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 fromhim.
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 Dôn,” 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. Arawnspared 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 Dôn.”
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 losther 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.
