Chapter 39

CHAPTER 39

B RANWEN LAY UNCONSCIOUS on top of him.

It was a tricky thing to knock her out. Gwydion had slammed the hilt of the afanc-fang dagger to the back of her jaw. The blow had struck true, and she went limp. He rolled Branwen off of him, settling her gently on her side.

Gwydion pressed his hand to her throat, making sure she had a pulse. It was there, steady against his fingertips. He breathed, sagging in relief. He was bleeding and exhausted, but alive. She was alive. He would figure out the rest.

He had won. He had bested Arawn’s champion.

But victory tasted worse than defeat.

He tried to catch his breath. Palug stood a few strides away, glaring at him. “I’m sorry,” said Gwydion hoarsely. The cat ignored him; he scurried over to Branwen and climbed atop her chest, as though guarding her.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” said Gwydion. “You can—”

A sound made him flinch. It was the creaking of old wood, the whisper of evergreen needles brushing one another. Palug hissed—and Gwydion realized the cat was not guarding Branwen from him .

The gates of Annwvyn were opening. Only one person could have enticed those trees to move.

Their twined branches parted, revealing a terrifying silhouette. He stepped through the gates, and they closed behind him. All went silent, save for Gwydion’s ragged breathing.

The Otherking approached with the graceful gait of an old wolf. His finger-bone crown was at his brow, and his golden eyes were molten with fury.

“I know you, son of D?n,” the Otherking said. He spoke quietly, his voice deep and soft as distant thunder.

Gwydion had no strength to rise, but he did it regardless. He would not be on his knees before any king.

“You should,” he replied, “considering I just won your Hunt.”

Arawn smiled with all his teeth. “You have won nothing.”

“I have your ring,” said Gwydion. “I have Pwyll’s. I have several other hunters’ signets as well. And considering I just destroyed most of the hunters you sent after me…” He shrugged. “I’ve not judged many hunts, but I can see only one victor in this.”

Arawn tilted his head too far to one side. It was a distinctly inhuman gesture. “You would only speak so if you wanted to die.”

“Or to bargain,” said Gwydion. “You have something I want. I have many things you want.”

The Otherking took another step closer.

Palug hunched over Branwen, hissing at the Otherking. Arawn spared the cat a swift glance before turning his attention back to Gwydion.

“Give me her brooch,” said Gwydion, gesturing at Branwen, “in trade.”

Arawn remained still and emotionless as stone. “Explain, son of D?n.”

Gwydion reached into his pocket and withdrew the two signet rings. One bore the signet of Dyfed and the other of Annwvyn. Pwyll’s ring and Arawn’s ring.

“One ring for another. I’ll even let you decide,” Gwydion said. “I will put a ring in each closed fist. You choose a hand, and that ring is yours.”

“And if I should simply decide to cut you down?” asked Arawn.

Gwydion shook his head. “I hold your fealty. You cannot hurt me. But you may bargain with me.”

Arawn stared hard at him. “I can sense lies, you know.”

“I know,” said Gwydion. “Which is why I am telling you the truth.”

There was a long silence. Gwydion counted his breaths, waiting. The moment twisted tighter and tighter, until finally Arawn said, “Her ring for an unseen ring of my choosing.”

“Yes,” said Gwydion. He tossed the signet rings in the air, back and forth, so quickly that a human might not follow the movement. But Arawn’s hard gaze never wavered. He watched as Gwydion passed the rings back and forth.

Gwydion bowed and held out his closed fists.

His heart pounded. This was a risk, such a terrible risk, but he would not leave Branwen to the mercy of Annwvyn. He had lost her already, he knew that. Even if they both stumbled out of these woods, she would never forgive him. At least she would be alive to despise him.

Arawn’s attention drifted back and forth between Gwydion’s closed hands. “The left,” he said.

With a flourish, Gwydion turned that hand over and opened his fingers.

The golden ring of Dyfed sat in his palm.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. It was a loss for Arawn and a victory for Dyfed—but tylwyth teg were bound by their word.

Arawn’s lips hardened into a line. He pulled the brooch from his pocket. Gwydion flung the ring at Arawn, who caught it easily.

The brooch thudded into the grass by Branwen. Gwydion dared not reach over and take it, lest he break Arawn’s gaze. He had the terrible feeling that to look away was to invite attack.

Arawn shifted beneath his crimson cloak. “You will leave, son of D?n,” he said softly. “Never enter these woods again. I may not be able to harm you, but that cannot be said for the other creatures that dwell here.” He turned to go, but Gwydion called after him.

“Wait.”

Arawn went still, glancing over one broad shoulder. “What?”

Gwydion held up the ring of the Otherking. It glimmered in the light. “I hold your fealty. I can command you for a year and a day.”

“Yes, you could,” said Arawn, with a sliver of that wolfish smile. “I would advise against it, however. Unless you word your commands very meticulously ,” he put subtle emphasis on every syllable of that word, “I might prove a less than ideal servant.”

Or put plainly, Arawn was sure he could outwit any command Gwydion might offer. He was probably right. Arawn had centuries of experience with trickery and magic. Gwydion had only nineteen years.

“I have one command for you,” said Gwydion. “And it’s one you will want to follow.”

Arawn’s brows swept upward. “Is that so?”

Gwydion gazed at him. “Leave.”

Arawn looked at him sharply. “What?”

Gwydion felt as though he were dying on his feet; the world swayed and blood hammered in his head. He had used too much magic, gone too far into his divining. But he managed to stay upright and say what needed to be said.

“Leave the isles,” Gwydion continued. “Go elsewhere. I know the tylwyth teg have places that mortals cannot find. There is a war coming. Dyfed cannot let the death of Prince Pryderi go unpunished. They will attack Gwynedd… and King Pwyll will call on you to aid him. The isles will not survive a war between mortal and immortal. Such a conflict would destroy both sides.”

Arawn gestured at the woods. “If we leave, so will the magic. Magic, as your kind are so fond of saying, is other . When we go, that otherness will fade. In a century, perhaps two, there will be no diviners nor enchantments. No legends nor monsters.” He tilted his head. “Are you so eager to usher in an age of iron?”

Gwydion thought of the forest. He could feel its magic throbbing up through the soles of his feet and into his very bones. The magic of Annwvyn was beautiful and powerful—and it could so easily fall into the wrong hands.

“The age of iron has already begun,” said Gwydion. “It has soaked into the fields, into the rivers, into the lakes. Humans will never be contained. Monsters cross this land to find sanctuary in Annwvyn, but soon there will be no safety even within these mountains.

“If you stay,” he continued, “with your fealty belonging to a mortal… I fear that would be the end of everything. But I am giving you this chance to run. To take your people and your magic and leave. Protect your people. That is the only thing a king should do.”

A long silence fell between them.

Arawn lowered his gaze. When he spoke, there was a soft note of regret in his voice. “On that, son of D?n, we agree.”