Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

Y OU WILL NEVER be a king.

Those words might as well have been a knife. They had carved out a hope that Pryderi had cradled near to his heart. He had been afraid of the throne and crown—but amid that fear had been a fragile hope.

He had wanted to do well. He had wanted to be a king that would make a difference. He had wanted to return home and see his foster family beaming with pride.

But he would never be a king.

Which meant—

Which meant there was only one thing Pryderi could be.

Kings and monsters are grown from the same soil.

Pryderi had come to the Wild Hunt to prove himself. And now he knew that he would fail. He almost wished they had never found that cavern; he might have pretended his fate was yet undecided. Now that he knew, it felt as though an unescapable weight settled upon him.

They returned through the now-empty cavern. All the trappings were gone—vanished with the magic that had conjured those three women. They walked in silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Gwydion’s expression was distant; Branwen would not meet anyone’s eye. The camaraderie of the night and morning had vanished. A sense of distance had opened up between them all.

You will never be a king.

You will break a throne.

You will hunt that which you love.

Yesterday, they had been friends. Now they were a monster, a throne breaker, and a huntress. If those foretellings had been a gift, Pryderi wished he could have refused his.

Sunlight gleamed through the roots of the oak tree. Gwydion let out an audible sigh of relief as they stepped into the forest. The sun waned, and once again, the air tasted of winter. These lands might not have been mortal, but at least they were familiar.

“I’ll find us another tree,” Gwydion said, speaking for the first time since the cavern. “Then we can rest. I believe we’ve earned it.”

Pryderi considered protesting. They had the rings; they should have made for camp at once. He yearned to be rid of those wretched things. They were too dangerous, too much a burden. But an exhaustion had taken hold of him, and he had not the will to fight it.

Branwen smiled at Gwydion. “That would be welcome.”

“How is your head?” asked Gwydion.

She touched a finger to her right temple. “Once we rest, I’ll use the iron blindfold again.”

“We should go a short ways from the cave.” Gwydion glanced back at the entrance, as though distrustful of it. “I will not sleep well near it.”

“Agreed,” said Branwen.

They fell into conversation, and Pryderi was glad of it. It meant he was not expected to contribute.

Perhaps, once the Hunt was over, he would return to his foster family. If he would never be a king, he might try to be a farmer again. Let his monstrous instincts grind themselves out against soil and rock. He sighed, forcing himself back to the moment. He would worry about his future once they were safe.

“—think Palug is the reason for it?” Branwen was saying.

Gwydion was shaking his head. The cat rode atop his shoulder, eyes half-closed in the bright sunshine. “He must be. I had wondered why we never encountered any monsters.”

“He doesn’t look threatening,” said Branwen, ruffling her cat’s fur. “Not even with my magicked eye.”

“Perhaps it’s the smell,” said Gwydion.

“Are you saying my cat smells?” Branwen laughed. “Because he might take offense to that and—”

There was a whisper of air, a rustle of leaves.

And then an arrow cut through the undergrowth and slammed into her side.