi took a step forward. “How is trading people a celebration?”

“You know the story of how your father and Arawn met, do you not?” asked Cigfa. She sat on the ground, seemingly tired of kneeling. The elder flower armlet rustled as she moved. “Pwyll intruded on the Otherking’s hunt. As recompense, Arawn shape-changed them both. For a year and a day, Pwyll ruled Annwvyn in his stead. It was a test of loyalty—one he passed. In doing so, he earned my lord’s trust. And now, every five years, they trade hunters for a year and a day. To keep our alliance strong.”

“But none of the hunters know about this!” cried Branwen.

“Most of them do not,” agreed Cigfa. “But they will serve, nonetheless.”

Branwen turned toward Pryderi, naked panic on her face. “Did you know about this?”

“Branwen, I didn’t,” he said. “I promise you. I thought this was just a hunt.”

“How could you not know?” she cried.

“Because all the Hunt’s participants are magicked never to speak of it,” said Gwydion quietly. “Right? To outsiders, it would simply look as though certain hunters or nobles were on a diplomatic task.”

Branwen swallowed. She felt dizzy as she spun around, her gaze on the trees. Some wild part of her thought she might see the lapwing. “We have to find my brooch.”

Gwydion put his hands on her arms, steadying her. “We will,” he said. “Breathe, Branwen.”

She breathed. It came out jagged and shuddering. She had come here for her mother. She could not keep her mam safe if she belonged to a king for a year and a day.

Pryderi squatted down beside Cigfa. “Those hands. They belonged to kidnapped humans?”

“Some mortals trespass,” said Cigfa simply. “They serve a purpose.”

“They are people, not a purpose,” said Pryderi.

“That’s exactly what we are,” said Branwen wildly. “All of us—in this hunt. We’re pieces being moved about a board, to be collected and hoarded. We’re just tallies to be counted.” Panic rose hot in her throat. The Hunt was not an enemy she could fight, not a beast she could best. The Hunt was a game, and she was not even truly a player. Her fate had been taken from her the moment she slipped her brooch onto a lapwing.

She clawed at the ring around her finger. The oaken ring would not budge, no matter how she yanked at it. Pain flared up her hand as she dug her nails in so deeply that she drew blood. The tendrils of golden magic were embedded in her hand and arm. She had willingly given herself over to the Hunt—and the enchantment would never release her.

She had walked into this trap. Worse, she should have known it was a trap all along. People like her—they did not get to be heroes. They were simply unimportant pieces in someone else’s tale.

Helpless.

She was helpless.

Hands settled across her shoulders. She looked up.

Pryderi stood before her. His face was steady, his eyes on hers. “Branwen, I’ll get your brooch from my father. I’ll take it. If it’s delivered to him, I will command you. And I promise, I’ll give you only one command—to live your life as you will.”

It was a kind promise, but his words rang hollow.

“And if one of the folk finds my brooch and delivers it to Arawn?” she said.

It was Cigfa who replied. “Then you shall be a champion of the Otherking. After all, you bested me. You will take my place.”

The thought made Branwen shudder. She did not want to belong to anyone, much less the Otherking.

She looked at the stone ring in her hand; part of her yearned to simply throw it into the woods. But another thought occurred to her.

“This means I can command you?” she said.

Cigfa nodded. “Until you deliver it to your lord. Whoever that might be.” Her eyes flicked between Gwydion and Pryderi.

Branwen took a step forward, holding out the ring. Maybe she was not so powerless as she thought. She could command Annwvyn’s champion—at least for the moment. “Those hands. Set them on the ground.”

Cigfa tilted her head. Branwen expected her to argue, but the champion of Annwvyn merely reached down and began to untie her morbid trophies.

“Pryderi, add those rings to the ones we have,” said Branwen. Perhaps it was wrong to steal those rings, but they had been taken already. And all this fear, all this fighting, it could not be for nothing. If Branwen could wrest a victory from this, then perhaps everything would be worth it.

She might belong to a king, but she would still have the boon.

Pryderi looked a little green as he pulled each ring free. They went into the pouch with the other rings.

Still holding Cigfa’s signet, Branwen said, “I command you, Cigfa of Annwvyn. You will return to camp and remain there until the Hunt is ended.”

“You could command her to find your brooch,” murmured Pryderi.

Branwen shook her head. “No. I won’t trust her with that. The folk—they’re used to twisting words. If I ask her to find my brooch, she would. She’d also likely whisper its location to every raven, every songbird, and every magical creature she could find.”

Cigfa beamed. “Lovely and intelligent. I hope whoever finds your ring understands what a prize you are.”

“She is not a prize,” said Gwydion hotly. When Branwen met his eyes, he looked away. Shame flickered across his face. Guilty , Branwen thought. He feels guilty for bringing us both here. But this was not his fault, and she yearned to tell him so.

