The memory of last night flashed through her mind—the warmth of his mouth, the way he had looked at her, like she was all that mattered in the world. She did not know if that part had been a lie, too.
They followed Gwydion’s trail past a stream, across a meadow, and then into the thicker edge of the forest. Here, the trees of Annwvyn were nestled closely together—likely to keep trespassers from intruding. The canopy overhead twined together, casting the wood into shadow. Fallen leaves crunched beneath the horse hooves.
One of the cwn annwn let loose a distant howl. “It has the scent,” said one of the knights at Branwen’s elbow. He rode a white stallion and bore the symbol of Dyfed across his plate armor. His expression was eager, his eyes searching for any sign of Gwydion. He kicked his horse into a gallop and pushed forward past Branwen.
It was what saved her.
For only twenty paces ahead, an ash tree suddenlymoved.
It snapped one branch downward, catching the knight in the chest and flinging him into the air.Like a child with a toy, Branwen thought in wonder as the man flew high. He fell, screaming, and slammed into the ground with the snap of breaking bone.
Every single hunter drew their horse to a halt. The mounts shifted uneasily, tails flicking and eyes rolling.
That was when Branwen heard the silence. The forest had gone utterly quiet. Wind whispered, but there was no birdsong, no rustle of leaves, no murmur of ravens.
A prickle ran up the back of Branwen’s arms. And for the first time since she had seen Pryderi die, she felt a flicker of fear. Theforest had always been a dangerous place, brimming with magic and wonder and monsters. But now it felt… hungry.
“Something is wrong,” said one of the folk.
“What is that—” said another folk hunter in alarm.
Branwen saw the encroaching gold.
Magic crept through the earth. It flickered like a spiderweb growing at twenty times its normal speed, casting out lines of gold. Those magical threads ran along the tree roots, darting from one to another, and the moment the magic connected, the trees glowed with power.
Horror rushed through Branwen. She had never seen magic like this, had never even thought it was possible.
“Fallen kings,” Branwen breathed. Then she shouted, “GET DOWN!”
A few of the humans hesitated, but the folk were moving. They had seen the danger just as she had.
Branwen looked wildly at the other mortal hunters. But before she could call another warning—
The screaming began.
Trees slammed their branches into the earth, crushing victims and tossing them aloft. Roots reached from the ground to drag hunters and horses wailing beneath the dirt. Dust flew into the air; Branwen could only see a few paces ahead. She pressed herself low to the horse’s neck.
Gwydion had conjured an army from the very forest.
A rowan tree snapped toward her.
Branwen did not have time to make a sound. She threw herself from her horse, rolling out of reach. The rowan struck her horsewith all the force of a rockslide. Branwen darted under another branch, hissing as something struck her cheek. Blood welled up, but she ignored it.
She scrambled through the bushes, using her magicked sight to guide her. “Palug!” she cried desperately. She could not lose him.
A black blur leapt through the bushes. Palug kept low to the ground, his fur fluffed so that he looked like a furious black-and-white storm cloud. “Come here,” she said. Palug jumped into her arms, and she held him, desperately grateful that he was all right.
Everywhere around her, soldiers and hunters fought the woods. The folk were calling on their own spells, trying to deflect the flying branches and calm the churning earth. Trees crashed into hunters with the force of battering rams, shattering bone and armor in a single blow. Vines curled around wrists and ankles. Roots shifted, making the earth crumble and surge. Brambles snaked around unwary ankles.
It was utter chaos.
The others tried to rally, but they had been caught unawares. They had armed themselves for a hunt, not a battle. Branwen had never wished for her afanc-fang dagger more; the sword in her hand felt unfamiliar as she sliced through briar and branch. A sapling knocked the blade from her hand, and it vanished into the churning earth.
She could see which trees held the battle enchantment and which did not. She followed her sight, trying to find a path through the cursed forest. She ducked under an ordinary oak tree, trying to catch her breath.
An alder root curled around Branwen’s ankle and snagged her.She snarled and reached for a knife. It glittered with the same iridescence as her armor. She swung out, slicing the root apart. It wriggled like a worm. Palug hissed and batted it away.
She pushed herself upright and ran.
