She waited for a denial, but it never came. “You knew the Hunt could kill you,” he said. “You accepted the risks.”
“I knew I was risking my life,” she spat back. “Not my freedom, not my fealty. I told you that’s what I feared—being helpless.”
“I know that now,” he said quietly. “And I truly, truly did not intend to hurt you. That is why I did not simply run off with the rings. I brought you your freedom. Give it to Pwyll. He and Pryderi will never command you against your will.”
“What about your own ring?” she snapped. “Did you even bring it with you?”
Gwydion nodded. “It’s in a hidden pocket.”
“Then whose ring is this?” Pryderi held up the copper ring.
Gwydion met his gaze evenly. “It is mine. Which is why I was allowed to join the Hunt. But it is the ring of Gwydion of the Trees, a Gwydion that might have been.” With a twist of his fingers, the root ring slipped from his hand and thudded to the ground. He held up his bare hand. “I admit, I was undecided before. But I know who I will be. I am Gwydion of Caer Dathyl. I am a trickster, not a gardener.”
Another terrible thought occurred to Branwen.
“This is why you came up with the idea to put Pryderi’s ring onPalug?” she said. “Because you intended to take it, didn’t you? If you couldn’t find a king’s ring, you would settle for a prince’s.”
Gwydion simply looked at her. “Of course.”
Branwen had opened up to him, told him things she had never told another, and all the while, he had been planning to steal the spoils of the Hunt and deliver them to Gwynedd.
But he had never intended to win the Hunt.
He had never desired the boon.
He had pretended, all this time, when the only thing he cared about were those rings. That fealty. Something he could deliver to his sister. If his sister could command both Dyfed and Annwvyn, nothing would stop her from claiming Gwynedd’s throne. It was a cold, efficient plan.
And Gwydion had not cared what it would cost Branwen.
Everything she had felt for him, all the trust and the longing, all the desire and confidences—it had been for nothing. She had been falling in love with him, and all the while, he had been planning to abandon her.
“I changed my mind,” Gwydion said. “You should know—after we fought Cigfa, after everything, I changed my mind. I was going to play out the Hunt, let us win it. But… but you heard what the woman told me. I will break a throne. Who is to say my winning the Wild Hunt won’t be the thing that breaks Gwynedd?”
Pryderi stepped forward. “I planned to ally with Gwynedd. I told you as much.”
Gwydion let out a bitter laugh. “And yes, there is the other stumble, isn’t it? What the girl told you. You’re never going to be a king.You will never be able to deliver on those promises you made me. Even if you wanted to ally, you have no power to do so.”
He might as well have stabbed Pryderi; it likely would have been less painful. The prince swayed where he stood, fury replaced by shock and betrayal.
“My kingdom is worth fighting for,” said Gwydion. “My people deserve better than the prince that will be crowned come spring. And if I have to lie and steal the fealty of two thrones to give them a fair ruler, to give my nephews a chance at a better life, then I shall.”
“If you take those rings and deliver them to King Math, Dyfed and Annwvyn will fall,” said Pryderi.
Gwydion shook his head. “I’ll not give them to Math. Hewoulddestroy you—but Arianrhod has no desire to conquer.”
“You can’t know that,” said Pryderi desperately. “You can’t be certain that Math won’t take them. That something won’t happen to you. That you don’t know your sister as well as you think. If you take those, you take the lives of everyone in two kingdoms into your hands. You could start a war so deadly that it throws all the lands into chaos.”
“And if I let you have them,” said Gwydion, “how am I to know we won’t be on the losing side?”
A long silence drew out between them. Branwen could feel the shift taking place—the change between them all. All the friendship had drained away, leaving only a taut anticipation.
Pryderi’s fingers tightened on his spear. “You know I can’t let you take those rings, right?”
Gwydion gazed at Pryderi. “If you attack me, I cannot keepa hold on this bird,” he said quietly. “You will cost Branwen her freedom.”
Branwen barely heard the words. Her gaze fell upon the lapwing. A gentle bird. They were such beautiful creatures. Her mam loved them.
And without hesitating, Branwen brought up her bow and fired.