Cigfa stood. “I will do as you command,” she said to Branwen. She turned west.

Before she could go, Gwydion spoke. “That was too easy,” he said. “Ask her what she doesn’t wish to tell you.”

Branwen shot Gwydion a sharp look. “What?”

“Trust me,” he said. “Someone like that only obeys orders if they want to, fealty or not.”

Branwen stepped in Cigfa’s path. The other woman was shorter, with that gleaming afanc armor and dark sea-green eyes. She was so beautiful that Branwen could only look at her for brief moments before she had to glance away. “What are you hiding?” she asked quietly.

Cigfa’s eyes glittered. “Many things.”

“What are you hiding right now?” said Branwen. Perhaps if she was more specific with her commands. “What do you not wish us to find?”

The corner of Cigfa’s lip curled. Then she reached for a chain around her throat. She pulled it free, and with it came a heavy ring. It was crafted of gold and bore the signet of a dragon and seahorse.

Branwen drew in a sharp breath; Gwydion took half a step forward, his fingers outstretched. Pryderi made a strangled noise. “That’s—that is my father’s ring.”

“I tracked it,” said Cigfa. “As my king bade. And I was to bring it to him.” There was a low note of pride in her voice. “Arawn trusted only me to do so.”

“Does that ring hold the same power as the others?” asked Branwen.

“Yes,” said Cigfa.

Pryderi sounded appalled. “You mean… you mean that the kings trade power every five years. They do so still?”

“Yes,” said Cigfa. “No. Sometimes. Regardless of who holds the fealty, nothing changes in the kingdoms. Pwyll and Arawn would never harm each other. No one even knows the difference. It is why the Hunt matters little to the balance of power. One king will never move against another.”

Branwen’s mouth felt too dry. That ring was not simply a ring. Not in this hunt. It was a weapon far more powerful than anything she could have ever dreamed. It was a crown, an army. It was the fealty and command of a throne.

It was power. So much power.

“Give it to me,” said Branwen.

Cigfa unclasped the chain around her throat and held out the golden ring.

Branwen took it. The gold glittered in the sunlight. She touched her finger to the smooth edge. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned toward Pryderi. If anyone should have this ring, it should be him.

Pryderi’s thumb brushed over the dragon and seahorse. He dropped the ring into the pouch at his belt. “It will go with the others.”

Branwen nodded. “That’s safest.” She touched her forehead, rubbing at the headache throbbing behind her eyes. “This ring wasn’t on a human, was it?”

“Of course not,” said Cigfa. “King Pwyll bound his to a trusted hunting hound and sent it into the wood.”

“He does love his hunting hounds,” murmured Pryderi. “That makes sense he would entrust his ring to one.”

Gwydion’s eyes were still intent on Cigfa. “Ask her where to find Arawn’s ring,” he said to Branwen.

Again, it felt as though the world had been upended. Branwen gaped at him. “What?”

Gwydion’s eyes were alight. “If anyone would know the beast he chose, it would be his champion. And it’s like that hunter said. Some rings will carry more weight than others. If we possess the rings of two kings…”

“We would win the Hunt for certain,” said Pryderi. His fingers tightened around the pouch.

Gwydion nodded eagerly.

“What about our rings?” asked Branwen. “Aren’t you frightened? You could be—I mean, if your signet ring falls into the wrong hands—”

This near to Cigfa, she dared not utter her true thoughts: that Pwyll or Arawn may command Gwynedd’s trickster. If Gwydion’s loyalty were claimed, untold damage could be done to Gwynedd. She would have expected him to share her fears, particularly after their talk last night. He feared powerlessness, just as she did. And having one’s fealty at risk… there was no greater vulnerability.

“We’ll find it,” he said calmly. “But the kings’ rings come first.” He took a step toward Branwen. “We could win this. Truly win this. The Hunt—the boon. It would all be ours.”

“I agree,” said Pryderi softly. When she looked at Pryderi, she saw the tentative anticipation in his face. She realized that he had not believed he could win the Hunt, not until this moment. Sudden hope was written across his face, like dawn breaking across the mountains. He looked at her beseechingly.

“What if it’s been found?” asked Branwen.

Cigfa made a derisive sound. “Only one mortal has ever managed to hunt Arawn’s ring,” she said. “And you are not Pwyll.”

“Well, if that isn’t a challenge, I don’t know what is,” drawled Gwydion.

Branwen turned to Cigfa, the champion’s ring tight in her hand. “First, you will hunt no more mortals for as long as you live.”

Cigfa blinked once. Only once.

Branwen said, “And second, you will tell me how to find Arawn’s ring.”